The Eyes Have it, a Rerun

The eyes of the blind shall be opened

There was a little girl who lived in an exclave of a former Soviet republic in Central Asia, and she suffered from severe strabismus (crossed eyes) that prevented her from learning to read. She was 12 years old and was one of many children in that isolated Stalinist region who suffered from vision problems and who had no where to go for medical treatment. One of my employees, an especially kind hearted man from Angola, first introduced me to her and her family.

I learned that there was an association for the blind and vision impaired that lost financial support after the collapse of the Soviet Union, and they were mostly on their own to provide educational materials for children who attended the lovely little two room school for blind children. The teacher, who was also blind, did her best with what she had, and with the help of students from the local college, developed simple reading primers and other textbooks that were entered onto computer disks and taken to a neighboring country by the (also blind) director of the blind society to be printed in braille, bound, and transported by a long bus journey back to the school. Such was the hunger for knowledge in that remote backwater.

We started to discuss how we could help, both with the medical problems that resulted in functional blindness and with the need for locally produced educational materials for the school.

The second problem was the easiest to resolve when a senior executive from the organization I worked for decided to visit the country, and especially the exclave region. We gave our blind friends a heads up, which allowed them time to prepare what some might call a somewhat, actually very, manipulative presentation. I knew him well enough to know where his soft spots were. By the end of the visit, we had funding for a braille printer, software, a computer, and a generous supply of printing materials. No more long bus trips back and forth to create educational materials for the children.

The first problem seemed more difficult, but through a serendipitous relationship I developed with the American director of a project that sent young ophthalmologists abroad for further training, we worked an arrangement to provide logistic support to his team of doctors to travel to the exclave and perform various eye surgeries back to back for about a week at a time. One of the logistic support chores required the complete renovation of a surgery room and two recovery rooms at the local government hospital. Once that project was completed, we announced that a screening would take place for surgery candidates, with children having the highest priority. The young ophthalmologists screened the candidates and a date was set for the first week of surgeries. Sadly, demand greatly exceeded supply, but we were determined to do all we could.

I went to see the progress about midway through the first week. People were lined up on benches in the waiting area, moved into a prep area when their turn came up, received their treatment and were taken to the newly renovated recovery rooms. At some point, one of the doctors thought it was a great idea for me to watch them perform their work. I did not think it was a good idea, but they finally convinced me to watch them perform a surgery.

They had a teaching microscope that allowed two people to view a surgery. I hoped I could make it through the first few minutes without dropping off the stool like a rock. Then the miracles started to happen. Through the microscope, I watched the doctors repair cataracts, repair eyes damaged during the ongoing war with a neighboring country, and perform the very special surgeries for children. It was among the most wonderful things I ever observed.

Which brings me back to my little 12 year old friend. The night before her surgery, her mother was deeply worried that something would go wrong and her child would lose her vision completely. They stayed up late praying that the surgery would be a success. While I did not get to watch her surgery because of my day job, I heard in great detail what happened. The procedure to align her eyes was successful and the bandages from the surgery would be removed after a few days. I’m sure it was a long wait for that family, but the day for the bandages to be removed finally arrived.

The doctor sat her on an examination table and began to remove the bandages from her eyes. At first she seemed a little confused, but when the bandages were completely removed, she blinked her eyes, started giggling, then crying, then giggling again, then crying some more, jumped off the exam table, went to the mirror, stared at herself, and finally went from person to person in the room to hug them as she alternated from sobbing to giggling. It was as close to a miracle as anyone could ask for.

A few weeks later, I visited her at her humble home. She told us how she called her older brother, who worked in Moscow to earn enough money for an eye surgery for his little sister, and he couldn’t speak at first when he heard the news. Then he told her that with the money he had saved, he would buy her clothes so she could go school. I sat and listened, a little overcome by what I call “onion eyes.”

I received a letter from her before I moved yet again to another county, in which she expressed her gratitude. She said the dream of having good eyesight was something she did not allow herself think about because she thought it was impossible. But now that she could see, she want to become an ophthalmologist and help other children receive the gift of vision as she had. I believe she will do that.

We managed to complete three or four more weeks of surgeries before the project ended. I think the number of people treated was just under 300. When we did the final financial report for our side of things, the project worked out to less than $40 per surgery, all paid for from donations by my staff and friends in country.

That’s a real deal for 300 miracles, and each one cost less than the price for a couple of pizzas. Think of that the next time you go out to your favorite pizzeria.