Front Burner - Weekend Listen: An attempt to explain what vision loss feels like by exploring how it sounds
Episode Date: November 30, 2024People don’t think Graham Isador is losing his sight. They think he’s an asshole.Short Sighted is an attempt to explain what vision loss feels like by exploring how it sounds.Written and hosted by... master storyteller Graham Isador, the show’s mini episodes are an intimate and irreverent look at accessibility and its personal impacts.Get lost in someone else’s life. From a mysterious childhood spent on the run, to a courageous escape from domestic violence, each season of Personally invites you to explore the human experience in all its complexity, one story — or season — at a time. This is what it sounds like to be human.More episodes of Personally are available at: lnk.to/pJDdjXaz
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Hey everybody, Jamie here. We have a special bonus episode for you today from another podcast that attempts to explain what vision loss feels like by exploring how it sounds.
Graham Isidore has a degenerative eye disease called keratoconus, and it's slowly taking his vision.
Because there are no visual identifiers for the disability, people don't think he's going blind.
And instead, they end up think he's going blind. And instead, they end up
thinking he's a jerk. Problems due to his vision include misspelling words in emails, the inability
to recognize people from a distance, and even the way his face looks during Zoom calls. There are
things that are attributed to a snooty personality or general carelessness rather than a disability.
To try and combat that perception,
he started talking about his vision loss in public
and in his podcast, Short Sighted.
The show is meant to give a sighted audience some insight
into the experience of low vision people.
Now here's the first episode of Short Sighted.
My name is Graham Isidore.
You're listening to Shortsighted.
Sensitivity to light. In the winter of 2019, I spent three months auditioning to be the host of Breakfast Television in Montreal.
When I got the call to audition, I was actually really confused.
This is because for the past decade or so,
I've built a public persona that's entirely dependent on seeming aloof and mysterious.
And aloof and mysterious are two qualities you don't generally look for in a morning television host.
On the call with the producer, I told them that I was grateful for the opportunity,
but I also asked if they are familiar with my work.
And the producer stopped me right there.
They said, yeah, we know who you are.
For those of you who don't know me,
my name is Graham Isidore.
I'm a writer based in Toronto.
My work frequently appears at places like GQ and The Globe and Mail,
but I think primarily what I'm known for is my time as a contributing editor at Vice.
At Vice, I would pen these long-form confessional essays, trying to relate personal anecdotes to broader societal themes.
I would also undergo eating challenges, where I'd try to consume as much food as I could in as little time as humanly possible.
I once ate 50 chicken McNuggets in
37 minutes and 12 seconds. So what I'm trying to say is I'm a real serious journalist.
I'm basically Peter Mansbridge. Anyway, on the phone, the producer said some complimentary
things about my work. And then they said something that to this day, I'm never going to forget.
We want to take breakfast television in an edgy new direction.
They wanted a morning show with attitude.
The Zack Snyder Cut of daytime news.
And I was going to be the person to take them there.
Edgy.
It's such a strange and relative term, right?
People call me edgy because I have a penchant for vintage clothing and I use the word fuck in casual conversation.
Comparatively, when I think edgy, I think of a promoter I met named Kyle.
Kyle's version of a party story is explaining how one time he shot a guy in the hand because that guy was trying to steal his cocaine.
But me, Kyle, edgy,
tomato, tomato, right? Aside from the general tone of the thing, there were a lot of reasons
why the breakfast television gig seemed like an odd fit. One of the reasons is that I have
a progressive eye disease called keratoconus. I was diagnosed with keratoconus at 13 after the realization that
my glasses were no longer correcting my sight. The doctors scheduled a number of appointments,
tests, and follow-ups, and eventually the optometrist sat me down with my mom.
Over a large stack of paper, they explained things in a hushed tone.
Most eyeballs are shaped like a basketball, and yours are shaped like a football.
Do you understand what this means?
It wasn't the most medical of descriptions.
Later, at home, I found out that keratoconus is a progressive thinning of the cornea.
The eye gradually bulges outward, causing blurred vision, sensitivity to light, ghost images, irritation,
and eye pain. Most of the time, keratoconus isn't actually that big of a deal. The disease stops on
its own. But some people need to wear specialty contact lenses. Others require invasive surgery.
Over time, if the cornea continues to thin, the eyes don't respond well to treatment at all.
During these stages, cornea transplant may be necessary. Very rarely, it results in legal
blindness. Practically, for the job, my eye condition means I would never be able to do
something like read a teleprompter. The producer assured me this wouldn't be a problem. They'd
make accommodations, which was great because there was reasons to take the gig. Reason number one,
the most obvious reason. After asking around, I was told that the BT job started at $70,000 a year
with three weeks off paid vacation and benefits. Now at that point in my life, I was living with
three roommates in a two-bedroom apartment and my retirement plan was to die young.
and my retirement plan was to die young.
