One of our twin daughters is in vision therapy, which has me spending exorbanent amounts of cash on a process that I strongly suspect might be hogwash.
This week, for example, I’m supposed to read to her while she stares into different colored lights. This is supposed to increase her peripheral vision, but how would I know? Having never known anything else, the child can’t explain to me how she sees the world or how it might be changing; is it less blurry? Less shaky? Less dark??? The only bit of solid knowledge I’ve gained is the understanding of how people willingly mortgage away everything they own in the pursuit of a loved one’s cure.
Every few weeks, the parents at this vision clinic must attend one of their child’s sessions. Supposedly this is to train us on the new “units” we will be practicing at home, but who knows? It might be that they notice the ever more skeptical looks on our faces and this is how they keep us in line. When confronted with how poor my child’s vision is — how small of a world she inhabits — I have to excuse myself and spend the next five minutes weeping in the restroom. When I return I have to stifle the urge to dump my purse out on the front desk, turn over my car title and keys while madly imploring them to “Do SOMETHING!”
It’s heartbreaking. It causes me physical pain to watch her cheerfully take their tests, having no understanding of how much broader and richer the world appears to both her doctor and myself. And knowing that this may not help at all, I’m still willing to stand at the window and throw our limited resources into the wind. My husband may feel differently, but has so far wisely not decided not to stand in my way. Keep in mind, this isn’t a life-threatening situation; can you imagine what would I do if this were?