Doctor, my eyes… Tell me what is wrong… Was I unwise… To leave them open for so long?
In one week, a doctor will open my left eye and remove my cornea and lens and give me new ones. After the healing process, I might see better than before, or I might see worse. I cannot keep my mind from going where it probably should not go. I stare and stare, and look at everything before me, as if it will soon disappear. What would that be like?
The blue of the columbine, the green oak leaf, my mom’s painting, my beloved piano… will it all be a rainbow blur? My dog, my students’ smiling faces, my husband, my son… Will I see my daughter again? Perhaps a grandchild? Maybe I think that if I imagine the worst case scenarios enough, I won’t be shocked or disappointed if they happen, and if they don’t, perhaps I’ll be more grateful.
Doctor, my eyes… Tell me what you see… I hear their cries… Just say if it’s too late for me
My left eye is the worse one – the one that has always seen worse. But it is the better one, in regards to glaucoma. At some undisclosed future date, the doctor will open my right eye and replace its cornea and lens. My right eye is the better-seeing one, but ironically is also the one with worse glaucoma. So I will be living with one working eye at a time. I will be thrilled if I can see at all, or as well as I do now, when this is all said and done. And it may never be all said and done… I may be in for continual surgeries the rest of my life.
Doctor, my eyes… Cannot see the sky… Is this the prize… For having learned how not to cry?
Hat tip: Jackson Browne
Inner Voice 