Why Should I Have To Serve in Jewry Duty When I Can't See?

Lately, I’ve been getting so frustrated. The court keeps sending me letters, pushing me to serve jury duty—even though I’ve already submitted a doctor’s letter saying that I am totally blind, hearing impaired, and on disability. My doctor even wrote that I’m unable to participate due to my medical condition.

But apparently, that’s not enough.

She didn’t go into every single detail. Why? Because she legally can’t—HIPAA protects my private medical information. And now the court is rejecting her letter because it doesn’t spell out every little thing, like I owe them some full-body explanation to be believed.

Let me be clear: I am totally blind. I have no eyes. I also live with hearing loss. I rely on sound cues, memory, my hands, my other senses—every day. And it’s exhausting sometimes, even in familiar places.

Now imagine being called into a courtroom, where everything depends on seeing:

  • Who stood up to speak?

  • What kind of gesture did they just make?

  • Who are they pointing at?

  • Where is the lawyer standing now?

  • What evidence is being shown?

  • What’s the expression on the witness’s face?

I wouldn’t be able to follow any of that. I’d be sitting there thinking:
What are they doing? Who’s talking? Are they even standing in front of me? Who are they waving at?

It would be like trying to follow a movie with no sound and no description—nothing to guide me. It’s too visual. And even with my hearing, sometimes I can’t make out voices clearly, especially if people speak fast or if there’s background noise. That’s not just hard—it’s overwhelming.

And here’s the thing I really want to say:
Yes, I experience something called “eternal eyesight.” But that doesn’t mean I’m not totally blind.

I see shapes, colors, even vivid internal lights inside my mind. But that’s not the world around me. It’s not a courtroom. It’s not a real person standing in front of me waving. It’s internal—and beautiful—but it doesn’t help me serve on a jury.

People don’t understand this part of blindness, which is why I usually only share it with close friends and family.
If I say, “I see colors,” the response I often get is:
“Wait, I thought you said you were blind?”

Yes. I am.
I am totally blind. But I still experience internal vision—my own kind of light that lives inside me. That’s my truth. And it doesn’t cancel out the fact that I cannot participate in something that depends on seeing the real, external world.

I shouldn’t have to keep defending that, or proving it again and again.
My blindness is real.
My hearing challenges are real.
And my disability isn’t up for debate just because someone behind a desk doesn’t understand it.

 

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