Tri-Care approval certification for my upcoming surgeries arrived in the mail yesterday; hammering home the reality of what is to come on January 8, 2015. It was also a rainy day and I was hit VERY hard with how difficult seeing has truly become. I have only been driving for 7 years… but even with this one eye, driving in the rain has been a challenge as the water on the road totally distorts things and in fact I “lose” the road. Boy did I lose the road yesterday! White knuckling it all the way to work, I thanked God for getting me there safely and thanked Him again for NOT letting it rain as I drovehome. I was also VERY grateful that I come into work as early as I do because it reduced the amount of traffic I encounter (with lights on) I have learned that the sunlight and the lights of numerous cars coming at me or behind me make seeing even more difficult and downright painful.
I still do NOT want to go through with this surgery but the reality is that if I don’t let them try; I will definitely be completely blind within about a year. So I have to take the risk, now, of letting them operate and try to save the vision in the only eye I have been able to see out of since I was 12. I keep holding on to as much of the positive as I can while preparing for the worst. What will it be like if, after the bandage is removed, my vision is gone for good? Then too, will the tumor turn out to be cancerous? Odd are high in that favor. If it is cancerous will they get it all or has it already moved on to other places? If so, where?
Then, if this does not turn out well, what will the future hold? I think it will be the change that will be the hardest part, not the vision loss itself. People born blind don't need to struggle with this aspect; people like me who lose their sight later in life do. Funny thing is that, since the age of 12, it has been one of my greatest fears. Add to this that I just learned to drive 7 years ago (after being told for years by first my father and then my late husband that people with vision in only one eye could never drive). I now know the freedom and independence of driving… I don’t want to lose it. I greatly value my independence. Dear God, I don’t want to NEED anyone and I don’t want to burden anyone… Not ever! (Acceptance Bonnie, acceptance)
The most destructive part of losing one's sight is the feeling of incompetence. I've broken or cracked more than half of my set of drinking glasses by dropping or knocking them over. I vacuum up electrical cords because I forgot to check for stray cords. I've walked into walls by accident. I've stepped on my dogs too many times to mention, and I'm afraid that one of them holds a grudge. I listen to TV more than watch it and I can’t work the long hours I once did on the computer, even with larger font settings as a gray cloud now descends once the eye tires and I can’t see through it. The headaches become debilitating.
I'm the kind of person who hates feeling inept. I like doing things well; to a certain degree, I continue to do most things well. At times, I feel like a failure at adapting. When I misplace something for the umpteenth time, I find myself berating myself for not being better at going blind. I practice going up and down the stairs without the lights on and with my eyes shut. I practice pouring myself coffee and doing mundane household tasks blindfolded. I wonder if I will be able to walk my sweet shepherds. Will I rise to task of being blind if God so ordains it? How will I make a living? I won’t accept SSI or handouts. Am I young enough to learn a new way?
One of the more discerning aspects of vision loss is how my conception of myself has changed. Even though I've known that this was a possibility since childhood, I've never thought of myself as ever blind. I'm starting to think of myself that way now. I've stopped squinting, thinking that I would see well, only if I tried harder. The path to acceptance is a slow one, full of cracked glasses and disgruntled cats, but I'm getting there. Acceptance may have to be my new key word.
I can’t tell you how much I would/will miss the wonders of God’s world. As I put my Christmas tree and other decorations up this year, I did so slowly and lovingly; understanding that this could be the last time I actually SEE all of them. I pause, even while at work, to admire the heavens, the horizon, the distant mountains and to thank God that I still have eyes (eye) to see. I walk more slowly around the neighborhood and in my beloved Superstition… trying to memorize every bit of beauty I can see; just in case.
The hardest part has been accepting that I may never see the face of my beautiful daughter Mary again, or my sixteen-year-old granddaughter, Jessica. The last time I saw her was when she was only 12 and I find it almost unbearable not knowing what she looks like now. I can’t accept that I may never again look into the eyes of my oldest son, Doug, who has his father’s eyes… and see a part of his dad looking back at me as well. I can’t accept the fact that I may never again see the smile of my youngest son James and also see a part of his dad smiling back at me as well. Acceptance… I have to learn the meaning of that word.
During this Holy Season, I am relying heavily on our heavenly Father and His beloved Son to guide me along this path. It is, after all, totally in His hands
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