The One He's Been Looking For

by Joanna Sims

  “You need to do it,” Jordan said quietly.

  Ian looked at her for several seconds before he finally agreed.

  “Good. Good.” Dr. Harlow moved an arm of one of the machines in front of Ian’s face. “Let’s get started, then. Just put your chin in the cup, press your forehead forward and look straight ahead. These machines are so advanced now, it changes how we do business around here. It’s all computerized and digitalized.”

  He consulted a laptop nearby and looked at the numbers the machine had generated from testing Ian’s eyes. He then moved another machine in front of Ian. After making several adjustments and asking him a series of questions, he moved the machine back.

  “Okay,” the doctor said. “There have been some significant changes in the visual acuity of the left eye. When I last saw you, you were 20/40 corrected in the left eye. Now you’re 20/100 corrected in the left eye and 20/40 corrected in the right eye.”

  “So—not legally blind yet,” Ian stated.

  “No. Not yet.”

  “And you can’t tell me when that might happen....”

  Dr. Harlow shook his head. “No. It could be two weeks, it could be two years.”

  “It feels like things are getting worse more quickly now,” Ian said in a flat voice.

  “I would have to agree with you, Ian.” The specialist nodded as he stood up and grabbed a small bottle of drops. “Let’s get your eyes dilated so I can take a closer look at them.”

  Ian tilted back his head while Dr. Harlow inserted the drops. He handed him a tissue to wipe his eyes, then brought up yet another machine as he rolled his chair closer to look into Ian’s eyes with a light.

  “All right,” he said, looking at the back of Ian’s eyes. “I do see some new damage in the macula in the right eye as well as the left.” He paused. “I’m going to capture some images of your retina now.” Dr. Harlow took pictures of Ian’s eyes and the images popped up on the screen.

  Jordan stood up and walked over to Ian. She took his hand in hers. “How are you doing?” she asked, as the doctor looked at the results.

  “Not bad compared to what it’s normally like to have my eyes dilated,” Ian said.

  “You’ll be back to normal by the time you leave the office,” Dr. Harlow assured him, moving to the side so Jordan and Ian could see the laptop screen. “Let’s take a look at your images. Do you see this right here—these yellow-and-white spots?” He pointed. “That is the current scope of the damage to the macula in the right eye—which is causing the blind spot you were concerned about.”

  Jordan glanced over at Ian nervously. He sat perfectly still, eyes squinted, reading glasses on, as he stared at the enlarged images of the macula in both eyes.

  “I’m sorry.... Dr. Harlow, would you mind explaining to me what’s causing the damage? I’m still not sure I understand.” She narrowed her eyes so she could focus more intently on the images.

  “Stargardt has been traced back to a mutation in two different genes, depending on the form, which can be determined by genetic testing....”

  “I have autosomal recessive,” Ian told her.

  “I thought I saw in your chart that you’d had the testing. So this means that Ian has a mutation in a gene called ABCA4,” the doctor explained. “The mutation in this gene causes light-sensitive cells in the retina’s macula to degenerate. The macula is in the very center of the retina...right here.” He pointed to the screen. “This is where the most sensitive vision is concentrated. When the macula is damaged, as it is with Stargardt, visual acuity is reduced, visual sharpness is reduced and the ability to see color is often impaired, as well.”

  “And there isn’t a cure for this—some sort of treatment we could start?” Jordan could hear the tension in her own voice as her stomach twisted. She had heard some of this from Ian, but somehow, coming from Dr. Harlow, it all seemed so permanent.

  “Not yet.” The doctor switched on the light in the small room. “What we can do right now is try to slow down the progression of the disease and help you adapt to the loss of your central vision. We need to protect the eyes from UV light—and you have several options available to you other than sunglasses. You could be fitted with tinted contact lenses with specialized melanin filters that would help with any sensitivity you may experience with glare and bright light. Some people find this more convenient than taking sunglasses on and off. We also have photochromic glasses that turn dark when they are exposed to light—again, some find this more convenient that taking sunglasses on and off all day....”

  “That would help.” Jordan nodded.

  “Make sure you wear a wide-brimmed hat when you’re outdoors, and limit your alcohol intake, as well as foods rich in vitamin A. I’m writing you a new prescription for your reading glasses.” Dr. Harlow looked at Ian. “And I’m going to refer you to an equipment specialist who can help you identify any low-vision aids that might help you continue to live a full and independent life. We can also provide you with the contact information of the local support groups.”

  Dr. Harlow wrote out the prescription and then clipped his pen back onto his pocket. “The most important thing, Ian, is for you to believe that you can still have a fulfilling life. Stargardt will make things more challenging, but it doesn’t have to be a dead end for you. Individuals with this condition have careers and hobbies and relationships...but—” Dr. Harlow glanced at Jordan and paused before he continued “—I would recommend, if you are considering starting a family, that you seek genetic counseling.”

  “I’m going to get a vasectomy,” Ian said flatly with a quick shake of his head. “I’m not going to pass this on to anyone else.”

