Jaguar in the garden

Self-driving cars, bionic retinas, sight-restoring stem cells, gene therapy, talking phones. If there's ever a time to go blind, this seems to be it. There is so much hope on the horizon that it's tempting to put my head in the sand for a while and wait until science waves its magic wand. Or at the very least, drives me around in a snazzy car while I sit back, relax and enjoy the view with my Google Glasses...

However, when I saw a new consultant in San Francisco on Friday, she said it was very much time to be 'prepared'. My good left eye is going to go the same way as my right eye very soon. Apparently, Stargardt's disease is nothing if not symmetrical and my days of relying on my left eye are numbered.

So, alarm bells ringing and with a new sense of purpose, Steve, the girls and I went to a low vision conference on Saturday. We thought we'd save time by stopping by the venue so that I could register on our way to a friend of Sophie's birthday party. Bad plan. In our rush to get out of the house, we didn’t think through how Sophie would fare beyond keeping her at a safe distance from all the dogs, canes and the whizzy computer screens on display.

Predictably, Sophie’s eyes widened in terror when she saw the guide dogs (we're hoping her aversion to dogs is just a phase) and it was no surprise that she wanted to know what the canes were all about. But the look of panic when we reminded her that my eyes are bad stopped me in my tracks.

Since I was diagnosed with Stargardt's  a couple of years ago, I've spent hours agonizing over how different things will be for the girls growing up. I feel so sad that I won't be able to  read stories to them or see them smile, or help with homework, or catch a ball, do jigsaws, or help choose a prom dress if we're still in the US by then (and if they'd let me anyway!). But on Saturday, I suddenly realised that all of these things only matter if we let them matter. Now, more than ever before, there must be plenty of ways around them. Probably even an app or two. All Sophie and Alice need to know is that I'm fine, and as long as that's the case, then the rest will into place.

And it's also good for me to remember that while I may be dragging my heels about adapting to the situation, Sophie is far quicker off the mark. Not every toddler has to tell her mother what she’s looking at (apparently, we had a jaguar in the garden the other day), what she’s doing or how she’s feeling, but she’s taking it all in her stride. She’ll  even describe to me exactly what she's doing when she's being really naughty. For now, at least!