I've never really had good eyesight, which could be the reason I struggled so much in school.

Because of my height, I was usually assigned a seat in the back of the class. I called it the "End Zone" because I was surrounded by boys.

At the end of the day, I asked if I could stand close to the blackboard and copy the things I couldn't see during class. This system worked well until I moved to another state and attended the largest high school around. (My graduating class was 1,150!) The campus was spread out, which meant there was no time to hang around and copy off the black board. Over the years, I had grown even taller, and it looked liked I'd be assigned to the "End Zone" indefinitely.

After graduation, I landed a wonderful job right away as a Directory Assistance Operator. However, my first order of business was to get my eyes checked.

The ophthalmologist was aghast. He couldn't believe I was behind the wheel of a car. Little did I know at the time, he had overlooked something very important, and my genetic eye disease would go undetected for decades.

It was little things at first: loss of night vision, sun sensitivity, and bothersome flashes of light. I couldn't go outside without sunglasses, regardless. Still, I managed to function as a wife, mother, grandmother, and CEO of my family's manufacturing business.

Fast forward to May, 2009. I was walking from the YMCA to my car, fumbling in my oversized purse for sunglasses. The sun hit my eyes and that was it. I couldn't see a thing. I felt like the Apostle Paul on the road to Damascus. Thankfully, someone from my water aerobics class saw me groping and offered help. "I just need to make it to my car," I said, as I thanked her.

I rifled through my glove box where a backup pair of sunglasses was kept, and put them on. My eyesight started to return after a few minutes, but not fully.

I thought I was doing okay until I merged onto the interstate. Suddenly, my side mirrors and display panels disappeared into dark shadows. I knew then, something was terribly wrong. I pulled aside and called my husband from the car.

Frightening as it was, I wasn't convinced it was permanent, but went ahead and met with my eye doctor the following day.

I'll never forget the look on the face of the ophthalmologist after he scanned my retinas. He grabbed my hand and pressed a business card into my palm. "I am sending your records to a nearby retina institute. This particular doctor is one of the best in the state. Get in to see him as soon as possible."

A week later it was confirmed by the specialist: I had a rare case of retinitis pigmentosa. You know it's bad when the doctor cries with you as he's delivering the diagnosis.

Because it came on so suddenly, the diagnosis was rather broad.

"Sally, you may have one to ten years before you go completely blind. There's a small chance you'll retain some sight for your later years. I'm so sorry, but there is no known cure at this time."

I cried so hard, I soaked my blouse. Actually, I cried for the longest time, and my family with me. It was a lot to take in. Big changes were required right away, and a most difficult one was to give up my driver's license.

It's been eleven years, and I still have four percent of my vision remaining. I am semi-retired from the co-ownership of my company, and have learned to rise above my crushing disability. I have my faith, a loving husband, and family that grants me support in my newfound career as a writer. Just recently, I published my first novella with Kindle Books, "What The Blind Girl Saw."

My second novella in the blind girl series is posting bi-weekly here on FanStory. I hope you'll check out "Double Blind."

I've shared my personal story with anyone who would listen, and crafted it into my motto. "Everyone has something to overcome, whether it's fear, hardship, sickness, or a disability. I overcome my blindness every day by writing."

My name is Sally Law, and I am an overcomer!