70k felt like a lot of money.
The second reason is a bit more personal.
Since around the age of 11, I've had this giant, gaping, existential hole that can really only be filled with external validation.
And I thought, hey, maybe being a TV host might fix that.
So I agreed to audition.
And together, the producer and I tried to create an edgy version of breakfast television
in order to impress the producer's boss.
But the biggest problem with this concept is that
edgy breakfast television is not a very good idea.
It's just not.
The two things are fundamentally opposed to one another.
It's like trying to The two things are fundamentally opposed to one another. It's
like trying to create a Christian rock band. Best case scenario, you end up as Creed.
But I want the job. So, with arms wide open, I go through a series of interviews. I pitch a number
of different segments I could do on the show, bringing my devil-may-care attitude to local news,
weather, and traffic. In-your-face
reminders about regional, charity,
bake sales.
The iStuff gets mentioned once or twice,
but neither side makes a big deal of it.
With the momentum of the addition,
there are a lot of other things to focus on.
And finally, after weeks
of work, everything comes down
to a screen test.
There are days in your life where the stakes are so high that all the details are kind of painted on to the back of your eyelids. To me, the screen
test was one of those days. I was acutely aware that if things went well, my life would dramatically
change. So, if you can imagine it. Despite the show being based in Montreal,
the audition takes place at Toronto's Young and Dundas Square.
Like Times Square, but Canadian.
Walking up to the studios, massive screens flank the building,
projecting a wash of color over the early morning commuters.
There's a chirp of a pedestrian cross the grind of a streetcar track.
I get to the doors and security
signs me in. They gesture towards an elevator and I make my way over. The trip upwards feels like
it's in slow motion. When the elevator chimes open, it's like walking into a movie. There are
cameras all around, televisions flashing information, scattered desks for weather and traffic.
I'm taking everything in when a handler introduces themselves. Someone takes me to a dressing room
for makeup. After a few minutes of powder and paint, I'm left alone to prepare. I move closer
to the mirror to actually get a good look at myself. My suit is midnight blue, a red silk
pocket square for a pop of color, a crew neck tee with a waft of chest hair spilling over the collar to signal that,
yes, I'm a bit dangerous.
Yeah, I'm edgy.
And standing there, if I squint, I can almost see it.
For the first time in my life, I believe that this could actually work.
Then there's a knock on the door and we're off. Showtime. On set, I'm looking over my notes when someone from the team
walks in. Hey, so great to have you. During the first segment, we're going to need you to read a
quote from the premiere. It's on the TV over there. We made the font big.
Oh, um, I've got this thing with my eyes. Uh, there's this thing with my eyes and it means that, uh, reading anything from the screen is, um, we made the font big. So yeah.
So, yeah.
Yeah, thank you.
It's just that I have this eye thing and it's...
Well, you know how most eyeballs are shaped like a basketball?
It just might be hard for me to read and...
Oh, cool, no problem.
Just do the best you can.
And I will do the best I can. I I will do the best I can.
I will.
It's no big deal.
In the Dragon's Den,
a simple pitch can lead to a life-changing connection.
Watch new episodes of Dragon's Den free on CBC Gem.
Brought to you in part by National Angel Capital Organization,
empowering Canada's entrepreneurs through angel investment and industry connections.
Hi, it's Ramit Sethi here.
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I've been talking about money for 20 years.
I've talked to millions of people and I have some startling numbers to share with you.
Did you know that of the people I speak to, 50% of them do not know their own household income?
That's not a typo.
50%.
That's because money is confusing.
In my new book and podcast, Money for Couples,
I help you and your partner create a financial vision together.
To listen to this podcast, just search for Money for Couples.
During the segment, I'm supposed to make banter with a co-host.
The cameras roll and I start talking.
I'm talking and there are definitely words coming out of my mouth, but my mind is spinning.
I'm tripping out on how I'm supposed to read the quote.
The quote from the television with the big font.
The big font, I don't know if I could read and it's coming up.
The quote is coming up.
And despite the ironic detachment I've used to protect myself from the idea of rejection
during this entire process with the producer and the interviews and the segments, I do
want the job.
I do.
I want this job.
This job would change my life.
And if the job is going to happen, then I need to be able to read the sentence from
the television, read it real good, like an actual news anchor. But my eyes,
my eyes are sore. And then suddenly there are words on the screen and
I squint and I try to make out what's there, but it's a blur.
