Never Lose Sight

By Steve Super

At the age of twenty-six in 1990, author Steven Super was on his way to fulfilling his dream. He had earned his certified public accountant license and worked for the third-largest accounting firm internationally. He was on his way to earning another degree in taxation, and his goal was to open his own small accounting firm. Soon to be engaged, he had it all planned. By age thirty-two, he would be married, have a family, and become a successful entrepreneur.

But November 12, Super experienced a sudden and devastating loss of vision, destroying his career and the life he had known. In Never Lose Sight, he shares his story, a story filled with all the hopes of a young man fighting to get back to the way he was. Super narrates his journey of desperation, determination, rebuilding, and the love of a young lady who believed in him.

Delivering a powerful message of how God works in our lives, Never Lose Sight encourages those facing challenges to never give up. It inspires others to reach out to God for comfort and healing.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Inspiring Voices
• Release date: Nov 13, 2017
• ISBN: 9781462412235

Steve Super

Steve Super experienced a sudden and devastating loss of vision at the age of twenty-six. A doctor of physical therapy and a certified public accountant, he lives in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, with his wife, Cynthia, and their two sons, Alexander and Stephen.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

For I know the plans I have for you, declared the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.

—Jeremiah 29:11

I n early September 1990, my parents purchased a rental property in Wildwood, New Jersey. Eager to see the house, I drove from Philadelphia to the Jersey Shore, with my brother Mark and his friend as passengers. I was having a hard time reading some of the highway signs in the distance. As I got closer to the signs, I was able to read them, though it took my attention off the road for a few precious seconds. I asked Mark if he could read the signs aloud.

Why am I having a hard time seeing those big signs? I wondered. I’ve driven this way countless times. Still, I didn’t give it much thought—until I went to work the next week.

While at work, something strange seemed to be happening. As I was looking at a client’s document that contained columns of numbers, the column on the right seemed to just disappear. I turned my head to look with my left eye, and I could see the column easily. Since I was very busy, though, I didn’t pay too much attention to it.

A few days later it happened again. What is going on? I put my hand over my left eye and tried to see the column with my right eye—it wasn’t there. It was as if it had vanished. Next, I closed my right eye and looked with my left. Yep, there it was—easy to see and read with that eye. I rationalized the episode, telling myself it was just a one-time occurrence. I thought maybe the problem with the right eye was the result of reading numbers and looking at the computer screen for most of the day.

I didn’t notice any deficits when I used both eyes simultaneously, and it was barely noticeable when I looked at the computer screen. The left eye probably compensated for the slight lack of vision in my right eye. It was much different, however, when reading a ledger filled with columns of numbers. Then, each eye had to work more independently of the other. This was when the deficit became more pronounced.

Because I had moved away from auditing the ledger, I’d forgotten about the mild deficit. A few days later, though, I awoke and went into the kitchen to read the morning sports page. After glancing over the headlines, I opened the paper to read an article. As my eyes scanned left to right, I couldn’t believe what was happening. As my eyes moved to the right, the page disappeared; it would reappear as my left eye followed across the page. I again tested my vision in each eye. Half of the right side of the page disappeared when I relied only on my right eye to read. Before it had been a column; now it was half a page that simply vanished. In just a week, the vision in my right eye had worsened considerably!

I couldn’t understand why my eyesight was so weak in such a short time. I thought back to just two weeks earlier, when I’d gone golfing with my friends. It was easy to follow the golf ball after I hit it. Often the ball landed off the course and into weeds or within the trees. Nonetheless, I was able to find it without difficulty. Now, realizing that just a few weeks later I might need glasses didn’t make any sense. But I had to try something.

I told my mom that I was going to make an appointment with the optometrist for an eye exam. I was open to the fact that glasses might be a reasonable option. Unbeknownst to me, my mother realized something terrible might be happening.

A few days later I went to the appointment. As I sat in the waiting room, I was still in a state of disbelief that the vision in my right eye had declined so quickly. How can that happen? Just two weeks ago, my eyesight was perfect, and now I need glasses?

