Reaching for the Stars

Reaching for the Stars

REACHING FOR THE STARS

by Julie Hunter

Bob and Julie Hunter rejoiced at the birth of

their new

baby daughter--perfect in every way. Aglow with

anticipation,

they brought her home from the hospital. Then as

their baby's

vision faded, so did their hopes and dreams for

her future.

Here Julie relates the heartwarming story of how

she and her

husband Bob not only rekindled those dreams, but

learned to

reach for the stars as well.

Fifteen years ago on a warm June morning my

husband Bob

and I drove to the hospital for our appointment

with destiny.

Because of delivery problems with our first

child, we had the

luxury of being able to choose the day and time

of our second

child's surgical delivery. Later that morning, we

were

overjoyed to welcome a baby girl into our

family--finally, a

girl where for generations (on my husband's side)

there had

only been boys!

She was a perfect baby--healthy, dark hair, big

blue

eyes, and a pretty little face. We couldn't have

been happier!

Little did we know that this tiny, innocent babe

in arms would

turn our world on its ear.

Our new daughter, Lauren, thrived in her first

few months

at home. She was begrudgingly accepted by her

two-year-old

brother, Mark, and gradually our family life fell

into a happy

new routine. But as she grew, some little

concerns tickled the

backs of our minds. She squinted when she was out

in the

sunlight--typical of newborns we were told.

She didn't smile when someone came to her crib,

but she

would smile when held or spoken to. Finally, a

jerky eye

movement that we assumed would pass with her

infancy became

more and more obvious.

Then came that fateful day when the doctors'

tests

concluded that our daughter's retinas were not

functioning

properly. She would have visual impairment, but

no one knew to

what extent. She might even be able to drive, we

were told.

Of course we were optimistic and clung to the

best case

scenario--that the condition wouldn't worsen,

that she would

be mildly visually impaired, but not (God forbid)

blind. As

the months passed, it became obvious that this

was not a

stable condition. Her visual acuity was gradually

fading. We

mourned for every lost dream. We felt guilty that

we had

unknowingly passed on what we were told was a

recessive

genetic defect. We felt depressed about the

future.

But it's no fun living in depression, so

something had to

give! That something was our first change in

attitude about

blindness. This was our child! She was bright and

charming,

and we vowed that vision or lack of it would not

define her

life. We didn't want to hear any more sympathetic

words from

well-meaning neighbors and friends. Give up your

dreams? Not

on your life!

And so we were inaugurated into a whole new

world--a

world which has caused us to re-examine our

values and broaden

our horizon--a world which has brought us

support, friendship,

and a cause we believe in. Who would have thought

that such

a tiny baby born on a warm June morning would be

responsible

for all of that?

At what point do we move from seeing the glass as

half-

empty to seeing it as half-full? For us it came

gradually as

we learned, through the National Federation of

the Blind, that

the possibility was there that our dreams for

Lauren could be

fulfilled. That foundation was in place for us

when we

sustained our second blow--discovering that

Lauren also has a

progressive hearing loss.

As with the vision loss, which is now total, the

hearing

loss has been gradual. Lauren is now fifteen

years old. She

got her first set of hearing aids when she was

eight. Her

hearing loss has progressed from mild to

moderate, and now

hovers on the line between moderate and severe.

Again, doctors

are no help to us. They don't know why and can't

predict what

the future holds in store. We just live our lives

and take

what comes.

But one thing we have learned over the years is

that fear

about the future results from ignorance and

failing to take

control. If you do all you can to learn about

your nemesis,

never lose sight of your goal (which in our case

is to achieve

maximum independence), and stay in charge of your

destiny,

then the future is not so frightening. The more

we learn, the

less scary the future seems.

As we meet and talk to other parents with

deaf/blind

children and with deaf/blind adults, we are

reassured that

there can be a quality life for an individual who

is blind and

deaf. Our job is to make sure that Lauren has the

adaptive

skills necessary to remain an interactive member

of society.

There is work to do, but I feel confident that my

daughter

will achieve her potential, and no matter what

the future

brings, we will never stop reaching for the

stars.