Today on Twitter as I was trying to go about my daily routines for work and chats with friends, I realized that I’d been away for a few days. I just haven’t felt like it.
And I wasn’t exactly Miss Charming today either.
That’s when I realized that I am preoccupied. And I finally understood that hiding from the things that scare you most doesn’t work. It just throws everything else that you try to do out of whack.
I mentioned to a few friends today that I didn’t know why I hadn’t felt like tweeting. Shrug. I just—didn’t.
@Pegsta1 wrote back: Maybe you needed a break?
She is right. I did.
@libbytalks said: Everyone needs time for life.
Again, another smart friend.
And they’re pretty damn wise, huh?
Because now it’s 9:15 the evening before the day when I have cataract surgery.
Now this isn’t supposed to be a big deal, and I’m no baby. Honest! Oh, I whine, but I’m actually grown up. Seriously! (Why are you all laughing at meeee? <again, whining>)
No, really, I realize that almost every older person goes through this at one time or another.
But even knowing that it’s nothing, I’m still scared shitless.
I think I know why I haven’t felt like tweeting. I think I know why I haven’t written a post despite the insane and extraordinary things going on across my country and our world right now. (By insane, I am not furthering the Charlie Sheen machine! I meant—nationally, globally. Such a time this is! And me—not writing about it? Unheard of!)
See, I already lost one eye during back surgery. A fluke.
I had major life-threatening surgery at age 20, and have never been the same. Pancreas ruined. Side effects! A fluke.
There were a couple other things that happened to this body. One way too hard to ever talk about. Flukes!
So the one eye I have left is kinda special to me. I’m very attached to it.
I don’t want to lose it.
Those things that came upon me only happen to one person out of a hundred thousand. And I understand that. Things happen. But it’s happened to me four times!
After losing the sight in one eye so unexpectedly, I have a terrific fear of something unforeseen occurring—again!—and after tomorrow, what if I won’t “see” The Pseudo-Husband again, or my pup, The Tipster, or my brothers or their children or my best friend or my books or…
My computer. My lifeline to the world. I know, I know. Blind people can do computers. But I’m tired, and right now I don’t want to learn! I’m a bit cranky! I want to SEE my computer. It’s been one of the best friends I’ve had through a long saga of boringness that I won’t bother you with.
So I’m paranoid (with some reason, based on history!) and scared and have been avoiding thinking of this for a week now.
But it’s time. To think about it, face it, and beat it.
So, Color My World—I hope—colorful as hell, tomorrow at about noon! Color it all the colors of the rainbow and then some. Color it colors none of us have ever imagined. Or even just black and white, with some greys in between. Just color it so that I can see it. Please.
And on the drive home tomorrow, though I hear things may be blurry and gritty, I am as of this moment planning to see every damn thing that comes my way. The power of positive thinking, eh?
So that is that. Oh, and one more thing. Maybe…
Could you put in a good word for me if you pray? Because I really want to read your tweets in a couple days. I really, really do.
Love you, friends. And thanks.
This post is part of the #BloggerLove contest! And check out the 125 free blog post topics!
Wow you are a phenomenal writer. You touched my heart and yes, God can do all things, if you ask.
So here’s me asking.
Joyce
Joyce Penner brilliantly posted Bad Decision Did you like the results
How kind you are! What a very nice thing to say, Joyce.
And thank you even more for the request you made on my behalf. Bless your heart!
Thank you so much for coming by.
Well, I for one, think you’ve had far more than your fair share of damn flukes!
It’s high time for the pendulum to swing in the other direction.
I only wish I would have known about your cataract surgery before today, Paula. Here’s a good one for ya … one of my offline jobs is working for an ophthalmologist!! I’ve seen hundreds of patients go through cataract surgery. And I can tell you they’re all scared shitless. But they all approach their surgery knowing that it’s impossible to see through “dirty windows” so it’s their best option and their biggest hope.
I’m rooting for you … big time!
You, my friend, deserve to lead a life filled with color!
I didn’t know you had several offline jobs. Good grief, Melanie, when do you sleep? Then again, when do I? Certainly not at any normal times!
The pendulum DID swing, and per your request, it went the other way! Must have been your good wishes for me. So thank you!
Life is full of color, and far clearer images of everything I see. It’s grand! The only problem is that I can’t read things that are close any more, which I always could. But that is so minor that it doesn’t even bear speaking of! I’m one very happy seeing camper! Thanks, kiddo.