Finally, the aide called my name and took me into a small room with an eye chart on the wall. I sat in the chair, about five feet in front of the eye chart. She turned out the lights.

I want you to cover the left eye, start at the bottom line, and read across. Then go up, line by line, using your right eye, she instructed.

The bottom line contained the smallest letters, and they became slightly bigger as I went up the eye chart. I looked at the chart with both eyes, and it was easy to read. I then covered my left eye. I couldn’t believe it! I had a hard time seeing the eye chart. The last few lines of the chart seemed to vanish. I thought it was some kind of trick. I opened both eyes, and, to my surprise, the chart was there again—the entire eye chart. I was completely dumbfounded. I struggled to see the bottom line.

Can I move to a line where I can see? I asked.

Sure, she replied.

I moved my right eye all around, trying to see the next few lines, but I struggled. I was desperately attempting to see something. I moved my eye to the left and then to the right, trying to see out of the corners of my eye. I started to guess at a few of the letters, but I was confused. I hadn’t realized the weakness was that profound. What’s happening?

Try the other eye, the aide instructed.

I blocked my right eye and opened my left. I rattled off the bottom row of letters and moved with ease upward. I thought something wasn’t normal about my right eye, but what? I left the room more concerned than when I’d first arrived. I went into another room and waited for the optometrist to enter.

Finally, he came in and looked into my eye with his instruments. Then he repeated the eye chart exam—with the same results. Your right eye is 20/100, and your left eye is 20/20, he said. Let’s try some different lenses to see which one helps you to see the best. Then, we’ll prescribe glasses for you.

Good. Let’s get these glasses and end this once and for all. After he concluded the examination, he wrote the prescription and handed it to me. I walked out of the office, realizing that the different lenses he’d had me try really didn’t help me see any better. I decided to wait until I wore my new glasses. I was sure that would be the answer to my eyesight problem.

I was still a little baffled by the notion that I needed glasses at the age of twenty-six, as my eyesight had been better than perfect for my entire life. Did accounting work have that much of a negative effect on my vision, after only three and a half years of work? I went back to work, struggling to see but anticipating improved vision once I had the glasses.

A few days later, I received a call—the glasses were ready to be picked up. I couldn’t wait for my vision to improve. As soon as I put them on, an uneasiness began to overwhelm me. The eyeglasses did absolutely nothing to improve my vision! I asked everyone I knew who wore glasses if it took a while for their vision to improve. They all reported immediate improvement. There was something seriously wrong with my vision, and it was more than eye fatigue.

I stopped wearing the glasses. They were completely useless and caused headaches from the strain I put on my eyes. I was able to work using mostly my left eye and the peripheral vision in my right eye. Still, if I looked at anything straight on with my right eye, it just disappeared. The blind spot in my right eye was about the size of a golf ball. I could see around this golf ball-sized blind spot but not through it. I would look out from the corners of my right eye and was able to distinguish only some objects. It wasn’t as precise as my central vision, which seemed to be somehow nonexistent. It took a little longer to complete some work tasks, so I just worked longer at them.

During the next few weeks, I began having problems with my left eye as well. Oh no, not this eye too! It seemed that the vision in my right eye worsened every day. I started to wear the glasses again, hoping it would help. It didn’t. I continued to struggle at work. I would walk down the hallway and bump into people who were on my right side, or all of a sudden, someone would appear, seemingly out of the blue, on my right, like a ghost appearing from nowhere.

Every day I checked my vision in my right eye, both with and without the glasses. I couldn’t believe there wasn’t any difference. I was quickly losing my ability to function in a normal environment. I went back to my little office and tried to make sense of what was happening. With the door closed, I felt like I had some peace. It was easier to work in the closed, confined, and stationary environment of an office, as opposed to outside the door, where I had to make visual adjustments quickly. I had to be productive and stay on budget, and the pressure started to mount.

About three months earlier, I had interviewed for a new position with a different company. I was willing to try anything different to find happiness, with accounting as my career. It was difficult seeking employment elsewhere, however, as the economy was sluggish. There weren’t many positions available.

