Darkness to Light

Dorcas at the RevGals' Friday Five today invites us to supply evidence in our lives of darkness into light.

I could probably do that in a big way, but instead I am reflecting on the very small space of dark-light frustration in which I find myself at the moment with this double-vision diagonal-world problem.

I have to choose between far and near distance.  I'm sitting at the dining room table typing, but if I want to go and do the laundry or clean the bathroom, I'll have to put a contact in first, so that I can see, you know, the walls. (Clearly, I mean. I can run into them just fine without a lens.)  Then if I want to do some reading or writing, I have to take the lens out.

My right eye gets really tired.  So I'll switch the patch.  Oops -- can't balance with my left eye only.  Can't even think about going near the stairs.  The table, seen with my left eye only, is not where it actually is.

How do I feel about going out in public with this eye patch?  Oh - not an issue.  There's no one available to drive me anywhere today.

I was worried about my Sunday sermon drawing too much attention to my own experience.  Now I have to worry about my very presence drawing too much attention to myself.  My sermon is in 28-point font at the moment.  I am going to have to do the same with the bulletin and readings. 

This has the potential to activate major depression.  I can't take any movement or activity for granted; I have to plan and try to foresee (ha ha) everything.  REALLY tedious.

There are plus sides, of course.  I didn't die of an aneurysm and I'm not trying to recover from a stroke.  The neuro-folks are five minutes away.  I had completely forgotten about the distance many people have to travel for that kind of expertise until I was leaving and the nurse asked, How long a trip home do you all have?  Up the hill, I said, puzzled, and then realized that most people don't have such speedy access to these kinds of specialists.  (Actually, most people here don't either, but I'm not harping on health insurance at the moment.  Although it reminds me to be grateful for my husband's job.  Our insurance is expensive, but it's there.)

I am hoping that embedded somewhere in my brain tissue there's a nerve in the process of healing itself.  That would be a good resurrection for me right now.