India Herbs

Publication: Dallas Morning News

Author: Ian McCann

Date: 5 March, 2007  

The students in Dee Lancaster’s Tuesday morning yoga class at the Rowlett Community Centre are, for the most part, a typical mix – from people just learning to those who have practiced for years.
 
Karen Romero (right), with mother Rosa Gilyard (left), takes yoga at the Rowlett Community Centre. Her instructor says having her in the class is enlightening. But one, Karen Romero, is an inspiration to Ms. Lancaster and to her classmates.

“It helps them to know that she’s blind. ‘She’s trying hard – I can do it,’ ” Ms. Lancaster said. “For me, it makes me even want to do more and to help other people who can do this. It’s been enlightening.”

The Rowlett woman’s journey from life as a bright young woman studying chemical engineering at Texas Tech to one as a bright 34-year-old who reads Braille and has a guide dog, began in April 1994, her third year of college.

The first changes seemed innocuous – something didn’t feel quite right, Ms. Romero said, and she was having trouble concentrating on her schoolwork – so she called her mom, Rosa Gilyard.

“I told her to take it easy,” Ms. Gilyard said. “I didn’t want her to get too stressed, to have a breakdown or something.”

Ms. Romero returned to Garland and began working at a doctor’s office that spring. Then, in September 1995, she began having a burning sensation in her left eye, and doctors diagnosed optic neuritis. But a few weeks later, Ms. Romero couldn’t see out of the eye, and an MRI showed a tumor on her optic nerve.

“She went in on a Friday, then on Monday they said, ‘You’re having major brain surgery,’ ” Ms. Gilyard said.

Aggressive chemotherapy and other treatment continued through June 1996, but she had already lost vision in her left eye.

“I cried to my doctors,” Ms. Romero said. “I thought, ‘I’ll never survive. But at least I still have my right eye.’ ”

After periods of remission, the cancer returned, this time affecting her right eye. She lost the last of her vision in December 1999 though not before fixing in her memory an image of her young child.

“Sometimes I get sad because I want to see my son,” she said. “The last thing I remember seeing is my son’s eyebrows.”

Isaac, now 8, is part of the support network that Ms. Romero says helped keep her strong through treatment that continued off and on for a decade, until mid-2004. He was born after doctors told Ms. Romero that the treatment had left her infertile.

“He came for a reason,” Ms. Gilyard said. “She was never supposed to have children.”

Now, her path has taken her to weekly yoga classes, which Ms. Romero said have helped to improve her balance even after less than two months.

“We were a little hesitant,” Ms. Gilyard said. “She was reluctant – ‘What if I hold the class up? What if they get upset?’ ”

Instead, classmates have welcomed Ms. Romero.

“It’s such an individual thing anyway,” Rowlett resident Diana Gardner said. “We’re all at different levels.”

Classmates said they’re amazed at the deep connection between Ms. Romero and her mother.

They arrive together most weeks and occupy a place on the floor near Ms. Lancaster. Through the hour, Ms. Romero occasionally whispers to her mom, asking whether she’s doing a particular pose properly. Most often, she’s close but might need a slight adjustment, so Ms. Gilyard helps to guide her daughter’s arms and legs into the proper positions.

Ms. Lancaster and Ms. Romero’s classmates said they’ve seen a marked improvement even in the short time she has been taking lessons.

“Sometimes when she can hold the position longer than I can, I think, ‘Wow!’ ” said Paula Ellis, a Rowlett resident. “Not being able to see knocks your equilibrium off. It’s hard to imagine it until you try it.”

Of course, Ms. Romero and Ms. Gilyard said, they look for neither sympathy nor protection from the world.

“People try to coddle her too much,” Ms. Gilyard said. “She’s always been a mama’s baby, but I’ve learned how strong she is. I know what my daughter is capable of.”

And while Ms. Romero sometimes has wondered why – why the blindness, why the cancer – her mother knows they’ve been fortunate.

“It’s taught us there’s someone worse off than you,” Ms. Gilyard said.

“Thank you, God, that she has good doctors. Thank you, God, that I have the means to provide that.”

Trackback URI | Comments RSS