But Now, HD : The Gift of Cataracts (part 2)

  

New Vision 

In Part 1, "Was Blind: The Gift of Cataracts"  I had just been handed an application for financing double cataract surgery.

Rather than pretending to build up suspense (because most of my readers are related to me and already know what happened) I’ll skip directly to the end: I was approved for the financing. I had both surgeries. And they worked! 

I can see clearly now. 

Almost too clearly. 

Let me explain. 

After surgery, everything was brand new. I was suddenly more aware of how bad my vision had become. Or, maybe, now that the threat was behind me, I could allow myself to admit I had been going blind.  

Sometimes it is difficult to tell the difference between suppressing what we fear is true and waiting for more evidence to surface. More often,  they’re comorbid conditions requiring both patience and courage. 

After the first surgery, a large, shamrock-shaped cataract was removed from my left eye. :: insert Irish eyes punchline here::  

My vision was instantly clearer, but I would close my ‘good eye’ for a stark reminder of how bad things had been. 

Looking through my unrepaired eye made me deeply appreciative. And, letting my weird self show through for a moment, a small part of me (a very small part) wanted to keep my eyes like that forever. One eye to see with and one eye to always remember. 

I never wanted to forget the awe of being healed or lose sight of due gratitude.    

Writ Large 

All of a sudden, I could see things around me with a clarity that was almost inconvenient. How long had we been living with that stain on the wall? Was everyone really okay just leaving these splatters near the stove? How long had our house been this messy?! Why had no one said anything? 

When I no longer needed to leave for work extra early to navigate oncoming traffic, I started to realize how long I’d been making accommodations for living with low vision. 

Getting to work on time instead of early meant different traffic patterns, fewer open parking spaces and less time to grab coffee en route to my desk. It meant not having to sit with my nose pressed to the computer screen to see my work. 

I had never actually seen the art in our office, but I thought I had. There were details and patterns I didn’t know I was missing out on. Sometimes, the new tiny details completely changed my understanding of the picture, writ large. 

Me, Myself and Eyesight 

I could see myself better, too. Physically and metaphysically, I had new spots, lines and wrinkles. Processing all the changes, big and small brought new awareness mingled with  “about-time-she-admits-it” allowances.  

“I wouldn’t have pulled into the turn lane that quickly a month ago”  

 As I go through ordinary life  now, I often hear myself pointing out new realizations or confessions. 

Around each corner, every day, there are extraordinary reasons for gratitude. 

Amazing 

Though I had stopped driving at night (for the most part) before my surgery, stopping driving altogether was never an option for me. Single-parent life demands adapted abilities over disabilities as a general rule. Our vocabulary doesn’t include “can’t. It can’t ;) There are things to be done and only one person to do them. 

However, my vocabulary did change. Without a hint of exaggeration, words like “disability”, “accessibility” and “blind” became part of my regular communication. 

Prior to my surgeries, those terms belonged to me as much as a white cane or seeing eye dog, which is to say, not at all. I never imagined I would need them. 

Just as going through a domestic disturbance forced me to confront words like “abuse” & “violence”, it is still uncomfortable to use words that feel extreme. 

Comes an accusing hiss: “Blind? Isn’t that a little extreme?”  “ Accessibility? Aren’t you being dramatic?” and “What will you tell those who won’t regain sight ?” 

But I’ve found, and continue to find, that the very words I hide from are the words I most need to speak. 

I can only share my own story, like one struck and glowing match: 

Afraid and in the dark, I learned so much.  In places of solitude, I wasn't left alone.  In my doubt, hope surprised me. 

I was going blind, but now I can see.    

Be My Eyes 

I love people, I like to help others, and I realize that sharing my story is only a small and limited way to offer light. 

A more practical way to help blind and low-vision people is through the free app called Be My Eyes, available for Apple and Android devices. Be My Eyes allows blind and low-vision users to make video calls to sighted individuals for help with visual activities. Whether reading a food label in the grocery store or helping coordinate outfit colors before work, you really can bring light into dark places. https://www.bemyeyes.com/

Was Blind: The Gift of Cataracts (part 1)

 

Doctor, My Eyes… 

“You are only a few numbers from losing your driver’s license  ” 

My ophthalmologist was addressing my concerns about having  surgery. 

