Sometimes I forget some of the things in my life. Not in an amnesiac way, more like the dusty memory balls from Inside Out.
A dozen years ago while living in Brooklyn, I woke up to a BLAZING whiteness. At first I thought I’d left the curtains open and overslept, then I realized my eyes were still closed. And one of them HURT.
I’d scratched my cornea before so that was on my radar and I knew there was an optometrist near work so I headed out. But the whiteness was relentless and the pain was loud and the optometrist was closed.
I tried to push through but I could not. Haley, my manager, told me to go to the NYC Eye and Ear Hospital on 14th. I took the L. I don’t know how I managed the subway but I didn’t have a choice.
I was so scared, I couldn’t see, it hurt and I was alone. I was texting with a friend, Heather, and her mom called me and stayed on the phone with me so I wasn’t alone.
A course of antibiotic eye drops alternating with steroids every half hour stopped the ulcer on my cornea from expanding and helped it heal. And slowly my near sightedness returned and I could see. I was lucky that the scar is just outside my field of vision. My eyesight was spared.
I’d let that memory get dusty. The vulnerability and fear. The pain and the loneliness. The unknown and then the whiteness faded and in could see color again.
When I say you are a miracle, I mean it. Our bodies are miraculous. Our capacity to heal is extraordinary. I remember the white and the pain and the delight when color came back. And Shelley, praying with me on my flip phone.
A dozen years ago.
Pretty Good Ugly 