  Jordan did her best to keep her expression neutral when Ian mentioned a vasectomy; this was the first time she had ever heard him mention it. And they had jumped into their relationship so quickly that they hadn’t had much time to discuss marriage and children. It had never occurred to her that Ian’s diagnosis would stand in the way of them having a family together. She had always imagined herself with a large family, surrounded by children and a truckload of grandchildren. She was born to be a mother.

  “Everyone has to decide what’s best for them, Ian, and if that’s what you eventually decide, we can refer you to some doctors who handle that procedure. In the meantime, I’d like to see you again in four weeks.” Dr. Harlow handed Ian his prescription. “Plan on being here for several hours so we can get some additional testing done—map out the exact size and location of the blind spot in the right eye.”

  Jordan shook Dr. Harlow’s hand and smiled at him. “We’ll be here.”

  “Good. Good.” Dr. Harlow smiled back as he opened the door. “I’ll see both of you then.”

  * * *

  They walked out of the doctor’s office in a somber, reflective mood. Emotionally, Jordan was transported back to the time in her life when her beloved grandfather had been first diagnosed with macular degeneration. All those feelings of pain and helplessness and uncertainty flooded her body, and it was just occurring to her that she had fallen in love with a man who shared a similar fate as her grandpa. Once Grandpa Brand had completely lost his vision, he had never been the same. She had watched his enthusiasm and zest for life drain away as his eyesight failed him. And now Dr. Harlow’s words had left an indelible mark in her mind. Like her beloved grandfather, Ian was losing his eyesight—she had seen the pictures firsthand. The disease was real and it appeared to be progressing rapidly. Perhaps she had been living in her own state of denial, because Ian was so young and so talented and so perfect. It seemed implausible to her, a blow against the natural order of things, that he should be going blind.

  Jordan glanced over at Ian as the Bentley pulled out onto the road. He was leaning against the door, looking out the window, understandably pensive and closed off. She put her hand in the space between them, offering it t
o him if he wanted to hold on to her for support. But for the entire ride back to the studio, his hand remained balled up in a fist on his thigh. When they reached the studio, there were no words spoken between them as they took the elevator up to the third floor—and there were no words between them as they walked into the quiet, darkened loft. Jordan closed the door behind her and leaned back against it. She felt nauseous from stress and sadness and uncertainty; she wasn’t sure what to say or what to do. In a way, she wished she had never insisted that he go the doctor. What had it really accomplished, other than to make Ian feel worse?

  She pushed away from the door and walked slowly over to where he was pouring himself a drink. Her first instinct was to stop him from downing yet another tumbler of Scotch, but she managed to squash the thought before she verbalized it. Ian poured himself a second drink, downed it, before he slammed the empty crystal tumbler onto the marble counter. Jordan jumped slightly at the sound of crystal hitting stone, and was relieved when the glass didn’t break in his hand. The pain, the rage, the frustration that Ian was feeling was etched deeply into the handsome lines of his face. She wanted to reach out to him, try to comfort him, but she couldn’t bring herself to cross the invisible barrier he had erected between them the moment they’d left Dr. Harlow’s office.

  Ian slumped into his favorite spot on the couch and dropped his head into his hands. Jordan followed and perched next to him. She didn’t try to touch him, but wanted him to know she was there for him if he needed her. She could only imagine what he was going through right now; it was one thing to suspect that things had gotten worse and quite another for it to be confirmed by a specialist. Denial was a powerful tool, and she had no doubt that this visit with Dr. Harlow had forced Ian to abandon some of the denial that had been helping him function in his daily life.

  Tentatively, Jordan reached out and put her hand lightly on Ian’s leg. He didn’t pull away, but didn’t reach for her, either.

  “Why are you still here?” she heard him ask her in a strained voice.

  “I love you.” Jordan’s response was immediate. “Where else would I be?”

  He pressed the heels of his hands over his eyes and rubbed away the tears seeping onto his lower lashes. He glanced over at her, his eyes reddened with brimming emotion.

  “Why would you want to be with someone who has this?” he asked her angrily. “Everything I am right now—a photographer, a businessman, a whole man—is going to disappear! Don’t you get that? I’m going to be washed up before I’m thirty-five!”

  “That’s not true. I don’t believe that, not for one second, Ian. There’s so much help out there now, so much technology....”

  “What kind of help is going to save my career when I’m legally blind, Jordan?”

  He pushed her hand off his leg, but she refused to move from her spot on the couch. Ian’s anger was normal, even expected, and she was certain it would pass—eventually. And she sensed that it was important for her to prove to him that he could depend on her, that she wouldn’t bail at the first sign of trouble.

  “I don’t know the answer to that, Ian, but I do know that we can’t just lie down and take it. There has to be a way that you can still have the life you want. You heard what Dr. Harlow said....”

  Ian scowled at her. “Screw what Dr. Harlow said.”

  Jordan pressed her lips together to stop herself from challenging Ian. He needed her support, not a lecture.

  He shook his head as he looked down at the floor. After a couple tense, silent seconds, he said, “I won’t be able to give you children.”

  Jordan felt her stomach lurch, and tears born of sadness and loss welled up in her eyes. She quickly pinched her eyes and forced the tears back.

