by Ming Wang
There have been so many intent gazes, with so much emotion, from so many people throughout my life. I cannot help but consider each one of them an integral part of my life’s journey. I am a product of not only the East, but also the West; traditions of both have deeply impacted me. After spending twenty years in China and over thirty years in America, I feel I am now ready to share my story with you. It is a story about survival and determination, from darkness to sight; it is a story about the preciousness of freedom and opportunity.
After having taken care of thousands of patients for nearly three decades, I have come to understand that people who live in physical darkness have the most intense appreciation for sight. This illuminates a common theme that I have experienced over and over in my life. As human beings, we tend to take for granted all the things we have until we no longer have them. In fact, many of us (myself included!) spend the rest of our lives trying to recover the things we have lost, dearly wishing we had treasured them so much more when we did have them.
Who appreciates sight the most? Those who are blind. Who appreciates freedom the most? Those who don’t have freedom!
The challenge to all of us here in America today is simply this: can we transcend human history, overcome the inherent weakness of human beings to take things for granted, and become a people who truly appreciate something as precious in life as freedom, before we lose it?
If this autobiography inspires you to be more appreciative, and plants even the smallest kernel of hope in your life when it seems that all hope has been dashed, then the effort that was put into the writing of this book will be worth it.
My own eyes have changed dramatically over the years. From whimsical to heartbroken to fearful to intense to hopeful to joyful and full of love, many emotions have flooded my eyes. Today and forevermore, they are now filled with gratitude. I am thankful to those who have encouraged and helped me in the darkest hours of my life. My eyes are filled with appreciation for the cultural roots and traditions I was taught in China when I was young, and for the opportunity and the gift of faith I received here in the West, which has allowed me to see the heart of God and experience personal transformation over the years. Most importantly, I am indebted for the gift of freedom I received from this great country that I now call home. It is a gift not only for me, but for all of us. From Darkness to Sight is about how that gift of freedom was lost, and the long and hard-fought journey to gain it back.
Part One
Will She See?
Chapter 1
Maria, Part 1
Everyone in the exam room was hushed and tense, waiting for me to tell them whether Maria would ever be able to see.
My heart sank at what I had just discovered, and I wasn’t ready to tell them the bad news. I looked into the damaged eyes of this beautiful young girl and wondered, “Do we really have any chance at all of restoring her sight?”
Across me sat Maria Morari, a fifteen-year-old orphan from Moldova in Eastern Europe. With porcelain skin and rounded features, Maria resembled a young Audrey Hepburn. But she had never seen her own face. As far back as she could remember, she had been blind. Even half-hidden behind the examination equipment, I could sense that Maria was tense and apprehensive. She had traveled nearly nine thousand miles to find out whether I could help her see. Having sight would mean freedom and the ability to function independently. Vision meant hope for her future, which was otherwise terribly bleak.
Maria had been living in an orphanage in Balti, Moldova since she was seven, left behind with many other children whose families were too impoverished to care for them. She never saw her mother again after she entered the orphanage. Maria’s homeland, nestled between Romania and Ukraine, is one of the poorest nations in Europe. Such widespread poverty has not only torn families apart, but also left many people vulnerable to exploitation. Tens of thousands of women and children have been trafficked as sex slaves, never to be heard from again. Such horror was a likely fate for Maria as well, who would soon be sixteen, the maximum age allowed at the orphanage. Would she end up on the streets just like many other orphan girls before her? She wasn’t just young and dependent; she was also blind. What would become of her? I didn’t even want to imagine.
While I have never been physically blind myself, I have known all too well the desperate fear of a dark and uncertain future. I grew up in China during one of the most chaotic and dangerous eras in the nation’s history—the Cultural Revolution. Like Maria, I was well acquainted with pervasive poverty and crushing hopelessness. I knew the longing Maria must have felt for opportunity and freedom. When I was her age, all my hopes for an education and a promising future were stripped away, and I was left fighting for survival. Maria’s plight reminded me so much of those terrible and frightening years of my own life, and now I longed to be able to reassure her that everything would be all right. But all I felt in that moment was doubt and the slimmest hope that she would ever be able to see.
I would never have met Maria if it had not been for Steve and Lynn Hendrich, a couple who had gone to great lengths to bring her to Nashville, Tennessee for medical care. They were determined to pave a path for Maria that wouldn’t lead straight to the streets.
During the summer of 2012, the couple and their children had traveled to Chişinău, the capital of Moldova, on a short-term mission trip with Justice and Mercy International (JMI), an organization based in Franklin, Tennessee. The organization exists to bring justice to the poor, the orphaned, and the abandoned—to children like Maria. The family served at a summer camp outside the capital city. Lynn described to me what they encountered. Beyond the field of yellow sunflowers at the camp’s entrance were squalid conditions, where orphaned and abandoned children spent school breaks. The Hendriches are people of deep faith, and they believe that God loves and cares for orphans. The family wanted to connect with the kids at the camp and to extend this sense of divine love.
