Our son Ollie is three-years-old and the youngest of four boys. He is protected, coddled, and adored by Jake (age 9) and Owen (age 7). He has a playmate in Noah (age 6) who could care less about his “disability.” There is no special treatment from “bro bro No No.”
They share a room with a bunk bed purchased a year ago in the hopes that Noah would leave Mommy and Daddy’s bed with no luck. We have Stormy and Percy, who are shelter pups, added to the crazy of our house. They both have visual impairments and Percy is nearly deaf.
Never had she seen such damaged retinas, never had she seen such small eyeballs, legally blind would be the best case.
Ben, my husband, and I were almost casual about his actual birth, because after three healthy boys, what could possibly go wrong? After my scheduled C-section, Ben showered love on baby Ollie and me, and went on his way to chaperone Jake’s field trip.
We would comment on the unusual color of Ollie’s eyes; it is uncommon for an Asian baby to have gray eyes, but we didn’t think anything of it beyond that. At Ollie’s 3-month well check, I corralled the boys and brought them all to his appointment. Surely, it would not take long because what could go wrong? His pediatrician checked his eyes and the rest of that day was a blur. Jake and Owen were dropped off with a dear friend, while I took Noah and Ollie to consult with a pediatric retinal specialist at Children’s Medical Hospital.
My 3-month old baby was booked for exploratory eye surgery the following morning. I was trying to wrap my head around the thought of Ollie in glasses; that was the absolute worst case scenario for me.