Dancing in the Dark

I had wanted all the procedures done by Christmas 2009. The vitreous hemorrhage had not just taken most of the sight of my only functioning eye. I’d worked too hard since my teen years to build a self sufficient life. Blindness was taking that as well.
What had started as a bright blood red sheen that filtered my vision had quickly become a reddish brown haze, a perpetual fog that could not be seen through. For a week or so, I could still read books with larger print, but when the blood mixed with the natural eye fluids, I lost even that simple pleasure.
I’m not a TV person in general. I found dateline murder mysteries could be enjoyed even without sight; most everything else relied on visual cues that reminded me of everything I was missing.
My first anthology publication saw print in October 2009. I found myself unable to proofread even my own story, never mind enjoy the ones that were new to me.
I had gotten pretty bored with audio books after I’d borrowed the last of the Kate Wilhelm mysteries available throughout Rhode Island’s library network and was still feeling disappointed that none of her science fiction–and few of any science fiction titles that sat on my unread bookshelf–were available.
I continued to bowl; teammates would tell me what pins remained after the first ball and I would aim my straight ball proportionately from the dark contrast of the gutters. Amazingly enough I lost only about ten pins off my admittedly low average.
I had prepared two holiday meals unassisted. I recovered some ability to use the computer with a 32-inch TV as a monitor and a magnifying mouse.
I had found it necessary to hire someone to plow snow around my plow equipped jeep. I was not able to work, and the delay of two years ago still has an avalanche of things never caught up to my satisfaction.
I lived as fully as I could, but it was not enough for me. I wanted the cataract surgery with its implied promise of clearing the ruddy cloud out from under the bubbled lense.
I had grown bored
I could not find balance in my relationships. I felt like a useless burden. Those helping me the most inadvertently took away another piece of my self with every favor, all of which were and are still appreciated. I was always the caretaker, the one who banked favors with no intention of ever needing to cash out. Those who were there for me have my eternal gratitude, no matter what twists and turns change the relationships. Others disappointed with their inability to adjust to their stoic friend possibly needing something every now and then.
Perhaps I had been too successful in my lifelong fight for independence.
Even blind, I could see myself losing that.
I had to wait three weeks between the fifth PRP session and the cataract surgery that I expected to clear my eye.
It couldn’t happen soon enough.