Sometimes we’re the windshield … and sometimes we’re the bug.
So pleased and so excited to hear your world is full of color again. I can’t think of a happier thought right now than this one, Paula. Amen!!
Thanks for the great thoughts! It’s a happy thought for me, for sure.
Um, Melanie. It may very well be that when I got my new good vision in that one eye that I lost my brain.
Who’s the bug?? I’m thinking…neither of us? Right now we’re both the windshields?
Just not sure. ;D I guess I must stink at metaphor!
We’re both windshields, Paula! (not the squashed bugs on them)
OK, my friend! If you say so.
P.S. Paula, a few more things I meant to include about Lisel Mueller’s poem “Monet Refuses the Operation”:
1. Her first name is correctly spelled “Lisel ( according to amazon & wikipedia); but you will see the spelling “Liesel” on many websites, including the one from which I copied the poem below.
2. Here are another blogger’s interesting observations on Mueller & this particular poem: http://paulscotaugust.wordpress.com/2009/09/03/liesel-mueller-monet-refuses-the-operation/
3. I also love her poem, “Moon Fishing”: http://dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com/2010/04/pink-moon.html
Kitti Carriker brilliantly posted American – British – Indiana Gothic
You are a fount of wisdom on good poetry, kiddo. I always know that you will have something apt, powerful and probably beautiful. I learned that by following your blog, The Fortnightly: A Literary Blog of Connection and Coincidence. (URL above)
What beautiful thoughts and poetry you write about.
A poem you might like. Anne Lamott uses this as the prologue to her book, “Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith”:
Monet Refuses The Operation
Doctor, you say there are no halos
around the streetlights of Paris
and what I see is an aberration
caused by old age, an affliction.
I tell you it has taken me all my life
to arrive at the vision of gas lamps as angels,
to soften and blur and finally banish
the edges you regret I don’t see,
to learn that the line I called the horizon
does not exist and sky and water,
so long apart, are the same state of being.
Fifty-four years before I could see
Rouen cathedral is built
of parallel shafts of sun,
and now you want to restore
my youthful errors: fixed
notions of top and bottom,
the illusion of three-dimensional space,
wisteria separate
from the bridge it covers.
What can I say to convince you
the Houses of Parliament dissolve
night after night to become
the fluid dream of the Thames?
I will not return to a universe
of objects that don’t know each other,
as if islands were not the lost children
of one great continent. The world
is flux, and light becomes what it touches,
becomes water, lilies on water,
above and below water,
becomes lilac and mauve and yellow
and white and cerulean lamps,
small fists passing sunlight
so quickly to one another
that it would take long, streaming hair
inside my brush to catch it.
To paint the speed of light!
Our weighted shapes, these verticals,
burn to mix with air
and change our bones, skin, clothes
to gases. Doctor,
if only you could see
how heaven pulls earth into its arms
and how infinitely the heart expands
to claim this world, blue vapor without end.
Liesel Mueller
This was a perfect choice, Kitti! Lisel is right about the beauty of the glow surrounding certain light, and the illusion of peace from the haziness of objects like streetlamps like angels.
But, being born in 1924, Liesel didn’t have to work on a computer. And they, of course, require seeing!
Thanks for sharing this piece about the universality of fading vision and the inevitable onset of aging. So right to show it to me that night! xoxo
Dear Paula,
You are such an important part of the #usguys tribe. You are one of the very first that welcomed me and made sure that I stayed welcomed. Just like Paul says, it really is a mystery why some people get hit so much harder in life than others. It’s not fair and you have every right to be scared. We are all here for you and hoping to see some of your colorful tweets soon.
Thanks for being part of the tribe. You’re a wonderful addition and a very valued member yourself. It’s so nice to have a group of folks to turn to when down, and to know that they’ll come through for you.
As you did for me on this occasion! I can’t thank you enough, Jon, both for bucking me up here, and for your friendship. It’s fun to know someone living in Germany. Makes me feel more a citizen of the world.
I’ll never understand why some people seem to get more than their fair share — of both good and bad.
Our thoughts and prayers are with you Paula! You have lots of friends in #UsGuys! Go get ’em and let there be color!
Oh, Paul, I was just being whiny because I was scared! I haven’t had any more bad luck than anyone else; mine just happened to be medical, which made this a little more nerve-wracking!
And there is so much color! Everything went to well that I may even be able to drive a little bit one of these days.