“I’m worried I’ll have this surgery but find cataracts aren’t the cause. I’ll be making a lifelong choice for glasses.”  I explained. 

He gently took the reins of the conversation. His answer, both figurative and literal, was resolved: “Oh, it is the cataracts. We’ll take them out and you’ll see. 

“I respect your expertise… “ I meant it “I just don’t understand why the cataract specialist didn’t operate at the beginning of all this.” 

“Because you’re young and there’s a bigger chance of retinal detachment when you’re young. But, it’s still a very small likelihood” he was completely convinced  “you’ll need readers, yes, but how are you seeing without using glasses now?“  

His smile elicited a mental touche’ from my place in the oversized exam chair.  I smiled back and took the financing information from his hands. 

I’d  devoted a lot of time and energy to finding other possible causes after cataract surgery had been ruled out.  

Previously, doctors detected cataracts but felt other factors should be explored. So, they sent me through a battery of diagnostics from ophthalmology to neurology.

For the past two years, I had chased down every cause and cure imaginable - and some beyond imagination. 

But, my inability to judge depth perception and oncoming traffic was very real, and getting progressively worse. 

And now,  I had come full circle, back to a cataract diagnosis, but this time with surgery not only recommended but urgently emphasized. 

An Unexpected Birthday Present (flashback)

I failed my first eye exam on my 40th birthday.  I’d started to notice that my vision wasn’t only blurry when looking at slides from the old overhead projector in my massage therapy classes, but also when I was reading the text book, then pretty soon,  outside the class; when driving and trying to read labels in the grocery store. 

I hadn't expected an eye chart in hieroglyphics. I had expected a pricey eyeglass prescription and a few jokes about getting older. But the exam was harder than reading and there was no joking. In fact, the tone grew rather serious. 

I began to suspect things were worse than anticipated  when no lens could help  me see the chart “in English”.  I was certain of it when the ophthalmologist gently patted my arm and explained the referral process. The gesture was at once comforting and terrifying. Shocks of stark realization patted down with genuine motherly concern,  like the back of a crying baby. 

“I can’t help you” the pat seemed to say “but here’s the name of someone I hope can” 

 I wondered how many patients she’d patted into reality over the years. 

Afterwards, I sat in my car in the eye center parking lot for a long time. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to go. Everything was supposed to be fixed today. Splurging on the full-price appointment (no health insurance) and inevitably the expensive glasses was to have been a sort of birthday present to myself (with a nod to all single moms and other parents who stand their own needs at the back of the line when necessary)  Instead I got arm pats and a cataract specialist referral . 

Shooting  In The Dark  

It was the first long car-sit in a season of long car-sits. I was plunged underwater and walking upside down. 

I misplaced the information to make the referral appointment for awhile.  Though it looked like a lost scrap of paper and a healthy dose of procrastination, I know now it had to be a deep, subconscious hesitation.  If plotted on one of my beloved “cycle of change” charts, it would fall under “Denial”. 

The time it took me to find the number and make that first call was time necessary to screw up my courage. I didn’t know what the journey would look like (I was going blind, after all) but, it had already started out as an over-the-mountain-not-through-it sort of trek. There’d be no turning back, plenty of forks in the path and, as always, at least one dragon to conquer before ‘The End’

At the appointment, the cataract specialist saw cataracts but said they weren’t far enough along to warrant surgery. She referred me to a retina specialist. The retina specialist didn’t see what he looks for in troubled eyes. He assured me I didn’t want him to. 

Though I was grateful he did not issue a hard to live with diagnosis,  I proceeded for a long while without any diagnosis at all. I bounced between more eye specialists, an optometrist and my family doctor who thought we may need to test for Multiple Sclerosis. 

Look For The Helpers  (and be a helper, too) 

My hero’s journey ended - at least for a time - when the money bag was emptied and the specialists ran out of eye tests to perform. You should know of the many generous people who stepped in then, to help me without expectation of having their money or kindness repaid. It was unclear where to direct their generosity. I was unsure which diagnostic path to choose.

