Cape Central's Nussbaum receives essay award

Sarah Elizabeth (Lizzie) Nussbaum, a senior at Cape Central High School, is receiving plenty of good news these days. Not only is she the recipient of one of the highest academic honors for high school seniors--National Merit Finalist--she also was recently notified that she won first-place in Southeast University's interscholastic essay contest! Cape Central High School English Teacher Abigail Beckwith, who entered the essay on behalf of Nussbaum, praised the young writer in a message to her colleagues, thanking "all of you who have nurtured Lizzie's writing talent."

Although Nussbaum has not yet chosen a college, her long-range plan is to become a doctor. She said "she has enjoyed her years at Cape Central High School" and she credits "hard work" and "not backing down from a challenge" as the keys to her success. The essay is reprinted below.

My World

My world is not the same as yours. When I walk at night, streetlights are framed by a golden halo. When I head into a movie theatre, I take someone's hand for fear of walking into something. When I go to a sleepover, I always double and triple check that I've brought along my medication. My world is an endless battery of tests, a merry-go-round of new prescriptions, and above all, a secret to all but a select few. My world is full of strange, alien-sounding words: congenital cataracts, juvenile glaucoma, strabismus, astigmatism, amblyopia, and dozens more. Every day, I try and push these words to the side and be like every other person. The only distinction between me and anyone else is my keener appreciation for sight that comes with almost losing it.

I was born with cataracts and had my first surgery before I was a two weeks old. At three weeks, I had my first pair of glasses and I've worn them ever since. I distinctly remember my first few weeks of Kindergarten where I endured daily taunts about my glasses. They were an easy target: nearly two centimeters thick, the glass enlarged my eyes to twice their actual size, giving me a bug-eyed appearance that other kids found hilarious. Even though I loved new things, I began to hate school. I begged my mom not to make me go, or at the very least to get me contacts. I suffered from more than just teasing. My entire childhood was marked with an annual surgery as doctors worked to fix this or that, tweak their last design or try a new one. Every surgery meant not being allowed to run, jump, or skip with the other kids. It meant weeks of wearing an eye patch, of walking into doors and having my homework read aloud, of medication and strange dreams filled with amorphous shapes and colorless blobs. It meant pain and fear and my parents praying in the lobby where they thought I couldn't see them. It meant fearing I would awaken to blackness and that when I closed my eyes they would never fully reopen.

Yet, I made it through. Or more accurately, I'm making it through. I haven't had a surgery in over five years. I am comfortable in the dark and can easily find my way around places with my eyes closed. I've learned to ask people for help when I need it and to limit myself in driving and sports. I do my best and try not to call attention to myself. At the end of the day, it's doubtful there will ever be a miracle cure for what I have. The best I can do is manage my condition and do my best to take care of myself. I look for the positive. I view my glasses as a fashion accessory and match my pair to my outfit. I brag to my friends about not worrying about under-eye circles because my glasses cover them, and recently, I began a medication that has the convenient side effect of growing lashes. My vision loss is something I can never truly overcome, but it is a loss to which I can adapt and from which I can learn.

Some days, I sit and stare hungrily at a sunset, drinking in the colors. At the back of my mind, I always have the reminder that as I get older the colors will only dim, the sharp lines fade. Very few people consider how their lives would change if they lost their vision. I consider it all the time. I yearn to see new things all the time with the knowledge that if I don't see them now, I may never see them. My love of adventure, my passion for travel, my yearning for new experiences all come from the acute knowledge that I can't put things off "for another day." I live in the moment and do the best with what I have. My world is not the same as yours.