Before he celebrated his first birthday, Martin Thomas Conway had already undergone six major operations on his eyes. In his first ever interview  on the subject, the Clare County Councillor speaks candidly to Andrew Hamilton about his battle for acceptance and his life-long quest for a better view.

It's a warm June morning in the summer of 1979 as five-year-old Martin Conway rides the train to Dublin with his father. Peering through the window, the boy's mind wonders here and there as with each passing cow-filled field a new idea begins to take shape.
Finally, somewhere near Roscrea, he turns to his father and declares with a newfound  surety that when he grows up he'd really like to be a train driver.
A normal ambition you might think, one described by thousands of boys on thousands of trains every single day. Yet deep within his heart, Martin's father knows better. He knows that his is no normal young boy. He understands with a cold certainty that his only son will never ever drive a train.
On April 8, 1974, a son was born to Carmel and Sean Conway in the old Ennistymon hospital. The minutes after the birth were wracked with confusion and excitement, with many voices and endless chatter.

First came the relief of a successful birth. Then came a wave of confusing emotions as it became clear that the infant had inherited his father's unusual condition. Martin Conway was born with congenital cataracts in both eyes. These cataracts, together with an pair of irremovable tremors, meant he could see little more than the outline of shapes and vague colours. And if something wasn't done, that was all he would ever see.
Thinking back I'd say that the glasses were the first indicator to me that I was different. Like any young kid at two or three, you don't want to have glasses. But I had these huge jam jars on me at that age and I never wanted them, I just kept throwing them away. Eventually my parents got glasses for me that had elastic bands attached, like goggles, so I couldn't get rid of them. But still, when you are that young, you don't feel different, he said.
I remember when I was five getting the train to Dublin with my Dad to see the eye specialist. I remember saying to my father that I wanted to be a train driver when I grew up. He said to me, I'm afraid, you'll never be a train driver. That is something that stayed with me. It sounds like nothing, but that was a profound moment because it was then I realised for the first time that this thing was quite serious. That there was a lot that I wouldn't be able to do in my life.
When I was born back in 1974 I was diagnosed with congenital cataracts in both eyes. It's an inherited condition, my father had it and his father had it before him. It's a serious condition and it seriously hampers your vision.
My father lived with the condition his whole life. He saw his own father and his uncles deal with it through their whole lives and he was determined that I would get the very best care I could.
The first year of my life was spent going in and out of hospitals in London and Dublin.
The type of surgery I needed to give me some sight was just not available in Ireland at the time. I needed operations on both eyes before the age of six months because the procedure was very much linked to the hole in the head that you have as a baby.
This had to be done in London - it was the only way of giving me a fighting chance of having some sort of vision. Both cataracts had to be removed. My grandmother came and stayed with me in London while I had the operations.
It was pioneering surgery for the time, and no-one really knew what was going to happen. I now have six out of 36 vision, but I'm sure if I didn't have the operations, it would be a lot worse than that.
I would love to know more about the operations and what exactly they were doing, but the two men who undertook the procedure are now dead. So I guess I'll never know exactly what they did for sure.
By the time Martin reached the age of five his eyes had reached their full potential. With less than 20 per cent full sight, he took on the challenge of his first day of school.
I think the next real question was whether I would be sent to special education or normal education. The only place where I could have gone was a special school up in Dublin but my family was determined I would stay in Ennistymon and learn in an integrated setting.
It was very challenging - not just for myself but also for my family and the teachers. I owe a lot to the teachers of Ennistymon, to people like JJ Crowe and Pat O'Doherty. All things being equal I really should have gone to a special school but the teachers up there took on a case like mine when there were no special needs teachers available and the services in all primary school were poor .
It wasn't easy, I guess that reading was really the thing that I miss. Reading is a gift from God and I can't so much as go on holidays and read a book, never mind read easily at school.
I ended up bluffing a lot at school so as not to stand out from the crowd. A lot of the time I pretended I could see what was on the board when I really couldn't. To this day, I'm a brutal speller and that has come from not being able to read. I remember getting a tiny telescope when I was in fourth class that would have helped me see what was written on the board. I was so self-conscious bringing it in that I used it for just one day and then never brought it to school again.
I wanted to seem like everyone else. I guess I wasn't the same as everyone else but I was very well accepted by the students and the teachers.
After that I went on to the CBS Secondary School which was a hugely challenging experience for me. It was like starting from scratch again or even going backwards. I was faced with lots of new people who didn't know me and didn't understand my condition.
