Life felt dark when I began losing my sight. A stranger opened my eyes to a brighter future

This First Person column is written by Deepinder Singh, who goes by the name Deepi, and who lives in Regina. For more information about First Person stories, see the FAQ.

I couldn't see what was right around the corner as I sat at the doctor's office, with the optometrist running through some vision tests. I'd booked this appointment after a long time noticing it had become a struggle to see parts of words and sentences. Google had told me the symptoms were similar to cataracts, so I didn't feel there was a big worry or hurry.

"Well doctor, is it cataract?" I asked, with the cocky attitude of a kid who trusts Google more than a scientist or doctor. 

"No," he answered, explaining that I was experiencing macular degeneration. "To put it in simple words, you have holes in your retina."

He went on to tell me there was no treatment. 

My wife and I were stunned. I had a healthy lifestyle and was on no medication. How could this happen to me?

As she drove me home, I looked out the window and saw the vast stretches of land that had lost all their colour in the short time we had spent at the optometrist's. I stared at the endless sky — so much like my seemingly never-ending life, which would be restricted now by failing eyesight.

Anita, my wife, broke the silence, saying, "Don't worry, I'll be your eyes."

She had always been supportive and encouraged me in everything, through all our moves and work in countries from India to Muscat, to our decision to come and join our daughter in Canada in 2018. But despite her support, she could not help me here — eyes were not something we could share. 

The spectre of total blindness haunted me. I did not want to be dependent on others or be an object of their pity. 

Then one evening after a visit with friends, my wife was driving us home while I admired the golden sunset and the green fields with a few buildings in the distance. It occurred to me that if the buildings were closer, they would block my view of the beautiful evening sky.

In that moment, I had an epiphany: if I could see my vision loss as something in the distance, I would still be able to see the beautiful landscape of my life.

I had been blessed with good health to that point. I'd had the good fortune to have seen the living skies of Saskatchewan, the unending stretches of sand when travelling by road from Muscat to Dubai, the quaint town of Winchester in England, the Valley of Flowers In India where the sweet intoxicating smell of the flowers made some people faint. Yes, I had been blessed!

I began talking to people more and started using the bus frequently. It was on the bus one cold wintry day when I struck up a conversation with a young man, who sat down near me with the help of his dog and his white cane.