My husband tells me it’s light outside as he hands me a cup of tea. Gingerly, I begin to pull the debris of my being together in preparation for a post-surgical ophthalmology appointment, but it isn’t easy. Parts of my psyche are strewn like discarded clothes from a lovers tryst all over the artificially darkened bedroom, and I’m struggling to collect them. My husband administers another round of post-operative eye drops. He carefully helps me into the shower and gently washes my hair, because I literally can’t figure out what steps are involved. How do I do this? I don’t even understand the question, if it is indeed a question. Maybe it’s more of a concept. Whatever it is, I cannot comprehend the unidentifiable, unnameable fragments of those somethings floating across the astronomy of my mind. It’s as if I’ve forgotten how to do anything, or worse, never known in the first place. Forgetting would simply mean there’s a polar opposite […]

It’s been more than six months since I first presented the idea of finding a new eye specialist to my husband, and if anyone said we’d be where we are right now, I would not have believed them. I would have wanted to, secretly hoping against hope they were right, but I wouldn’t have possessed the faith or fortitude to buy into the possibility. At least that’s what I tell myself, even though my actions, attitude, and secret ultimatums suggest otherwise. The truth is, I’m heavily invested in the outcome, and have no idea how I’m going to cope if the gamble doesn’t go my way. The only saving grace is how cautiously optimistic my surgeons are, and the fact that if it does go wrong, then at least my world will be unquestionable. As it is, we’ve kept my pending procedure very low key. Balancing my thoughts, feelings, expectations, and questions has been difficult enough, let alone adding the well-meaning […]