The Eye’s Silent Battle

“What happened to your daughter?” a woman asked my mother in the neuro OPD. “She lost partial vision in one eye,” my mother replied softly.

The woman, sitting right next to her differently-abled child, said in a loud voice, “Oh! She’s blind? Alright then, she’s blind!” Right in front of me.

That moment hit hard. I found myself at a crossroads, I had to choose that would I shoulder the burden of these labels or transcend them? 

That was when I realized: Allah had different plans for me. October 2017. I woke up and was unable to see from my left eye. It felt like a web of dust was covering it. Since it was my brother’s wedding, I just ignored it and got caught up in the festivities. However, it never improved, and we decided to visit the Doctor. Later, during an eye exam, the specialist asked me, “What’s the color of the bottle’s cap?”  “There is no cap!” I responded.

“Okay, what about the colors of the electric meter behind me? How many colors can you identify?” “There are no colors!” I responded in a slightly frustrating tone.

The specialist removed the lens from my right eye, and suddenly, I could recognize all colors clearly with that eye. But from my left eye, colors still looked faded, distorted, and almost unrecognizable. Observing my symptoms, the Doctor immediately ran MRI tests, and there it was… I was diagnosed with Optic Neuritis, a rare eye condition that affects the optic nerve and occurs in 1 to 5 per 100,000 women. I had never even heard the term before. 

As I was lying in the MRI machine, I felt uncomfortable and asked the staff over and over to stop the machine.  But since it’s a disease linked to the brain, none of us had a choice. For 45 minutes, I lay there with tears running down my face, tightly holding my mother’s finger, terrified that she might go. After a long, terrifying, and painful procedure, The Doctor came in and said, “Admit her immediately, she needs steroids.” I wept as if my world had collapsed.

How easily we take things for granted in our lives, be it people or an organ. Yes, an organ!

Later that evening, the doctor gently revealed what I feared the most: I had partially lost eyesight from my left eye, and even after recovery, I might never regain 100% vision, at best, only about 70%.

The doctor further explained that the disease occurs in the majority of patients with acute optic neuritis who are between the ages of 20 and 50 years, with a mean age of 30 to 35 years. However, Optic Neuritis can occur at any age. Females are affected more commonly than males, by a ratio of approximately 3:1. 

The moment I stopped crying, all I could hear was the Doctor’s verdict in my head again and again as if there was some tape recorder playing on loop. At that moment, all I was doing was questioning, “Why me, Allah? No one in my family has this. Why now?” But there were no answers, only a nurse with the first shot of a steroid ready in her hand appeared. As the injection punctured my skin, I surrendered to fate. It was hard! I couldn’t taste anything for the next six hours, and it didn’t end there. This continued for another five days, each day leaving me to question, ‘Why me?’ 

But did it kill me? No. I survived!

So what now? Should I cry forever, label myself half-blind, or take control of what’s next? I chose to rise.

At that very moment, that hospital bed became a witness to my hope and strength. Something inside me refused to give up. I had a choice to stay defeated or to start again. So, I began preparing for the Federal Public Service Commission, Sindh Public Service Commission, and an M.Phil. degree at Karachi University. I decided to compete against my illness and win against all the odds.  There were more than 100 candidates for M.Phil., mostly from journalism backgrounds. But it didn’t matter. Because I have a firm belief that what Allah has written for you will find its way to you, all one can do is work hard, and that’s exactly what I did. 

In 2019. I was among the 100 who made it to the interview and among the 20 who were selected.

I completed my thesis before anyone else in my class and received my degree in 2023 after multiple revisions (and yes, without ChatGPT!). One of my papers was even published by the University of Punjab. Now, when I look back, I’m proud of these achievements. They remind me that choosing to fight was the best decision I ever made.

It’s now been three years since I entered the industry. And I work like anyone else with both eyes. And all I see is my most precious achievement, pride in my parents’ eyes.

It took me eight long years to find the strength to share this story. Eight years of silence, of questions, of wondering what if.

But today, I speak not just for myself, but for anyone who might be facing something similar in the dark, unsure of what’s happening or where to turn.

If I had known the signs of Optic Neuritis earlier… if I had gotten the right treatment in time… maybe, just maybe, I could’ve saved 99% of my vision. But life doesn’t always unfold the way we expect. And sometimes, it’s through the hardest trials that we discover our greatest strength.

Through this journey, I found something more profound than sight; I found purpose. I found faith. And I came to truly believe what I had only heard before:
 

“Allah does not burden a soul beyond what it can bear.” (Qur’an 2:286)

So if you’re reading this and walking through your own storm, I want you to hold on to this truth: Your pain is not your ending, it might just be your beginning. Let this be your sign to keep going. You are stronger than you know.