As the summer of 1990 arrived, I was moving at a nonstop pace. I worked during the day, attended night school, job hunted, and was in the early stages of discussing engagement plans with my girlfriend, Colleen. To say it was a stressful time would be an understatement. Now, coupled with an unexplained and sudden loss of vision, my life seemed to be thrown into a state of chaos.

Colleen and I had met a year earlier in a local club where my friends and I often hung out in on Saturday nights. She had graduated from the same college as I but a few years later. We spent just about every weekend together. While we were dating, I was the one who liked to take charge of everything. I always drove, planned the night out, and of course paid for all the dinners and entertainment. I even scheduled our vacations and weekend getaway trips. We went to Disney World, and I did all the driving. I didn’t mind it at all. I always believed it was what a man should do, and I enjoyed it.

During one of our weekend trips, the topic of getting engaged came up. I was so busy with trying to advance my career that I really hadn’t given it much thought. Soon, we started looking at engagement rings, and the conversation moved to more long-term plans. I had wanted a more structured, planned-out path to my future. Suddenly, I had to decide if this was the right path for me now.

Now it was fall, and daylight each day was diminishing. Daylight made it much easier to view my surroundings, and I could get a clearer picture of any obstacles, which meant driving was much easier. There weren’t any bright lights to distort my visual perception. I could compensate enough to drive safely during the day, but once the sun went down, it was a completely different environment. My ability to distinguish moving or stationary objects was impaired. The various lights were all mixed together in a maze of perceptual confusion. Just as at work, I moved my eye in different angles to see ahead of me.

As I drove, I had to filter out all the distorted lights and quickly find the traffic light—and then see if the light was red or green. Many times I couldn’t even find the traffic light. Each time I came to an intersection, my heart started racing. Often I just followed the car in front of me, hoping the light was still green. When the car ahead of me braked, however, I couldn’t tell how quickly it was slowing down. I had lost some ability to perceive the velocity of moving vehicles ahead of me. A few times I had to slam on the brakes to prevent a rear-end collision.

The cars might have slowed down just a little, but I simply couldn’t tell. Finally, when I’d arrive at my destination, I’d be sweating, my heart would be pounding like I had run a hundred-yard dash, and I’d be emotionally exhausted from such a stressful situation.

It wasn’t long before this time when I enjoyed taking a long ride in my new sports car with the sunroof opened and the music blasting, just like any other twenty-six-year-old. But in just a few weeks, my vision seemed to have aged fifty years. I was now the one who drove slowly, with the radio turned off so I could concentrate. I had to move the car seat closer to the steering wheel to better see the road ahead. I tightly gripped the steering wheel, desperately trying to hold on to my independence. But it was slipping away—and fast.

Prior to my sight declining, I had enrolled in Widener University’s Master’s in Taxation program. The drive to Widener University at night was much easier than driving in the city. The highway wasn’t as hazardous as the residential roads, which involved many stop-and-go adjustments that had to be preplanned. However, it still had major obstacles. Speed was much more of an issue, and reading exit signs was nearly impossible. I could see them at a distance, but it took more than a few seconds away from attending to the road to read each sign. I had heard that for every second you look away from the road ahead, you travel eighty-eight feet. I often looked away for a few seconds.

This was simply unacceptable. To avoid this problem I began to count the number of exits to my destination and relied less and less on my visual perception. I continued to drive but at a much slower speed. Each time I put on my seatbelt and turned on the engine, I was risking my life, as well as the lives of others. I started to realize I couldn’t go on like this much longer.

CHAPTER 2

I made another visit to the optometrist. I’d been wearing the new glasses for about two weeks now. Having spent two hundred dollars on them, I was upset to think he had ordered the wrong pair. This time my mother wanted to come along. The eye exam began the same way as it did before: the assistant took me into a room, put on the light to illuminate the eye chart, and turned out the overhead light. A horrible feeling came over me. I could hardly see the eye chart with both eyes.

Okay, let’s get started, she said. Close your right eye, and read the chart with your left eye, starting at the bottom.

