When the campaign ends, on May 10, the top vote-getter will win a trip for two to our VISIONS 2013 conference in Baltimore. As I write this, 32 nominees have received more than 3,200 votes, but we have a couple weeks to go. So if you haven’t yet, please nominate and vote.

Meanwhile, there’s no way we can recognize everyone on the front lines – there are literally millions of them. But we can offer a sampling. Below, you’ll find three people we consider FLFs, along with links to FFB stories covering their work. I urge you to take a look.

	Eric Fulton – One of many in a family affected by retinitis pigmentosa, Eric is a communications manager, a father of two and a proactive supporter of the Foundation. Over three years, his VisionWalk team, Walking Into Walls, raised roughly $15,000. He’s also an active member, in Maryland, of the Montgomery County VisionWalk leadership committee who’s served as event chair and social media and marketing chair.
	Dr. José Sahel – Based at the Institut de la Vision in Paris, France, Dr. Sahel is a Foundation-funded researcher involved in many vision-saving projects. Most recently, he was awarded an FFB grant to develop a gene therapy that would keep cones – retinal cells providing central and daytime vision – alive in people affected by various retinal diseases.
	The Ferreiras – Since their son, J.J., was diagnosed with Leber congenital amaurosis, New Yorkers Jason and Jennifer Ferreira have wasted no time in furthering FFB’s cause—first as VisionWalk participants, then as co-founders of two annual Foundation events. “Pitching for a Cure,” held at Yankees Stadium, has raised $70,000 thus far, and two “Una Vision Para El Futuro” (or “A Vision for the Future”) dinners have garnered $675,000. Jennifer and Jason are now FFB national trustees who encourage all parents of children with retinal diseases to get involved in any way possible.

Just a reminder: If there’s someone you know doing something similar to the folks above, check out our FLF page on Facebook for instructions on how to nominate and vote. Or you can use the button below.

Living in the Philippines at the time, we drove to Clark Air Force Base, where the doctor gave the tentative diagnosis of retinitis pigmentosa. I then went back to the United States with Dad – a retired New York City police detective working in security abroad – and the doctors gave the no-doubts confirmation of Usher syndrome. My parents were devastated.

I don’t know if it was denial as a form of coping, but I was determined to live my life to the fullest. With support from my parents and close friends, I learned to constantly adapt to different countries, cultures, religions, schools and languages. It made me resilient and tenacious.

I returned with my family to the States in the early 1970s, when the RP Foundation was just getting started. My parents became strong advocates for what is now the Foundation Fighting Blindness while searching the world for a cure. Meanwhile, I entered my third high school, where the students thought I was aloof because I couldn’t see or hear many of their greetings.

In college, I earned a joint bachelor’s degree in international relations and economics, and then began working for the federal government. My parents encouraged me to do so, as this was before enactment of the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) and they worried about job security. But what I struggled with most was the uncertainty of when I would lose my vision. During meetings, my mind wandering, I’d ask myself questions like, “Do I renew the newspaper subscription for a year or six months?”

Then I lost both of my parents at a relatively young age. Shortly before my dad died, I promised him I would be OK. I’ve tried to live up to that promise ever since.

In my late thirties, I made one of the hardest, and best, decisions of my life: I got a guide dog. His name was Beau, and he renewed my sense of independence. No longer did I bump into people or objects. We even made history together when, in 1997, we were denied access to the Senate floor. My boss, Senator Ron Wyden, claimed this was a violation of the intent of the ADA. A public outcry and national headlines ensued, and, thanks to a rule change, Beau and I soon found ourselves on the Senate floor.

In my forties, I married a wonderful man who encouraged me to go back to school. A couple years later, I exited Harvard University with a master’s degree in public administration, another dream come true. But then I rapidly lost the remainder of my vision. During a tour of Glacier National Park, I realized I could no longer see and found myself crying, grieving for my loss. Work became a struggle, and I suffered from anxiety and depression.

But, eventually, that passed, as I tallied the things I can be thankful for – a loving husband, great friends, a trustworthy guide dog and good health. Another is my ongoing involvement with FFB. Now on its board of directors, I see the inroads being made into research – gene therapy, retinal chips, stem cell technology and more.