  “Did you hear me?” Ian snapped the question at her.

  “Yes,” Jordan said calmly. “I heard you.”

  “And you mean to tell me—” he looked over at her “—that you’re fine with never having a family? That you’re really going to tie yourself down with a man who won’t give you a baby?”

  Before she could answer him, he stood up and began to pace. “The thing is, I really feel like I’ve been deluding myself this whole time about our relationship. I’d actually convinced myself that you would be fine with not having what most women want....”

  Jordan sat stock-still on the couch. She felt she was on trial by fire without having committed a crime. Everything was happening too fast—coming at her too fast. Of course she had considered the idea of having children with Ian; it was a natural thing for a woman who wanted children to do. But was Ian’s decision not to have biological children a deal breaker for her? It was unexpected, yes. It was sad. But it didn’t change the fact that Ian was the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. She wanted to marry this man. She wanted to be his wife. And there was always adoption.

  “What I’m saying—” Ian sat down heavily in a chair that was half the room away from her “—is that I love you enough to let you go, Jordan. You deserve to be with someone who can give you everything you want, including children of your own.”

  “But...I’m not asking to be let go, Ian.” She crossed her arms protectively in front of her stomach. “And unless you’re breaking up with me right now... I mean, is that what you’re doing? Trying to let me down gently?”

  “No,” he said. “I’m trying to be fair to you.”

  “Then I’m not going anywhere,” Jordan stated with quiet conviction.

  “Are you saying that you want to marry a man who—” Ian started to count his fingers “—isn’t going to have a career, a driver’s license, independence...?”

  “I don’t believe that’s what’s going to happen.” Jordan shook her head.

  His features hardened. “Then maybe you’re just as delusional as I am, Jordan. I’ve researched Stargardt, too. There are a lot of people, young people, with this disease who are on disability because they can’t hold down a job. That’s reality. That’s the truth.”

  “And I’ve seen people online who have great lives...challenging, yes, but still great! I’ve seen painters on those websites...equestrians, mountain climbers—photographers!”

  When Ian dropped his head back into his hands and refused to answer her, Jordan crossed the room to him. She sat down cross-legged on the floor and grabbed his hands. She could feel the residue of freshly shed tears on his fingertips. She pressed her forehead to their clasped hands.

  “Don’t shut me out of your life, Ian. Don’t shut me out,” she said with a catch in her voice. “I love you so much. And I think that maybe—just maybe—God put me through all those really tough times with Grandpa so...I could be prepared...when I met you.”

  She waited for her words to sink into Ian’s heart, and when they finally did, he untangled his hands from her grip, wrapped his arms around her and held on to her tightly. He bunched the material of her shirt in his fists as he pulled her closer still.

  “We’ll get through this together, Ian,” Jordan said softly into his ear. “Don’t shut me out. Okay? Promise me.”

  After a few moments, he pulled back so he could kiss her. She placed her hands on either side of his face and kissed him back deeply—trying, through her kiss, to reassure him of her devotion and love.

  “Promise me,” she said against Ian’s lips.

  “I promise,” Ian said, then sat back and wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt.

  Jordan put her hands on his knees. “It’s been a long, tough day.”

  “Long. Tough. Inevitable,” he said wearily. “I’m sorry that I took it out on you. None of this is your fault....”

  Jordan grasped his knees and moved them back and forth. “You don’t need to apologize to me, Ian. I understand. I really do. I’m just glad that you let me be here for you today.”

  He took her hand in his and guided her
up so they were both standing. Then he hugged her tightly, and she knew he meant the hug to be a thank-you and an apology all wrapped up in one.

  Jordan turned her head so her cheek was over Ian’s heart. “This is totally off topic, so I apologize, but...are you as hungry as I am?”

  He rested his chin on her head. “I could eat.”

  “Italian?” Jordan leaned back so she could look up into his face.

  “Whatever you want.”

  “Old Spaghetti Factory? Garlic Mizithra for two?”

  Ian lifted her chin with his fingers and kissed her lightly. “That’s fine. I’d just like to get some work done before we eat, okay?”

  Jordan could read him like a book: he needed to find a way to feel a sense of normalcy again, and he could do that by throwing himself back into work.

  “Me, too.” She gave him one last squeeze before she stepped out of his arms.

  There were too many empty canvases in her makeshift studio waiting to be filled up with paint. Day by day, her gallery deadline was looming closer, and she still had so much work to do.

  “I’ll order, and when the food arrives, I’ll meet you back here.”

  Ian gave her a faint smile before he disappeared behind the room divider. Jordan took her cell phone out of her pocket and discovered that the battery was dead. Not having her charger at the studio, she ordered their food from Ian’s landline and then headed upstairs to her studio. She had just started to pour paint out onto her palette when she heard a loud knock at the door.

  Surprised, she checked her watch. “That’s a new record.”

  She twisted the lid back on to the tube of paint and headed back downstairs. Jordan had a friendly smile on her face as she opened the door, but the smile quickly faded when she saw who was standing on the other side.