Through Our Eyes: Don’t Lose Hope

“Just because you lose your sight, doesn’t mean you have to lose hope.”  – Kevin Eschbaugh.

In the small town of Wilson, Kansas –  a place that is, geographically speaking, next to nothing – Kevin, then 16, stood looking at his first car with an odd mixture of disdain and reverence. The car was the best that a 16-year old high school student could afford. It was a Thunderbird in light blue. It had nothing a young teen would want; mostly a CD player, that Kevin would install himself later. To get CDs to play, he’s have to drive that car for 45 minutes to the nearest music store. What he did like about it was the great air conditioning. And that it was all his.

What Kevin didn’t know at the time was that he’d spend the next 15 years of his life fighting to keep his license and the ability to drive his car. Turns out, by the time he turned 31, he’d lose both (mostly).

The Onset of Vision Loss

From an early age – and for what his parents could tell was for no particular reason – Kevin sat very close to the television. He also seemed to grow closer and closer to the classroom chalkboard as the school years passed. Eventually Kevin would go to an eye doctor and his vision would be easily corrected with glasses. For a little while anyway.

Much to the dismay of his parents and doctor’s, Kevin would return to the eye doctor every couple of years to have his vision corrected once more. The succession of visits continued until Kevin was misdiagnosed with macular degeneration at age 13. Finally, after multiple misdiagnoses, Kevin was diagnosed with retinitis pigmentosa, and was informed that some day he would more then likely be completely blind.

“Just because you lose your sight doesn’t mean you lose hope.”

Fighting to Drive

After Kevin received the correct diagnosis, he was required by the state to retake his driving test every year around his birthday.

“To say that my birthday’s were stressful is an understatement,” he says. “There was a constant pressure of someone in the car with me, waiting to see what I could see, and ready to take my license away from me.”

Desperately grasping to his last little piece of independence, Kevin would take his drivers test every year, typically failing for exceeding the speed limit because he couldn’t see the speedometer.

Finally, Kevin relinquished his license.

“I told them to fail me and take my license,” he admits. “I’m not going to be able to see tomorrow, and I’m going to kill someone. With that I slowly began losing my independence. I still owned a car but I had to ask people to drive me.”

By his mid-thirties, Kevin had lost his license, his job, and was forced to throw up his hands and apply for disability.

“That’s it,” he confesses. “I’m can’t see. I felt helpless, like my life was over.”

Acceptance

Utilizing what little vision he had left, Kevin was able to take up mountain biking. That was, as long as he had a partner to ride in front of him whom he could follow. It soon became less of a hobby and more of a passion. It was even cathartic.

During that time, Kevin’s mom began doing some research of her own for employment opportunities for adults with visual impairments.

That’s when she discovered Alphapointe.

“I know I can do anything I want, and the people at Alphapointe know that to,” Kevin said with confidence. “Things were pretty depressing for me, but as soon as I started and was working with all the amazing people in that building, Alphapointe was the best thing that ever happened to me. It was the change I so desperately needed.”

Not only has Kevin flourished in his professional life at Alphapointe, he has done so in his personal life as well. Recently, he snuck off on a vacation without telling anyone. He went with a friend and had a great time, noting that he kept it a secret because his family would have worried about him.

“I was tired of living the same life every day, and I wanted to go somewhere,” Kevin admits.  “I went snorkeling in the Pacific Ocean. I couldn’t see what was down there, but I did it.”

A Bright/Dark Future

Kevin is now serving in a crucial capacity in Alphapointe’s Office Products Department, and has been doing so for nearly four years. He lives every day with the knowledge of his own prognosis that, one day – sooner or later – he will likely be completely blind.

“Honestly it terrifies me in some ways, he says. “But then I think about the incredible people in this building. Romia Hall, Robert Watson, and you, Cameron, who deal with it every day and it doesn’t stop them, and I know that when it happens, I’ll be alright. Just because you lose your sight doesn’t mean you lose hope. If you have the mindset to achieve something, don’t let blindness stop you. We can do whatever we want.”