Patch and Repatch

The restaurant was packed. It was Friday night and in our town people go out to eat, particularly on the weekend. It seems everyone wants to celebrate the end of the work week. This night was no different.

My friends and I had just gotten our food and was about to eat when something like black strings or yarn seemed to hang from my glasses. I reached up to push them away or pull them off, but I could not feel anything there. The friend I was with asked what I was doing. I replied I was trying to get some black strings off my glasses. She looked kind of perplexed and said, “There’s nothing there.” That’s when I knew something had gone wrong with my left eye.Then the white light flashing in the corner of my eye began. I didn’t know what had happened, but I knew this could be serious.

The next day I went to an optometrist for an eye exam. After a very careful examination he told me I’d had a posterior visceous detachment but the retina was not torn. The following Monday I got an appointment with an ophthalmologist who confirmed the earlier diagnosis. However, during this exam the doctor discovered that I have cataracts. The right eye needed surgery as soon as I could arrange it. So another part of me had to be fixed.

This year has been the year of patch and repatch. July 2007 began this process of fixing things as they either quite working as they were supposed to or came loose. In July it was discovered that I have a “stiff” heart. Not a hard heart, but an inflexible one. Basically it is not soft and pliable as it should be and so it doesn’t pump all of the blood out of my heart, which causes blood to back up and not get to all of the places it needs to go. This in turn causes fluid to build up, and the scenario can just escalate from there. There isn’t much of a cure; just aggressive blood pressure control, eliminate fluid build up, and keep as much stress off my heart as possible. Sounds simple enough, that is until you try to keep up your same pace. That’s when the truth hits you right between the eyes–you will no longer be the same physically. Gone are the days of running on empty, sleeping a few hours, and starting all over again the next day. And now, my eyes needed fixing.

I tend to think that things happen for a reason, particularly for the child of God. And I’ve often told people that nothing touches the Christian that doesn’t first pass through God’s hands. So, how do I reconcile my beliefs with what is happening to me physically? It hasn’t been easy.

I suppose the most difficult part has been learning to pace myself, to slow down and rest. I have always done what needed doing whenever it needed to be done and I didn’t need anyone’s help either. But now I can’t clean my house. I can’t drive 9 hours to see my grandchildren. And the list could just go on and on. However, there are some things I will be able to do once I make some lifestyle changes and learn to pace myself. Even when I have the lens replacement done I’ve been assured that I’ll only need reading glasses. I’ve not seen that well since I was a child. So, all is not lost. My life is not over.

I have come to realize that God surely must have let my symptoms manifest themselves in order to give me more life, not take it from me. My heart, while not cured, is manageable. It is something I’m learning to live with. I do what I can and rest when I need to; I pick and choose what I do, when, where, and for how long. And with new eyes, I should be able to continue editing for several more years, not to mention writing. So, what I first thought was the bleakest of circumstances has turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Instead of taking my life, God is making it possible for me to continue to contribute, to be a viable participant in life.

I would be remiss if I did not mention the gift God has given me in faithful friends who have walked with me through all of these changes. They constantly remind me to slow down, to rest, watch my diet, be sure I take my medicine, and just generally nag me to do what the doctor says. They know I love them and appreciate all they do because I’ve told them.

Whether I live to be 80 or only another day, either way the best is yet to come. And I’m very thankful.

Grams