I may actually get out in the world again! And to that I say: Yeah! Oh, yeah. Yesss!
I get where you’re coming from, Paula. I had a medical “fluke” that changed my life forever. Once you realize that (1) flukes can happen and (2) they can happen to you, it tends to erode your confidence in your own invincibility. And once that jig is up — once you realize you are indeed vulnerable and mortal (gasp!) — well, all things medical tend to get just a little bit scarier.
I will indeed be praying for you, Paula.
I’m so sad that you had a fluke too. Aren’t they just a shocker? That you came so close to a really bad outcome, and barely escaped? And yep. The after-effects can really change life and not in such a good way. Hate that!
I appreciate and thank you so much for your prayers. They worked!
Wishing you all the best, Paula!!
My Dad had cataract surgery in 2009. We were both nervous going in the first time, but it went so well that when he had the second eye done about a month later we were positively giddy.
Now your situation is a little different because you only have the one good eye. I’d be scared and protective too. (BTW, I’m usually pretty brave but on the subject of eyes I’m downright squeamish. Had a scratched cornea once myself, that took a year to heal properly.)
I’m with Sherree on this one–you’ve exhausted your lifetime supply of “flukes.” You deserve a surgery that’s so routine it’s boring. Except that when you leave the hospital the world will look like it’s supposed to. And you’re right about the colors; my Dad’s first comment was how white white things looked. (He sounded a bit like a laundry detergent commercial.) And he compared his post-surgery sight to having HD TV everywhere.
Last thing I did before Dad was wheeled off for his cataract surgery was squeeze his hand and kiss his forehead. Same to you, dear, and I hope it brings the same success.
Karen E. Lund brilliantly posted Cut & Paste Fold- Bend- Staple & Mutilate
I’m squeamish about eyes too, Karen. And for the same reason. I had a scratched cornea that ulcerated and took 2 years to heal. It’s no fun, is it?
Agreed. Get away from my eyes! Do NOT touch!
That’s the reaction I always have if something or someone gets too close. ICK!
Oh, Karen. Such a good friend you are.
There really is something that is just anathema to us about the thought of something interfering with our eyes. It’s instinct, I think. They are so freakin’ vulnerable, it feels like.
Thanks for the story of your dad. Mine went the very same way! ‘Twas comforting to know that his had been so very simple.
Your best wishes went with me as I headed to surgery. I thank you so much.
Good Luck for tomorrow Paula.
Lou and I wish you all the best!!
You’re such a great pal!
And now it’s my turn to be wishing the best for you two! Poor Lou, so very preggers, and overdue! Let me know as soon as things calm down after the big event.
BEST hugs and karma.
Hi Paula —
Yep, you have every right to be scared, but I have faith that you’ve had enough “flukes,” so when you wake up, your world will be full of color.
Can’t wait to hear you say “woo hoo!”
*Hugs*
Sherree
Oh, Starry (for that’s how I think of you!), thank you so much for coming by. I didn’t wanna complain on the list, yet I wanted a couple friends to just say good luck. And wow. What a great group of friends I have.
You and the gang mean more than you can know to an old gal like me with a rather limited lifestyle! But hey—with my “new” eye, maybe I’ll be able to get around a bit more once again!
Thanks, kiddo.
Hiya Paula,
Wow! This was such a powerful post. I could hear you and your pain. Thank for so generously sharing such a difficult and anxious moment. I am here for you. Do not worry or be afraid. You will come out of this with greater senses and an even greater story.
Thank you for a great lesson as well: what we have is precious while we have it.
Taariq
Taariq Lewis brilliantly posted test blog
Taariq, my good friend, you and I both know I wasn’t being generous; I was being needy and whiny! But you are kind to be so kind and to read it for me. As soon as you guys had come, I felt 100% better. Seriously. Just knowing you guys took the time, well…all my fears seemed silly and not to be worried about.
How grateful I am to have you in my stream. xo.
Hi Paula,
Darn right that’s scary stuff. I don’t care how minor they say it is- or how routine. So, yes, thoughts are with you. It will be so sweet to have this in your rear view mirror.
I couldn’t have said it better myself, Ric. “In my rearview mirror.” That’s exactly how I’ll look at it tomorrow morning!
Oh, thanks, buddy, for coming by. I can’t wait until #sobcon and really look forward to getting to know you better. Hopefully I won’t be moaning and groaning about anything then!
I appreciate you, Ric.