When Your Son Might be Blind
By C.S. Bezas

It is now evening. As I write this, I ponder. Every day for the past four days I have taken my fifteen-year-old son to a different doctor. This unexpected saga began when he got up Sunday morning on March 11, 2007. While in the shower, he suddenly thought he saw a "worm" or something squirmy on his shoulder. But when he looked away, the worm went with his line of sight.

That wormy "floater" continued to increase in irritation by evening time. Therefore, on Monday I took my son to the pediatrician, who said he saw nothing wrong with his eyes, but "just in case, let's send him to an ophthalmologist to be sure."

[The amazing miracle is that although the ophthalmologist is booked out until July, we got in within 24 hours. Definitely the Lord's hand. Never have I seen this swift of an appointment, even with my youngest son who apparently has spinal muscular atrophy and has nearly died from it on a number of occasions. Even in urgent — but not 911 — situations, it takes on average a week to get into any specialist.]

My husband is proactive and researches "sudden floaters." Both he and I become concerned with the possibility of my son's retina detaching (leading to blindness). Day Two arrives in this unexpected journey. We come in gratitude to the ophthalmologist's office. Even though my son shares with the doctor that the discomfort feels worse, the doctor declares that he sees nothing of concern. Just in case, though, he refers us to a retina specialist — one of the leading retinologists in the area. I figure we will have to wait a few days this time to get in, given the retina specialist's reputation. Understandably, I'm nervous about the time it might take to get an appointment with this well-known doctor.

But not so! Less than 24 hours later, we are sitting in the retina specialist's office. [Yes, another scheduling miracle! I feel heaven truly is watching out for us.] Now it is Day Three and things begin to get dicey. I know this specialist; I see him for my own retina problems. Normally he is laid back and calm. Not so today. Once he finishes examining my son's eyes, he turns and declares that both eyes are hemorrhaging inside. "15-year-olds do not have eyes that hemorrhage," he states. "Potentially this means he could have a rare blood or bleeding disorder, cancer, diabetes, or even mounting renal problems."

[I'm now thinking it was a good thing we didn't stop after the first two doctors! And what a great case to be made for seeking help from specialists, who have finer diagnostic tools than normal doctors.)

After writing a prescription for a boatload of blood tests and other exams, the doctor sends us on our way to an aggressive pediatrician for a full workup. So on Day Four, we're now in another doctor's office [yes, with less than 24 hours scheduling time], having a full physical for my son, after which we go to a lab for blood work, glucose testing, etc. (a nightmare of an experience in the lab's disorganization ... but that's a story for another day)!

So now as I write this, we are on Day Five and we wait. But the thing I have learned is two-fold:

Each Experience is Different.

There are many parents who go through far more frightening things than what my little family faces right now for my son. There are even parents who lose their children to death. Although the threat does exist of my son losing his vision, we are not faced with losing our son. I am grateful, for I know somewhat the sting of losing a child. My second child died of SIDS. Thus, my first thought while we wait for these test results is gratitude for the mildness of this current experience — even though on the surface it might not appear gentle.

For example, a family just around the corner from my subdivision lost their teenage son to death less than 24 hours ago. A drunk driver killed him within a half-mile of the boy's home. My heart goes out to his family. The sting of this current situation about my son's eyes pales in comparison — at least for me — to death. But each family and each experience is different. We are not to judge another's experience as "difficult" or "not difficult." This is true even when working with our youth in the classroom. Only the Lord can make that call. Only the Lord knows us individually and what we need, which brings me to my next point.

The Lord Knows Us.

Way back on Day Two of this excursion, the Spirit taught me an important truth in that second doctor's office. As I sat there, naively contemplating the possibility that my son's retina could be detaching (not yet knowing that both eyes were bleeding internally), I felt a flash of peace. The peace astonished me in its largesse. I marveled at it. And in an instant, the Spirit taught me — no, better put, the Spirit pressed upon me that the Lord knows our lives perfectly. He knows perfectly how to couple what we need with who we are.

I clarify the sensation, because the experience at that moment was more than a "truth" taught to my mind. No, it was much more. It was a complete and physical knowing, a sensing, a holistic insight into God's glorious ways. He knows our needs. At that very moment, in a flash of mature understanding, I accepted and actually knew that all was well — regardless of the outcome — that if my son needed to be blind in one eye (or now flashing forward and add to that a rare bleeding disorder, cancer, diabetes, or whatever else it could be), someday I would see and feel and know and trust in the wisdom of that event. Somehow I knew on every level, I would see the Lord in His goodness and even praise the passageway we now find ourselves in.

Words cannot express the significance of this moment for me in that doctor's office, nor the pure and astonishing joy the Spirit gave me in its largesse. This was a most unexpected and unforeseen experience. As a result, the pain and concern and fear I had felt were gone, and instead, peace took their place. Indescribable peace. Peace, which if I had not felt it I would not understand.

The Spirit taught me that (obviously) I can't see the future. As a result, I cannot comprehend how today's events pivot my family into more fruitful fields, if we but trust the Lord. As a result of all this, I somehow know that God knows what He is doing, and that an incident like this that my son faces does not need to be called a "tragedy" — as odd as that may seem to mortals.

For some rare reason, at that given moment of unsurpassable understanding I felt to proclaim God's goodness. I felt to praise His name and His glory in these doings and in all outcomes from them. Of course, I don't want my son to go through difficulty. Of course, I pray that all will be well. And you bet that we will pursue health for my son by showing up at every eye appointment and doing our part to ensure all is taken care of. But for some inexplicable reason and for the first time in my life, the Spirit gave me a seasoned perspective far greater than my age normally would allow.

Summary

Words come hard right now in an effort to transcribe the peace that descended on my heart March 13, 2007 when the Spirit visited me with that moment of pure insight. My family is still waiting to find out why my son's eyes were (or are) inexplicably bleeding internally. Additionally, I cannot proclaim to understand the happenings in the lives of others around me.

I think of the book title When Bad Things Happen to Good People. It is a book written by Rabbi Harold S. Kushner and read by many in the world today. I know there is much confusion as to the existence of pain in this life. I cannot speak to that which others experience.

But I have learned for myself from the events of the past week that the gifts God gives us in sudden moments may puzzle us at first, but in time their exquisite nature will be made manifest. And when it does, I feel we will desire to fall before the feet of the Lord and proclaim Him great. The things others call tragedies, we just might find ourselves calling gifts of the wisest kind. Only time (and the Spirit) can tell.

It is now evening. As I write this, I ponder. Five days have passed since we began this journey to understand why my son's eyes are hemorrhaging. The saga began in the middle of March 2007. Sometime in the future we'll look back, knowing well the end of the story. Until then, in the evening, each evening, we as a family will go to sleep in peace, content that the Lord knows our lives and is in charge of all good things for us. The Spirit taught me this week that there is no need to fear that which we don't understand. And some day we might even rejoice in the gift some would call a "tragedy."