One lady, a long-distanced online friend, herself an ophthalmologist, offered funds meant for her work in third world countries. She was unable to use what she had set aside due to the unforeseen travel restrictions during 2020's  "national emergency". She still wanted to use the money to bring sight- and hope- into people’s life; my life.

I hadn’t known she was an eye specialist before then. I didn’t know about her mission work.

If finding you have a friend that regularly restores sight to weak eyes doesn’t flood your heart with joy, you’ve probably never been blind - or thereabouts.  

But, I could not shoot at question marks with money meant to help others see.  There weren't a lack of tests, rather there were way too many.   

Looking For A Reason  

I started to do my own research. I used the  process of elimination, starting with treatments that were free or low cost to try. 

Some vision trouble stems from neck misalignment, so I began to see a chiropractor and had my atlas reset. 

Another possibility was nutrient deficits, so I took a medley of supplements and juiced beets ‘til my kitchen looked like a murder scene. 

One possibility that kept resurfacing was convergence, so I did eye exercises, juggled scarves and used a Brock string, amongst other things. There were eye patches and a veritable smorgasbord of eye drops.  I even attempted sound therapies suggested by one alternative medicine guy that required a level of looking silly I was uncomfortable with (but tried anyway, in my room, after the kids were well asleep) 

When desperate for answers, we lower the bar for absurdity.  In perplexity, our pride learns to bend the knee. 

I Can See Clearly Now

Consider me, in the argument for easy absurdity, reporting to work as Roy Orbison.

During one of the last eye tests before my funds ran low, I experienced a glimmer of hope; a pinprick to be exact.  

For the first time in over a year, I could see clearly through the pinhole in a specialty lens. 

It wasn't much (literally), but by hope's standards, it was more than enough. I was amazed. 

Bartimaeus came to mind, and those stories of old where men once blind could suddenly see.  It felt miraculous -  truly,  textbook miraculous.

I had forgotten what crisp, clear vision is like. Somewhere along the line, I 'd stopped believing it was possible.

I immediately ordered a pair of pinhole glasses, and despite their unappealing aesthetic,  wore them everywhere I could, including work. My only regret was there was no safe way to drive in them. 

Groping in the Dark  

One thing about trying to figure stuff out on our own is knowing whether or not we’re on the right trail. Hope is good trail mix, but we crave the sustenance of confirmation.  Whether to keep trying one approach a little longer before attempting a new one becomes an epic catch-22 . What if I stop a day or drop shy of what is needed ?

Had I found the right cause ?  I doubled down on tracking exercises but only saw improvement when wearing the glasses. If my vision seemed to improve one day, it would be worse the next. I would set about trying to figure out what had caused the difference. Diet? Sleep? Caffeine intake? Lighting? 

No doubt, my search history from then is wild and random poetry: “low vision /symptoms // better on cloudy days” 

As my vision worsened, so too, my sense of detachment and despair. It is often true that people  with a diminished capacity in one sense will find their other senses sharpened. Many people without clear sight have unique musical abilities; a heightened sense of hearing and touch. This is a remarkable gift of adaptation which allows a person to thrive in environments  that are  not naturally accommodating to them. 

But it is not an instant, standard-issue gift. Those with growing cataracts or starting to go a little hard of hearing inhabit a staticky world with no time to adjust our antenna.

Good things take time.  Finding good after significant loss or life change takes even more time. 

I'll unpack more from the unlikely Gift of Cataracts in part 2 ... {stay tuned} 

ThoughtStrings: Suicide By Sincerity

Suicide By Sincerity 

There is a way to die 

Slowly

And all alone: 

Be sincere 

Now wait

For the noose

Of misunderstandings 

Cunning pulls the trigger

Planting  

Evidence everywhere 

Choosing to live with sincerity, I am misunderstood, or sometimes,  more painful, purposely maligned. 

Understanding these consequences,  still, I press on.  

