It's hard for me to imagine how badly I was seeing for the surgery to make such a difference! I think I have worn everyone out saying how amazing it is! The colors so much brighter and so much more detail for everything. I won't need glasses for distance any more, at least I don't at the moment, but will need something for reading I believe. There are no halos around streetlights! Now that was a given for years I think. I actually had to go out last night and look just to see if they were really gone, and they were! With the right lens out of my glasses, my brain is trying valiantly to mush the two very different kinds of vision together. I do believe it's working something out in there! I asked Dr. Tran if I could have the left eye done like tomorrow, <sigh> he said at least a month between surgeries! I can't wait!
This is a strange poem, Fiat Lux, let there be light! I think this morning, seeing so many things in such a new way. I understand that I might begin to imagine the world I now inhabit, some new creature, with new dreams.
Fiat Lux
My sister asks what ate the bird's eyes
as she cradles the dead chickadee she found
on the porch. Ants, I say, knowing the soft ocular
cells are the easiest way into the red feast of heart,
liver, kidney. I tell her that when they ate the bird
they saw the blue bowled sky, the patchwork
of soybean fields and sunflowers, a bear loping
across a gravel road. Already, they are bringing
back to their tunnels the slow chapters of spring—
a slough drying to become a meadow and the bruised
smell of sex inside flowers. They start to itch
for a mate's black-feathered cheeks and music.
As she cushions the eggs, their queen dreams
of young chickadees stretching their necks and crying
for their mother to protect them until they learn to see.
Sister, it is like this—the visions begin to waver,
and the colony goes mad, fearful they'll never see
another dahlia tell its purple rumor, or see a river commit
itself to the ocean. As the last memory leaves them,
they twitch in their sleep, trying to make out the distant
boatman lifting his lantern, his face disfigured by light.
Traci Brimhall
All this soft tissue the basis of so much of how we experience the world. How frightening it was to think of losing that view through the delicate lens! How joyful to have such daily sights restored to so much clarity that it is almost overwhelming! What impatience to have to wait to have the other eye come clear, the fear outweighed by the magnificent results of the first trial!
Today, a dream of new visions! A dream come true and will come true again, until this new vision is the reality and the old dull film is only a vague and distant memory!
No comments:
Post a Comment