I believe, however, that without additional federal funding for Usher syndrome and other retinal diseases, finding cures will be delayed. I encourage everyone to contact their representatives in Congress and let them know that federal funding for medical research should be a priority.

And if you have a retinal disease, empower yourself. Take advantage of tools such as a cane, a guide dog and the latest assistive technologies. Stay ahead of the continuous cycle of lost vision by getting orientation and mobility training, even before you need it. And whenever you find yourself thinking “I cannot do this,” do it.

The challenges never end. Last year, I had the opportunity to travel to Dubai on business, which, because of the long flight, I had to do without my current dog guide, Finnegan. As fearful as I was, I knew that if I didn’t go, I’d close the door on a great experience – my first visit to the Middle East. So with a cane, and relying on strangers, I successfully navigated the trip, from beginning to end.

Pictured, above: the author, Moira Shea, with her guide dog, Finnegan.

Moira M. Shea recently retired from the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, where she was a senior policy analyst in the office of the Assistant Secretary for Preparedness and Response. Previously, she held a number of government posts, including Congressional aid and as an economist specializing in international trade and technology development. She’s been involved with the Foundation Fighting Blindness since 1980, and is currently a member of its board of directors.

Years later — despite efforts to cure my retinal disease, first as a graduate student, then as a postdoctoral researcher focused on ocular pathology — I came to accept the truth that those words carried. I was slowly being forced to adapt to a world not designed for me, or for any visually impaired person. But the progressive nature of my disease, retinitis pigmentosa, meant that time was on my side. I had time to change how I do things, how I communicate, how I think.

In life, I want the same things most people want: a successful career doing something I enjoy, plenty of time to spend with my family, the chance to pursue personal goals and an opportunity to put a dent in the world. Despite what I once feared, losing vision has not only allowed me to live the life I truly want to live; it has also taught me to do so.

After completing my undergraduate studies in 2005, I announced to my parents that I was setting off on a four-month backpacking trip across Europe. When they emphasized the importance of getting a job, I pulled out my trump card — my failing eyesight — and explained that I could not wait to see the world until I was 65, or even 35, because I would not be able to see much of anything at that point.

So off I went, with their eventual blessing and encouragement. I later penned and published Backpack, a book detailing my adventures, realizing that writing a book — a life goal of mine — would be easier to do while I still had some useful vision.

The same sense of do-it-now urgency prompted me to start my first business — Journal Prep, an academic publication support company — in 2010. But from the very beginning, I found it nearly impossible to work in the business, especially in the role of editor. My disability forced me to spend more time working on the business, hiring other — sighted — people to do the things I could not, and enlisting the help of my brother, Kyle, to coordinate daily activities. This was unfamiliar territory for me, yet it also offered a valuable lesson in leadership and served as the driving force behind the business’ rapid growth.

In my other job, as an ocular pathology researcher, my colleagues and superiors do not expect me to do any of the hands-on experimentation. Rather, my role centers on project conceptualization. I get paid to learn and think about ways to cure blindness, and I cannot imagine a more fulfilling job.

My dependence on hearing rather than seeing has freed me from the 9-to-5-at-a-desk workday. With the help of my assistant, I can handle emails via Skype while taking a walk. I frequently set up phone calls with potential business partners and clients rather than engaging in multi-part email exchanges.

My assistant tracks, reads and records research papers in my field, uploading the MP3 files to a shared Google folder on a weekly basis. I listen to these articles on my iPod while commuting to and from work. This allows me to keep up-to-date on the latest scientific research – including projects funded and supported by FFB – and the most thought-provoking business ideas.

The benefits of impaired vision have extended well beyond the boundaries of work. I now read for pleasure more than I ever have by listening to audiobooks while at the gym. I play with my kids without being distracted by alerts on my smartphone, which I recently downgraded to a “regular” phone. And I habitually embrace challenges put forth by friends and family — running a half-marathon, learning to cook and writing this blog post, for example — in part because I choose to be the one who defines my limitations.

My vision has never been worse and my quality of life never better. While I firmly believe that vision research has hit a tipping point and that blindness will soon become something of the past, I am thankful for the paradigm shift that I have personally experienced as a consequence of my own affliction with a blinding eye disease.