ThoughtStrings: We Are Lighthouses

DEEP SEA  SLEEPER

 

Yes, we are lighthouses

Shining hope and direction for those

Tossed at sea 

 

But there is a time

To turn out the light

And go to sleep 

 

wolves

 I think I know now 

The answer - at least in part:

I have not wanted it to be true 

I have wanted who I thought I knew

To be the real you. 

~~ 

Wanting a true friend

One who stays, 

Sells everything to buy the field 

Doesn't just walk away 

~~

There have been so many wolves in this house 

Grandma, what big mistakes I've made.

God Hates Divorce, Not Divorced People

 [caption id="attachment_359" align="aligncenter" width="658"]

[/caption]

What God Hates  

God hates divorce, not divorced people.  God loves people.

Let's pause right here because that is the entirety of what I have to say, but my word count is supposed to be a bit higher. As words multiply, truth grows muffled. So please, if I may, I’d just like to remind you today: 

God hates divorce, not divorced people. God loves people.

Statements like this tend to provoke argumentative replies from certain camps. 

To follow  “God hates  -name any sin- . ”   with a declaration of His love provokes a panic as if we’ve just turkey-dropped permission slips with God’s forged signature to all humanity. 

Scenarios of affairs and abandoned families spring to the virile imaginations of many a worried mind. There’s real concern we’re gonna make God mad. 

Imaginary scenarios are… imaginary.  If someone is looking for validation to do or be a thing, that thing is, in all reality, already an inevitability.

Sought affirmation will be found in fortune cookie or flip of  coin if a mind is so inclined. 

Shake an 8 Ball enough times and you’ll get the answer you want.

 If a person is looking for loopholes, somewhere deep down, they’ve already decided.

Maybe for good reasons like safety, but indeed, perhaps they are just being selfish. 

Here we make the imaginative folks a little nervous again:  God loves self-justifying,  pleasure seeking people; even you and me. 

He doesn’t justify all choices but He does love all people.

Even your ex. 

Sometimes, that love looks like a natural consequence to our self-gratifying choices; confines that grow and refine us.

At other times, His love is the strength to endure hardships created by selfishness - whether other people’ s or our own.  

So, for the record, this is not a permission slip. It’s a love letter.

One more time now, because it is true: 

God hates divorce, not divorced people. God loves people.

God Is Not Mad At You 

God is not mad at divorced people when they cry “Uncle!” and throw in the towel.

Think about the attributes of an eternal, all knowing God. He saw it coming. 

 In most divorces, the dam breach was already leaking long before vows were exchanged.

Infinite wisdom understood the inevitability of a break long before you did. He saw the debris strewn beach of your aftermath life - and hated it, but He doesn't hate you. 

We often project our bad experiences with authority on to God.

Growing up with a harsh and abusive parent or teacher may lead us to expect cosmic retribution when things don’t go according to plan in our adult lives. We feel God is angry with us for falling short, but we are told He knew we would … and loved us anyway.  (via John) 

God’s anger is directed at the destruction, not you. 

God Loves You 

When life is splintered by storm gales, it is easy to wonder how love would allow us to endure such pain.  Wouldn’t love have stopped this in its tracks? 

A love that doesn’t allow us to choose, isn’t love. It’s imprisonment. 

A good test whenever love is in question: " Am I free to choose ? " 

Love warns us the fruit is toxic but we take a bite anyway; it’s in our DNA. 

Love is a doppler radar, forecasting the coming days. 

Love issues warnings and ways to stay safe.

Love helps evacuate. 

Love won’t say ‘I told you so’ to those who didn’t listen. 

Love holds a torch guiding us to shore and walks beside us in the wreckage, salvaging remnants from what love wasn’t. 

Love holds the nails and hands us the hammer as we begin to rebuild. 

Love never fails. 

Even when marriages do.  

One last time for good measure now:

God hates divorce, not divorced people.
God loves people.

… and that’s a good thing.

