Often when people hear about retinitis pigmentosa or Usher syndrome, they become sad, look down, they put a hand on your shoulder, and often say: “I’m sorry …” as if there was some grief to deal with; two of the psychotherapist I went, when I told them my night misadventures held a look, like when you see a dog without a leg, or a deadpigeon on the street, an abandoned kitten, something like that.