When Lynn first saw Maria, she was sitting alone on a bench while other children played nearby. Lynn told me that Maria just looked so dejected and alone. Lynn and an interpreter joined Maria on the bench, where she remained reticent and withdrawn, staring at the ground.
“Hi, Maria; I’m Lynn.”
Maria kept her head down.
“Can I talk to you?” Lynn asked. “I want to see you. Let me see your beautiful face.”
When Maria finally raised her head, Lynn noticed that something was terribly wrong with the young girl’s eyes. No wonder Maria had sat silently in a corner, her head down and her face hidden from view. Her left pupil was lost behind a milky-white scar, and her right eye moved rapidly from side to side, unable to focus on anything. Through an interpreter, Maria told Lynn that as far back as she could remember, she had been blind. She could see nothing out of her left eye, and could see only shadows and light in her remaining right eye, which had also been diminishing rapidly in recent months. She was afraid that she would soon be plunged into total darkness. Being an orphan and having to leave the orphanage soon and being left on her own, the young teen was distraught and had little hope for any joy in her life.
Lynn’s family bonded with Maria during their short stay in Moldova, and they were anxious to help her in any way possible. As soon as the Hendriches returned to the United States, they shared Maria’s story with their local congregation, Rolling Hills Community Church. One church member was so touched by Maria’s story that he contacted his eye doctor, who put the Hendriches in touch with me. Besides my cataract and LASIK surgery practice, I also partner with thirty other eye doctors to provide free eye care through a nonprofit organization called the Wang Foundation for Sight Restoration. Foundation doctors perform complex sight restoration surgeries on patients who not only suffer from severe injuries and blindness, but also have no means to pay for the surgeries. I was deeply moved by what happened to Maria. When I was young, many generous people came to my aid when I needed help, and now I had a chance to do the same for this young teen.
Ge
tting Maria to the U.S. wasn’t easy. For more than a year, I worked with the Hendriches and JMI to complete all the required documents so Maria could be granted a medical visa. What’s more, her mother was still alive, so she needed to be tracked down so we could get her consent. Finally the day came when Maria’s school principal brought her the good news: she was bound for America! The Hendriches, whom she had met fifteen months prior, were going to help her come to the U.S. for medical care provided by the Wang Foundation, care that might allow her to see for the first time in her life!
I was thrilled to hear that Maria was finally on her way to the States, and I couldn’t wait to see her. I had read her medical files and knew her condition would be very tough to treat, but I was determined to do my very best.
On Monday, October 21, 2013, I was sitting in my office when one of our technicians rushed in.
“She’s here.”
The technician didn’t even have to say Maria’s name. I knew. My heartbeat quickened. My entire staff and I had been anticipating this moment for more than a year. And here she was, at last.
I walked quickly to the waiting area, expecting to be met with excitement and enthusiasm, maybe even a big hug. But to my surprise, everyone was sitting so still and quiet. There was Maria, perched timidly on the red couch, hunched over and fidgeting with her fingers. Lynn leaned in as if to console her, and Steve sat nearby. He and Lynn looked up and smiled as I walked in.
“Dr. Wang, this is Maria,” Lynn said.
A local interpreter from JMI spoke softly to Maria in her native Romanian tongue. Maria looked up timidly, her eyes white and scarred. She shook my hand feebly. I could tell she was very nervous.
“Welcome, Maria! Let me examine your eyes,” I said.
I led the group back to the examination room, Maria clinging to Lynn’s arm as she ushered Maria down the hallway.
From the limited medical records I had obtained from Moldova, I knew that Maria’s left eye had a detached retina, likely caused by premature birth and malnutrition, which left no hope of any vision in that eye. Her right eye had an advanced, blinding cataract and a history of recurrent inflammation. But once I looked at her eyes through the microscope, I saw the truth. Even though I’d had a general idea of the damage to her right eye prior to her arrival, I wasn’t prepared for what I saw. Maria’s condition was much worse than I had feared. Besides the severe cataract in her right eye, she also had a scarred cornea, a deformed iris, a constricted pupil, and damage to the eye from long-term inflammation. It was practically a lost cause. What would I tell Steve and Lynn? I didn’t want to disappoint them or Maria, since she had come such a long way and they had so much hope.
The examination itself was tough also. Her eyes fluttered rapidly from side to side, a common trait in people who have been blind since birth. Trying to focus on her eyes as they moved made me feel nauseous. Examining through the scarred cornea, I confirmed the retinal detachment in her left eye. I explained to Steve and Lynn that without a properly functioning retina, Maria would never see out of that eye. A surgical procedure to correct a detached retina would normally have already been done in countries more affluent than Moldova. It frustrated me to know that in some parts of the world, even today, so many people still lack access to such basic medical care.
Maria’s right eye now remained our only hope. But the cataract was so dense and opaque that I couldn’t see beyond it to assess the health of the inside of her eye, the retina, and the optic nerve. What’s more, even if the inside of her eye was healthy, the scarred cornea, deformed iris, and inflammatory damage would also make any attempt to surgically remove the cataract very difficult and risky.