ThoughtStrings: An Introduction

For years I have been keeping notes on my phone and scrawled-on paper fragments in a scattered collection of what I refer to as  ' ThoughtStrings ' 

I've often said that someday, I'll knit them together into a patchwork story quilt or two... which has been my reason for jotting stuff down in the first place... I want to come back, preferably at a more-quiet-less-busy time to think more on these breeze-strewn strands. 

Sometimes, when I pick one up, I have no idea what I was thinking, or why. 

Other times, I smile as I think back on the versions of me I have been, or cry (just a little!) over where I'll never go again. 

Each time, I am grateful that I stopped long enough to take a snapshot with my pen. 

Going forward,  I'll be sharing those old coat pocket scraps, tagged ' ThoughtStrings '  with or without commentary.

 If transparency and vulnerability are essential ingredients to courageous writing, here's looking at me (in fragments) : 

Untitled, two entries on yellow legal paper

Undated

Folded, tucked behind the legal pad in my default padfolio

Why: explaining identity (apparently)

 { 1 }

I don't know who I am anymore

I know the right answers:

Child of God

In Christ 

Redeemed

So much gratitude for all that and more yet

I still don't know myself. 

Don't recognize me

We aren't really friends - she and me - but not from animosity

Simply unfamiliarity 

Some of her old ways didn't work for us

And I don't know what to do with their remains

Like so many other projects:

• Making a quilt
• Crochet
• Collage 

All junk now

Piling up

Heavy stacks of magazines 

With no words I can use

 { 2 }

Time is ticking 

And I've already lost 

Wasted 

So much 

I can't make some things happen faster

Tomorrow remains indefinite

Unknown 

And Unleashable  

 

Commentary: 

(1) While I feel a little more familiar with who I am becoming, I still remain a casual acquaintance with myself... as if I quick-glanced the blueprint but neglected to take notes on specific measurements. (2) I'm not sure this was in relation to anything specific, but Rye's deep desire for 'step-dad' activities, like picnics in the park and taking an inevitable dog for walks, before she 'ages out' of such things comes to mind, as do house repairs and finances in general. 

 

Transparency: Finding Balance Between True and Kind

 [caption id="attachment_266" align="aligncenter" width="533"] Transparency: Finding Balance Between True and Kind[/caption]

Best Laid Plans 

When I first talked with the editors here @Patheos about what I hoped to say from this little cubby hole, I imagined a place where, despite the anxious climate of Earth, we would, to cite the Deep Magic, focus on “what-so-ever things are lovely, good and true, whatever is noble and of a good report…” while connecting friends who find themselves navigating similar waters. 

I imagined bringing hope to someone knee-deep in divorce proceedings, or  comforting the anxious mind of a parent, mid-custody battle.  I wanted to cheer on the homeschooling mom or the back-to-work mom, or the mom whose nest is suddenly too empty. All waters I’ve baled from my own canoe. 

I wanted to use things I had been through to remind others they aren’t alone. 

I still want to. 

I’ve just been working on my tightrope skills. 

How do I say  “I left a bad situation ” without implying the other party was a bad person (or people) ? 

How do I say “This behavior was unacceptable.” without condemning the one(s) who misbehaved? 

And how do I share victories without sounding like a braggart to those in a bind ? 

That’s where I’ve been trying to find my footing lately: finding balance between what has been true and what is kind. 

It has caused me lockjaw

It’s Okay To Say IDK 

I tend towards the fallacy that if I don’t have a thing completely figured out, I have nothing of value to offer.  That is to say, I think I need to be a quantum mechanics professor  before I’m qualified to explain basic math. Which is to further say, I tend to equate value with the ability to explain. I forget that sometimes all we really need is good company.

 Thus, my recent weeks wrestling with writer’s block, attempting to put “sermonizing’ into a headlock. I don’t want to be preachy. I don’t want to be finger-pointy. 

Filling in blanks with explanations or excuses where none exist is a disservice, whether those explanations are for someone else's motivations, my own lack of thoughtfulness or my best guess at what God and Providence are up to.

Good guesses are still just guesses. 

“I don’t know what I was thinking.” 

“I don’t know why they seem to be getting away with it.”

“I don’t know why God allows such things.” 