But I was raised on the streets of Ennistymon and I was always exposed to people. That stood to me then. I had been dealing with people my whole life and that armed me to a degree. Having said that, there were students there from all over north Clare and a lot of them didn't understand me and reacted in a lot of different ways.
It wasn't bullying really. It was just their reaction to something that was different. It was a tough time but I dealt with it and a lot of the teachers were very helpful. The first two years were very tough but then I did quite well in my Junior Cert and I think then that people began to realise that I could get somewhere.
I went straight into fifth year and was able to get a number of operations to insert bifocal lens implants in my eyes. That was a new procedure at the time but luckily it was successful. So overnight the huge glasses I had had all my life were gone. It was like a whole new world
As the glasses came off, Martin's ambition began to soar. Suddenly, against all odd, the prospect of a third level education began to seem a more realistic goal.
Of course I met the naysayers. Most of the teachers and students were great but you'd always get someone who would say something hurtful. But you rise above that. I decided I wanted to go to third level and I visited all of the third level colleges when I was in fifth year and researched what each had to offer in terms of facilities for people with disabilities.
UCD had the best facilities available. So I did my leaving cert and got a  place in a BA degree in UCD. Whatever friends I had went to Limerick or Galway or Cork, so I was going up to Dublin all alone.
I remember my first day in UCD was the day of a huge U2 concert in Dublin. I remember looking for accommodation and there were people everywhere. But I was fairly streetwise at that time. It was a daunting place but I was able to manage it well. I got involved in societies and college politics and started up a group to help people with disabilities in the college.
While in UCD, Martin was well and truly bitten by the political bug.
When I left college, I knew I wanted to get involved. I contested the Ô99 local election and ended up getting 730 first preference votes and came close to getting elected. I was very disappointed but maybe in a way it was a good thing. You need your disappointments sometimes to make things really matter.
So I came back in 2004 and got elected. It meant something to me - to be the first person with a disability elected in the constituency. I felt it was a real achievement.
But getting elected was just the start of the process. Being a politician who couldn't drive, recognise people easily and read well held it's own set of challenges.
It's not a level playing pitch but that is nobody's fault. It's a huge rural constituency and not being able to drive is a huge challenge. My councillor colleagues in north Clare are very helpful, people like Martin Lafferty and Richard Nagle are very good to me.
My family though are the number one help for me to get around to the different people in the area. My partner Breege has devoted most of her spare time to help me with politics. Not being able to drive is the single biggest challenge for me. The second biggest is not being able to recognise faces. Someone could come up to me in the street and I might know them very well but I wouldn't be able to recognise them, I'd have to ask their name. It's a challenge. Politics is about people and I am a people person. The only problem is that I have a tougher time than most in recognising people.
I have enjoyed the last five years. It's been a learning experience but one I have really enjoyed. I have to come up with different ways of reaching people and getting my work done. I use the media a lot, and I think it can be a very powerful thing for local politicians.
I use it as a way of leveling the playing field, of giving me different ways of getting my name and my message out there. I think my disability has helped me in lots of ways. It has turned me into a good street fighter. I think people know that I will fight their corner for them.
But people do have an empathy - they feel that they can talk to me. Everyone looks for a flaw in a public representative and every public representative tries to hide that flaw. But everyone can see my flaw. It's right out there in the open and everyone can see it. There is no way of hiding it and that's a good thing.
Looking to the future, Martin has great hope for what lies ahead.
I guess any politician worth his salt wants to move forward. There doesn't seem to be much chance of that in the immediate future but who knows? I have an excellent chance of holding my seat in next year's elections and that would be a great achievement in itself.
With my eyes, I have never been able to see 100 per cent so I don't really know what I am missing. But looking to the future, if Breege and myself decide to have children, there is a very good chance they will be born with the same condition as I have.
But I'm happy to take that risk. Whatever happens, they will be able to see much better than me. That child would not have to go through the 15 operations that I had to go through - that's how far we have come.
I've been very lucky. I might wake up in the morning and not be able to get from A to B. But I could just as easily be completely blind and not be able to see what's around me, not be able to see the beauty in the world.
But I'll just have to deal with whatever happens as it comes

Comments (0)

Subscribe to this comment's feed

Show/Hide comments

Show/Hide comment form