I closed my right eye and was unable to read any of the small-print letters. I started to move my eye around, with the anticipation of seeing the letters out of the corner of my eye. I just guessed at most of them. This is my good eye. What is going on?

Let’s switch, she suggested.

With my left eye closed, I couldn’t see the first four lines—the largest letters. A person would have to be almost blind not to see them. I started to tremble with fear, and my hand shook as I covered my left eye. I guessed at all of the letters again. It was like the entire eye chart had simply disappeared. She turned the light on.

I did terribly, didn’t I?

With no response, she took me to another room to wait for the optometrist.

My mom was waiting eagerly. How did it go?

Terrible, I somberly replied.

The optometrist came in and proceeded with the same examination but with the lights on. The result was the same.

You really can’t see those bottom lines? my mom asked.

What lines? I quickly retorted.

The optometrist gave me a book and told me to open it. Read the numbers on each page, he instructed. I thought it was a joke. There weren’t any numbers on the page. I turned to the next page and then the next. All I could see was a maze of colors.

Again my mom asked, "You really can’t see those numbers?"

You mean there are numbers within the colors? I asked.

Yes, she said, clearly surprised. There are big numbers mixed within the array of colors.

I held the book up to my face and turned the book every which way. The doctor took the book and said my vision had decreased a lot in two weeks. My right eye was now 20/200, and my left was 20/40. Since I couldn’t see numbers in the book, he said I was also color blind.

What do you mean I’m color blind?

You should be able to see the numbers blended into those colors. It’s a test for color blindness, and you weren’t able to see any of them.

If it hadn’t been confirmed by my mother, I would have sworn he was lying. There was no way any numbers could be there. I was dumbfounded at how obvious their response was to quickly state its validity. My God, I thought, is my vision that bad? Color blind too?

The optometrist referred me to Wills Eye Hospital in Philadelphia to see a neuro-ophthalmologist. I walked out of his office, stunned and in disbelief and shock at the results of the tests—and this was only the beginning of my nightmare. I’m actually color blind now? I didn’t understand the significance of the numbers he used to describe my vision—20/40 and 20/200. Since the glasses he’d prescribed weren’t the answer, I had to find answers from one of the best eye doctors in Philadelphia. I thought maybe he could prescribe the corrective lenses I needed, so I made an appointment immediately.

At work, I was falling behind more and more and was afraid I wasn’t performing up to company standards. I struggled with the simplest of tasks. It took about thirty minutes to do what used to take five minutes. To compensate, I arrived at work hours before anyone else, and I was the last one to leave. During the day, I faked working productively when the supervisor was in. I began working twelve hours a day without my supervisor’s knowledge. Driving home at night was becoming more treacherous.

I took the same way home each night so I could remember the road. I would count the traffic lights or stop signs to make sure I didn’t go through one or miss one. I started to drive much slower in case a car suddenly stopped in front of me. I couldn’t judge the distance between the car ahead and mine. I prayed no one crossed the road when I was driving. I would never see the person.

My vision got progressively worse each week—in both eyes. I struggled to use my remaining peripheral vision to try to see, but it was almost impossible. I was losing the ability to see people’s faces from a distance. I couldn’t tell who was who. My world narrowed down to a much smaller scale. Instead of initiating actions—like saying hi to someone or recognizing someone I knew—I waited for people to speak first and then I’d respond.

Many times my coworkers would say hello, but since I couldn’t see their faces, I didn’t know who they were. I would embarrassingly say, Oh, hi. I knew it wouldn’t long before people would catch on that I didn’t recognize them.

One night after my tax class ended, it started to rain. It was my worst nightmare. The rain completely distorted all the lights from the cars and any highway or traffic lights. How am I going to get home? I had to drive the one-hour trip on Interstate 95. I was terrified. I had no one to help me. I got behind the wheel, said the Lord’s Prayer, and proceeded to drive home.

As soon as I merged onto the interstate, I searched for a car I could follow. It would be my only reasonably safe way home. Some cars drove so fast that I couldn’t keep up with them. Others constantly