Perhaps I never will.  A harder truth is this: sometimes I won’t like the answers I find.

In those moments, it's not the answers I need, but a friend.

How much better to say “I don’t know” than to ad lib.  It is more true. It is more kind. 

Searching for answers rather than defending hypotheses creates space to work on these puzzles together. It frees my arms to embrace whatever the truth turns out to be, or to accept there will be things I won’t understand this side of Eternity. 

*Even so, joy. 

To Each His Own  

As I resist the urge to fill in blanks with my best guesses, it is clear that my story is the only one that belongs to me. I can mention people who’ve crossed my path and the effect their choices had on me, but I can only speak for my own responses. Look how the rocks they threw made an altar or a much needed wall. Let me tell you how those darkest nights helped me see the Light. Listen to how I learned what love is by experiencing what it isn’t. 

I am the only one who can tell my story,  so I  am the best person to ask about my motivation in telling it. If my aim is encouragement, must a map of my enemy’s warts be unfolded ?  If encouragement is scarce, perhaps I am  processing something yet unhealed. There are healthy (but different) venues for that. 

This simplifies things a little, but can also leave me with little to say. 

Counterbalance

Counterbalance between true and kind involves taking ownership of my own role in a situation, to the full extent I am aware of the parts I played. 

“I left a bad situation… that I knew better than getting into in the first place.” 

“This  behavior was unacceptable… I could have  addressed it sooner - or more directly.” 

"I should have said no."

I must clean up behind the pets that are mine. 

When I remember my need for gentleness and grace, I am more apt to offer it to others.

Extending compassion when someone was less than their best self comes more abundantly if I offer grace as I'd like to receive it. 

I want to be known by more than my worst days. I must acknowledge Imago Dei in others. 

Forward Movement

My inclination to avoid retractions and apologies comes from eating shoe leather and giant slices of crow too many times in the past. 

Whether strong opinions upended, wrong understandings made clear or the simple act of growing up, I’m a walking biome of change. 

We’re vastly different planets, shaped like you and me. Our climates are different, our seasons are not always aligned.  

The laws of gravity in  my curious world keep everything revolving around me. You are the center of gravity in the universe of you. 

I keep my balance by remembering I’m not the same as I was even one rotation ago, nothing is. 

Rooms I have wept in have been torn down. I am learning and learning (and learning)  to forgive. 

We keep moving forward and, hopefully, on. 

Boundaries Are Kind

Not long ago, I got up early on a perfectly-good-for-sleeping-in Saturday-morning and took my daughter to learn about snakes at  a local nature park. She loves snakes!

Before hiking the woody trail in search of Slytherin friends, we viewed a slideshow about identifying snakes. 

A disturbing trend emerged: many non-venomous snakes look so similar to venomous snakes, one has to get within strike-zone to tell the difference. Non-venomous snakes adapt their natural patterns to look like venomous snakes to keep predators away. 

Venomous or not, snakes prefer to be admired from afar. 

Many people have distinctive patterns, too. Whether born that way  or adapted to survive,  it is okay - and even wise - to keep a healthy distance from toxic patterns. 

No Fault Nature 

A python meets a mouse, gives him a hug then has him in for dinner. 

We may feel for the mouse, but we don't fault a snake for doing what snakes do.  See also: lions and tigers and bears (Oh, my!) 

Humans, too. 

It is the nature of some things to be unpleasant, like conflicts and jellyfish stings. 

It is in the nature of mankind to be selfish, especially in the midst of unpleasant things. 

Balancing what is kind with what has been true, telling only my story without adding guesses and taking the nature of venomous humans in stride, I bear this profundity in mind: “It is what it is. “ 

And it will be whatever I make of it.  So, let me be kind. 

 

 

* Even So, Joy is the title of a book by my friend about the loss of her infant daughter

 

AT YOUR SERVICE: At My Service

AT MY SERVICE

At my service
what will be true 
of my service ? 

AT YOUR SERVICE: Daddy

DADDY

He gave me his vocabulary 
Verbatim
To believe in life’s possibilities 
And dare to trust
That God is good.

Taught me to seek Wisdom