Changed but no Different

By the end of January 2010, everything had changed, but nothing was really better.
After the third of five sessions of PRP laser treatment, I had flashers in the left eye, a sure sign of advanced eye problems from diabetes, the precise thing the PRP was supposed to have prevented.
Cataract surgery had cleared the ruddy fog from my outer eye, but had done nothing for the pool of blood that welled in my inner eye. Prior to the cataract surgery, I had not been aware of two separate pools of blood.
The cataract surgery had to be done, and going on two years later I still have no doubts about that. I wish I had been told about the potential risks and been given realistic expectations for my vision afterwards, but I would have gone ahead with the cataract procedure.
My vision at that point was frustrating for its inconsistency. I had been sleeping in a recliner because independent internet searches on the problem of the vitreous hemorrhage suggested not sleeping lying down. When I woke, my vision was clearer than it had been since earliest childhood. As I slept or was fully still, the blood in the center of my eye would settle and separate from the vitreous gel, the way oil and vinegar separate in an untouched carafe. Unfortunately, even minor motion mixed the fluids back up and took away hat clarity. A fifty foot walk from the living room to the bathroom proved enough to remix the fluids and reduce the eyesight.
I could not read. Glasses might improve the severe far sightedness that the cataract lense had caused, but I was not able to actually get to my optometrist with clear enough vision to test for the appropriate lense.
Most of the minor jobs I tried doing came out pretty badly. Other than sitting like a lump, the only thing I continued to do was bowl in my two leagues. Most of the teammates I had at the time were fully supportive. I’d throw the first ball straight and try to center to the marks. For spare shots, my teammates would tell me which pins still stood. My average had never been too high and I only lost some ten percent off of it. The major accomplishment was a perfectly straight throw that pickled up a 6-7-10 split.
Otherwise, I stagnated at home, wishing I could be working, wishing I could be reading the books whose spines I could for the first time in my life read from across the room. TV bored me and I was running out of public libraries’ audio books that I had real interest in "reading."
I had one more PRP session scheduled. I had promises from internet research–not from doctors–that the blood in the center of the eye would dissipate over time.
I still had hope.