Woman who lost her sight found purpose helping others

MUNCIE, Ind. (AP) - A small Scottish terrier mix named Marge cowered inside of a cabinet at the Animal Rescue Fund's sanctuary for permanent dog and cat residents.

The dog, consistently terrified of people, trembled as it was carefully picked up and handed to Myra Robinson.

Robinson cradled Marge and spoke gently to the dog, then placed her on a blanket. Marge whimpered but as Robinson began to press on the old dog's joints and back, the trembling stopped. Marge was calm.

Robinson has dreamed of working with animals in need since she was a child.

"I feel like they're lost," Robinson said. "Kind of like they're forgotten by most people."

She understands being lost; the path that preceded reaching this point in her life was complicated. Her dreams have not always been so simple.

Once, Robinson drove a red Corvette up an increasingly steep hill until the car toppled over.

Then she woke up.

The crash happened in a recurring nightmare, an especially strange one considering Robinson has never been able to drive.

She has been losing her sight, little by little, every year of her life.

"I heard somewhere driving is all about control. They say if you drive in a dream it's a lack of control thing," Robinson said. "There have been a lot of times when my life has felt way out of control."

Robinson has retinitis pigmentosa, a term used to refer to several genetically inherited illnesses that cause the cones and rods of the retina to die.

At the age of 9, Robinson was declared legally blind. With glasses, she could still see enough to read, write and comprehend her surroundings but the changes to her sight came faster than she was capable of accepting.

"I remember being able to see the price printed on a stamp, the date on the back of a coin, the color red," Robinson said. "It can be quite confusing because in my mind's eye I can still see those things."

The disease drained away color, then the edges composing shapes dissolved. Over the next decade, a creeping darkness would narrow her field of view to a single, central point.

Robinson spent much of her early life trying to convince others she could see.

"I was depressed, I was angry, I felt like an oddball," Robinson said. "Here I am this short, round girl with long hair and funky blue glasses . I was bullied a lot and bullied bad."

She was desperate to reject what she saw as a label of inability.

"I wasn't ready to admit I couldn't see," Robinson said. "One month I was able to read and write, and the next, all of it went away."

While at college, she suffered a broken wrist, fractures and other injuries from falling.

She refused to use a walking cane.

"Pride was such an issue plain and simple," Robinson said.

After two close calls with passing cars while crossing the street, necessity, and her mother's insistence, forced her to make a decision.

At the age of 22, she started using a cane. The cane marked the arrival of the ever encroaching reality she fought so hard to deny. It felt like defeat.

"It stripped away my secret," Robinson said. "It was a public admission I was losing my vision, I felt stigmatized."

This new chapter of her life left her vulnerable. She had lost control, she thought. The change contributed to her consenting to an abusive relationship with a man she met in high school.

The marriage lasted four years. Her former husband wasn't prepared to deal with the challenges of being married to someone whose sight was quickly dissipating.

The same year she was divorced, her mother died battling lung cancer.

Soon after, her father also contracted lung cancer.

Her safety net was tearing apart.

"It was an incredibly traumatic time of my life," Robinson said. "I went through a huge depression, I was looking for anything that might distract me from the pain."

Divorced in her mid-20s, navigating the complicated world of socializing and dating was a daunting prospect given the progression of her visual impairment.

Robinson, who said she is naturally outgoing "especially after a few beers" felt as though the disease was a constant misrepresentation of her personality. The sense of isolation that characterized her childhood seemed to have reemerged.

"It's hard to meet people, there's a tendency to think I'm trying to keep to myself or I'm just ignoring a guy," Robinson said. "A lot of people who are blind avoid those situations because they are all based around visual cues."

As her sight diminished to the point where she could only faintly detect light, a vision of the future, and a way forward, arrived with improbable timing.

While trying to earn a living instructing water aerobics classes at the YMCA, a friend introduced her to an idea.

The idea was that blindness could be a selling point. There had been an uptick in demand for visually impaired massage therapists among nervous, body-conscious clients.

The idea seemed silly at first but Robinson could start to see a way in which the pieces of her life might fit together.

Massage therapy was a means of achieving the self-sufficiency her parents had fought to instill in her. More importantly, it would become the way in which she could fulfill a purpose later in life.

"It was never a career path I thought of for myself," Robinson said. "I didn't realize then how much of a journey it would become."

Robinson, who has a bachelor's degree in sociology and masters in gerontology, has used her education, combined with massage therapy, to help people both emotionally and physically through volunteering.

Blindness, raising a brother who also inherited a form of retinitis pigmentosa and caring for both parents in the final years of their lives as they battled lung cancer were trials that shaped her identity as a caregiver.

Robinson believed visual impairment was always what separated her from that identity.

At 38, however, Robinson said her experiences and help from her supportive boyfriend finally allowed her to see life differently. She could accept the role blindness played in shaping the person she was meant to be and could use something as unlikely as massage therapy to reach out to others who felt alone.

"You know the newer thing now is to say 'I'm not a blind person; I'm a person who is blind,' person first," Robinson said. "Personally, I don't care . it's part of who I am and if I'm going to deny that then I'm going to deny the bulk of who I am."

Robinson regularly donates her services to hospice facilities, nursing homes and other organizations.

Recently, massage therapy opened up the possibility of working with animals, something her visual impairment had otherwise prevented.

Robinson jumped on the opportunity to be certified in dog and cat massage therapy, although she admits cats rarely appreciate the service.

After 17 years of working on people, Robinson, who dreamed of being a veterinary technician when she was younger, took her first animal client pro bono. The client was her retired guide dog, Maggie, who suffered from arthritis.

"It was amazing, the difference after working on her, she was up and moving around like a 2-year-old again," Robinson said. "They get more out of massage therapy than we do because dogs don't hold onto stress from life the way people do."

In addition to volunteering at care facilities and ARF, Robinson is an advocate for the visually impaired and has helped others transitioning into a world without sight.

"I just want people to acknowledge that just because someone is visually impaired doesn't mean they are incompetent or incapable of thinking for themselves," Robinson said. "The assumption shouldn't be that they are more disabled than they are or that they are all the same, they should be treated like they have intelligence."

She said the motivation to be a caregiver, be it for pets or people, stems from the belief that all life is inherently valuable.

"As a child and growing up, I felt on the outside of everything," Robinson said. "I know what it's like to feel shut away and forgotten, I want them to know they matter . I want to give them just a little bit more in life."

When she's not volunteering, Robinson is busy working with clients through her business Tranquil Moments, keeps an office at the Forest Park Senior Center and admits to being "addicted" to Facebook.

She's also working her way through a bucket list. She'd like to skydive, ride in a hot air balloon and, at some point, she would love to drive a car.

Robinson said she hopes the difficulties she's faced go toward serving a greater purpose.

"I'm just happy helping people, I guess," Robinson said. "I know what it's like to feel like an outcast and I just want everyone to be included."

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Source: The (Muncie) Star Press, http://tspne.ws/29yWTd0

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Information from: The Star Press, http://www.thestarpress.com