My Glaucoma and Me

My landlord called me yesterday to say they wanted to come to replace batteries in my thermostat’s display. I had complained that I couldn’t read it. I said to come right over.

 My landlord called me yesterday to say they wanted to come to replace batteries in my thermostat’s display. I had complained that I couldn’t read it. I said to come right over.

 Later, I was in my bedroom watching Gunsmoke, which is broadcast here every weekday from 1-2 p.m. by one of the deep rerun channels. Suddenly the light in my living room came on, which freaked me out. I had not been aware that anyone other than me was in my apartment. I went out to check what was going on. Was this another glaucoma thing I had to pay attention to? I came out of my room to find the landlord and the maintenance supervisor looking at me. The sound on the TV must have been up too high because they said they’d announced their presence, but I didn’t respond, so they flicked the light on to get my attention. Which it did. 

That settled, they went to the thermostat. They left the overhead on and hit the button that showed the temperature, and said they could see it fine. I did the same thing, and I couldn’t see anything. We tried it again with the same result. The number displayed was too close in color to its background. This is the same thing that makes subtitles in movies nearly impossible to read if they’re white over a white background. Or a dark blue shirt on a matching dark blue rug, I won’t see it. Glaucoma destroys one’s ability to see items that don’t contrast with their background. I told them that. They got a look of pity on their faces, said they sympathized, but at least they knew it was working, and left.

 I realize now, that my glaucoma had reported the problem to the office, not me. Sometimes the disease behaves like it has a personality all its own.

 [What if glaucoma were a character in a play, maybe called My Glaucoma and Me. Protagonists in Franz Kafka’s novels The Trial and The Castle, have just one letter in their names, K. There could be a cousin, female, named Mac (Macular Degeneration)]

I turned on the overhead light and pushed the button that ups the temperature, and I couldn’t read the display. I shined a flashlight on it, repeated the experiment, and I could see it fine. After dark, I ran this experiment again but with no lights on, and I could see it clearly. During the day, the overhead light didn’t help me see, a flashlight did, but in the evening, I could see fine without any light on it, but the flashlight washed it out and I couldn’t see it. The numbers contrasted with their background as long as there were no lights on. But without a light on, I might not some something on the floor likely to trip me up.

 Just shining a light on something doesn’t mean everyone can see it.