Just about a week ago, the bubble finally disappeared from my eye.
The surgeon said it would happen. My colleague who had a retina repair of his own recalled how he looked around one day and the bubble was gone, though he could not recall how long it had been away.
I remember mine.
I was in the passenger side of my wife’s car. We were backing out of the driveway; I reached into the glove compartment for my old sunglasses. As I leaned forward, no black orb leapt into my field of vision. No jiggling black hole world within my visual sphere. I laughed, and when Laura asked me what was wrong, I said, “My bubble is gone!” As someone who has had to drive me to these procedures, sit int the waiting rooms while I went under knives and lasers, and tried to remain sleeping next to me as I thrashed the sheets into knots, she may have been even more excited than I was.
Hardly a wake-up-one-day-and-it’s-gone scenario. The bubble was there when I ate breakfast. I worked around it so I could do the only reading my eye allowed: white-illuminated backdrops on my phone.
The bubble jiggled as I brushed my teeth. Dropped into the center of my vision as I leaned to pull on my socks. Wobbled as I descended the stairs just moments before.
Then it was gone.
On our return from the drive, I hustled to the basement to retrieve a book I saved for just this occasion. The surgeon recommended that I avoid extended periods of book and magazine text during recovery, as they would irritate my eye, cause fatigue, increase the persistent headaches and, possibly, slow recovery.
The eye made it easy to follow that directive: I could not focus on any printed text, even in high levels of light. My right eye, so tired after doing all the work for nearly four months, was having none of the work of reading print. Frustrating, as I spend large chunks of each day reading.
The reward for my wait was a new book, purchased nearly a month prior: Holly, by Stephen King. Though I normally devour books, especially by preferred authors, this one took me ten days to complete. Maybe it was lack of practice, or the result of accumulated poor leisure habits as I waited for my body to do its ever-more lethargic healing process. I still read during recovery, just a lot more on my phone or other digital devices. Not desirable.
The last two days I caught fire, getting back to old routines, finishing the second half of the book in rapid fashion. I didn’t love it, which also contributed to the slow finishing pace, but reading it propelled me back into the “Bill Hodges Trilogy,” beginning with Mr. Mercedes. It is a trilogy that I always believe I can stop after just one, or even pace myself to read other books in between its novels. Like any other addict; fool myself.
Maybe this time will be different.
Doubtful, but maybe.
Regardless, I am just happy to be able to read again. The eye is not fully recovered and, of course, with my physical health luck, the surgeon now says it may never come all the way back–a different tale than he told pre-surgery–but it works well enough.
For now.