Pictured, above: Shawn Maloney

First, don’t be shy about asking for assistance. An airline’s or ship’s crew, hotel clerks, taxi and bus drivers – they’re always happy to help. When you check in for a flight, for example, an airline employee will escort you through security (and usually bring you to the front of the line), then accompany you to your gate. She will also alert the staff at your destination, so that someone can meet your plane and walk you to the next gate, even in another terminal, or through customs and safely to your pickup point.

When your flight is called, take advantage of the opportunity to pre-board. This gives you a few extra minutes to organize yourself in your seat; it also signals the cabin crew that, in an emergency, you would need extra help. Flight attendants will give you a personal safety briefing and make sure that you know where the emergency exits are.

After you arrive at the hotel, even before unpacking, get acquainted with the concierge. He or she is there to advise and assist, and is a wonderful source of local knowledge. A concierge can make restaurant and show reservations and often can get you into something that’s otherwise booked up. When you leave, don’t forget to thank your concierge with a gratuity.

De-stressing a trip actually begins in the planning stages. Keep your sanity by building in some downtime; you’ll get more value (and better memories) from a trip that proceeds at a comfortable pace. No one likes to come home exhausted.

Don’t plan out every single minute of a trip, either. It’s better to add an activity or two once you’ve arrived at your destination and have a better sense of the possibilities. In other words, leave yourself some wiggle room as well as downtime.

Take advantage of local tours. Many cities now have London-style double-decker buses that let you hop on and off. I do this on my first day in a new city, to get an overview; then I know where to spend more time later.

Websites about your destination will tell you what to expect, such as festivals and special events. At certain times reservations and reasonable hotel rates may be difficult to find; or you may simply prefer not to deal with large crowds. Don’t give up; adjust your travel dates instead.

If you’re traveling abroad, check the currency conversion rates before you leave home. Both at home and overseas, by the way, many attractions and events offer discounted prices to the visually impaired. Usually all it takes is a glimpse of a white cane or a service dog, but again don’t be shy about asking. Some places even extend the discount to a sighted guide or driver.

In the United States, a lifetime National Park Access Pass is available at no charge to legally blind U.S. citizens. These passes are available at all National Park offices; bring your documentation.

I have two more minor, yet important, points to share. First, if you’re not yet using raised stick-on dots to help you identify your luggage, your hotel room or even your floor on an elevator panel, get some and give it a try. And, speaking of dots, if you read Braille, ask for such printed matter well in advance. Some companies need two months’ notice to print menus and other handouts in Braille.

With a little foresight, plus an open mind and willingness to ask for help, virtually all of us can travel in comfort and safety. My mission is to create travel opportunities for others who don’t see well, and it’s been a uniquely gratifying experience. As my husband likes to say, it isn’t every travel company that has a blind guide!

But while these parents watch their kids grow and thrive, they wouldn’t choose for them to lose their vision. That’s why each of them supports the Foundation in his or her own way.

The Days, McGees and Nashes represent the millions of families around the world living with the effects of retinal diseases – the same millions we at the Foundation had in mind when developing our annual holiday fundraising campaign, this year known as the “Light the Way to a Cure” campaign. During the month of December, every dollar donated to the Foundation will be matched by an FFB benefactor.

In other words, you donate $35, it’ll be worth $70; $50, it’ll be worth $100, and so on. And these donations will all serve the same purpose – fund the research aimed at treatments and cures for retinal diseases affecting 10 million Americans alone, tens of millions more worldwide.

Meet the Day family. Video courtesy of FFB.

The money, I assure you, will be well-spent. Since it’s founding in 1971, FFB has raised more than $500 million, which has helped researchers identify more than 200 disease-causing genes. It has also facilitated the lab work that’s enabled companies to develop retinal prostheses, gene and cellular therapies and drugs now in clinical, or human, trials – the last step before reaching the marketplace.

Once these treatments – many more of which are in development – become available, millions will be helped, their lives vastly improved by the vision many of us sometimes take for granted. But, when considering a gift, it’s perhaps best to focus on the lives of only a few – Meredith and Derrick Day, for instance. Gracie Nash. Louie McGee.

With that in mind, I’d like to finish this post by asking a question. I encourage you to provide your answer either in the comment section here or on FFB’s Facebook page. In my next post, I’ll share some of those answers. Here it is:

What are you doing to light the way to a cure?