And I stumble over my words and I squint and I turn my head to where the camera is directly down the lens
and it feels like everyone in the room is looking at me
even though I can't make out what their expressions are.
And then we move on.
About a week later, I get a message from the producer.
They thank me for my effort, they appreciate all the work I put in,
but they won't be needing my services at this time.
If something comes up in the future, they'll be sure to be in touch.
They cancelled Breakfast Television in Montreal a couple months after my audition.
Honestly, the screen test is just one
of a dozen near misses throughout my career, but it's probably the one I think about the most.
Not because of the job. Because of the blur. And the television.
About the screen test. Sometimes people get mad at the breakfast television folks when I tell that story.
I don't think the BT team did anything wrong.
I didn't know how to ask for what I needed at that moment
and they didn't know how to give it to me.
I didn't ask for more accommodations
because until that point, I didn't know I needed them.
Plus they did make an effort.
Big fun, you know?
But that moment was the first time I had to admit to myself,
maybe I needed more help than big font had to offer.
The screen test was this realization that things had now progressed to the point where I couldn't
just brush them off. Some stuff I might not be able to do. Other stuff I was going to need to
do differently. I might need more help. And if I wanted to get that help stuff I was going to need to do differently. I might need more help.
And if I wanted to get that help, I was going to need to get better at explaining exactly what my
vision is. People tend to think of sight loss as an all or nothing prospect. Blindness as complete
darkness. Vision as everything else. But for half a million visually impaired Canadians, it exists
on a spectrum. I'm on the less severe end of that spectrum, for sure.
I still run into problems.
Because my condition is progressive, I can't always predict what those problems will be or how I might deal with them.
I'd say it's a know-it-when-you-see-it scenario, except it's literally not that.
Still, whenever I talk about this,
I'm expected to qualify its impact in some easily digestible fashion.
The challenge is,
trying to explain vision loss is sort of like trying to describe a really great meal.
We can discuss flavors and textures, salty, sweet, umami, whatever.
But until you've actually tasted the thing, it's hard to know what it's like.
Another example. It's like television ads for perfume. Want to know what Burberry smells like?
Here's Adam Driver as a minotaur. So it's difficult to describe vision loss using words,
like it's difficult to describe smells using film and just showing everyone a photo of what things are like
doesn't really capture what the day-to-day experience is
which got me thinking
what would happen if we didn't really rely on words?
Keratoconus causes an irregular astigmatism
the cornea bulges outward
edges are soft
objects blur at a distance, things
begin to bleed together. I get shapes, colors, shadows without the details. Keratoconus causes
double vision. Outlines of words behind words. Buildings, cars, people, everything with a ghost version of itself, slightly askew.
My eyes get tired, dry, and sore. Keratoconus can make you sensitive to light. At nighttime,
every light source has a glare. Halos all around, headlights on cars, street lamps, signs.
around, headlights on cars, street lamps, signs, Monet painting. I know it's there,
but bits get lost. For the past year, I've been putting together this show.
In each episode, I'm going to try to explain what sight loss feels like through exploring how it sounds.
Throughout the series, you'll hear stories from low-vision dancers, surfers, and visual artists.
People are like, wow, it must be so dangerous.
I'm like, have you tried to cross an intersection lately
with your eyes closed?
Like, this is what we do every day.
But I thought, hang on, how can I make blindness,
the perceptions of blindness, the creativity of blindness,
accessible to not only blind people,
but sighted people as well?
This is part of the mental health aspect of losing vision,
which nobody talks about.
We'll bring you through the theater,
onto the operating table, and into the ocean.
By listening to a world
that doesn't center sight, it's a glimpse
at a whole new perspective.
My perspective. A new way to see
things without seeing it all.
I hope you'll join me.
On the next episode of Shortsighted,
we're going to talk about how people don't think I'm losing my sight.
They think I'm an asshole.
Shortsighted was created and hosted by me, Graham Isidore.
Editing and sound design by Christopher Ross Hewitt.
Music and additional sound design by Ron Kelly.
For CBC Podcast, the producer is
Leah Simone Bowen. The sound designer is Julia Whitman. The coordinating producer is Roshni Nair.
Kate Evans is the senior producer. Tanya Springer is senior manager. And the executive producers
are Cecil Fernandez and Chris Oak. The director of CBC Podcast is Arif Noorani.
and Chris Oak.
The director of CBC Podcast is Arif Noorani.
Okay, that was the first episode of Short Sighted.
If you like what you heard,
episode two is waiting for you right now.
Find and follow Short Sighted on CBC's Personally feed so you don't miss an episode.
Just search for Personally wherever you get your podcasts.
For more CBC Podcasts, go to cbc.ca slash podcasts.