I took a deep breath. If I had known just how bad her eyes were, I might have said from the beginning that it wasn’t worth bringing her nearly halfway around the globe. But she was here now, and there was no turning back. I just sat there, holding back the news I dreaded disclosing.
My biggest fear in moving forward with surgery was that I might let so many people down, including Maria herself and all her supporters. All the time and effort it took to bring her here, all the immense expectations, and yet it now seemed very likely that all of our efforts would be futile. But like so many other times in my life, I didn’t want to give up. I had to trust that God must have arranged all these for a reason, even though that purpose wasn’t clear to us just yet.
I sat there praying silently myself. “God, I can only assume you have something in store. You must have a plan for this young teen, who has come all this way and is now sitting here in front of me.”
Looking up at Maria and the Hendriches, I said, “Let’s finish the exam.”
Since I couldn’t see through the cataract, we would need to conduct an ultrasound test to see if the retina in her right eye was also detached.
“Is this the decisive test?” asked Steve.
“Yes, it is. If the retina is detached in Maria’s right eye as well, then we will have no hope of restoring any sight at all. If the retina is still intact, however, we have a chance.”
“Do you think it’s likely to be detached?” he asked.
I paused for a moment, reluctant to admit what I knew. “It’s highly likely, given her premature birth, malnutrition, poor vision in the right eye ever since birth, lack of adequate eye care, and the fact that she has already had a detached retina in the other eye.”
We knew we were facing a nearly impossible situation. We huddled together in the exam room, and I prayed that God would help us accept His will for the outcome of the ultrasound imaging. I was essentially bracing myself and the Hendriches for what would most likely be the ultimate disappointment.
After about 30 minutes, the ultrasound test was completed. Before I examined the results, I took a deep breath. As I exhaled, I looked down at the printout. There was no retinal detachment in her only remaining right eye! Thank God! Relief washed over me. I snapped the folder shut and went to find Maria, Steve, and Lynn. We narrowly survived the first major test and our journey could now continue, but there were still more obstacles to overcome before we would have the chance to give Maria any sight.
I explained to the group that, by the grace of God, the first major step was a success, but it was only the first of ten steps in this extremely difficult process of restoring Maria’s sight. I explained to them that the whole process was like tossing a coin; each time it landed, it had to be heads in order to continue to the next toss. And this had to occur ten times in a row. Each of the tosses had only two possible outcomes, success or failure. The failure of any toss along the way would end the entire effort. We had to make it through all the remaining nine tosses in order for Maria to have any chance of seeing again.
“What are the odds that this whole process will succeed?” asked Steve.
“Very slim.”
“What happens if we fail?”
“She’ll likely lose what little sight she has right now, and will be cast into total darkness for the rest of her life. Right now she can at least see light.” Then I added, “However, if we’re successful, Maria may be able to see the world around her, and herself, for the first time in her life.”
Steve and Lynn looked at each other hesitantly. We sat in silence, feeling the gravity of the situation and the tremendous impact this decision would have on Maria and her future.
“You don’t have to make a decision right now. Please go home and pray about it,” I said.
I wish I could have been more reassuring, but I had to prepare everyone for the worst. Deep down, however, I was still harboring a slim hope that we might succeed. I had an inkling that God was up to something because He had brought us all this far. Though a successful outcome seemed nearly impossible through human effort alone, I believed God could step in and reveal His strength. Over the years in my life, I had learned time and again, that it is often in especially difficult situations like this, when our own attempts seem to have reached their limit, that we really have the chance to encounter
God’s true power.
After days of praying and careful consideration, I have decided to recommend the surgery to Maria. She and the Hendriches concurred. Even though we were all aware of the risk of the surgery and that the chance of success was slim, we knew that God was in control!
On Thursday, November 7, 2013, a bit over two weeks after that initial examination of Maria’s eyes, we came together again at an outpatient surgery center near my office in downtown Nashville.
We had arrived at a crossroads. Inside the surgery center, a bold red line on the floor marked the entrance to the operating room area, a line no one could cross unless properly scrubbed and committed to surgery.
“This is it,” I said. “The point of no return.”
After I went over the surgical plan one last time, everyone gathered in a circle and held hands around Maria to pray. Maria had been prepped for surgery and was lying on a gurney, wearing a powder-blue surgical cap and covered by a white blanket. Steve and Lynn prayed for me to receive wisdom and guidance during the surgery. Knowing that we had such a slim chance of success, I prayed in earnest that God would help us do our best and that He would grant us a sense of peace, regardless of the outcome. In essence, I was preparing the group to accept what was likely inevitable failure.
As I walked through the doors to the operating room, which was the color of soft sunlight, I let go of all the anxiety and nervousness I had been feeling. Now was the time for complete focus. Maria’s vision and her future were in my hands. As I looked at Maria, blind and asleep on the stretcher, I was reminded of myself at her age, when my own future was crushed with little warning. I remembered vividly and painfully the darkness in which I was confined for many horrible years, and I resolved to do my best so that Maria would not also be trapped in such darkness.