Some lessons are worth learning more than once. This is true of the lessons learned from my recent and first cataract surgery. I expected that the cloudy view of the world from my left eye would be replaced by a cleaner and crisper field of vision. What I did not anticipate was the amount of light which would permeate my new, unclouded lens. When I close the left eye darkness descends. My right lens is simply grimy, eroded and covered by the detritus of all it has seen over 65 years, like a sheer curtain keeping out much of the light. I had no idea how darkened my world had become, the curtain’s descent was so gradual.
My house is so much brighter, even on the cloudy days we have been having. I don’t need more lamps or brighter bulbs, as I had thought. Light reflects from the softest, most absorbent surfaces, not merely from mirrors. Candle light does light up the dining table enough to see the food on my plate. I had forgotten how much light there is in the world. How bright a future can be. I expect even more light after my second surgery.
It is not until we open our minds and hearts, are willing to open new doors, bravely step out into unknown territory, and curiously step into unexpected experiences that we realize how limited our lives and how clouded our thoughts have become; and, how dark our futures seem.
I thought I enjoyed my garden. I had only known half of it. There is no dearth of bees as I had thought; their tiny bodies now gleam against the backlight of flowers, more colorful than I had imagined. Tiny bugs move soil around the base of each plant, opening tunnels for rain water to reach roots. I thought reading had become burdensome. I no longer struggle to pull words from the page; they leap off onto beams of light straight to the retina. I thought my skin and hair had grown dull with age; but, they glow from the energy speeding through my body, alight with oxygen and sugars to grow new and younger cells. I thought the future could only grow darker. I was wrong. The future always glows brighter.
I dreaded the first surgery, terrified it could leave me blind, or with even less vision. I feared my body might reject the new lens, or my body would suffer an allergic reaction to the medications used to make the surgical procedure physically and emotionally comfortable. My worst fear was that I would not be able to hide my fear. I feared I would have a massive panic attack, causing havoc for the dedicated caregivers working so diligently on my behalf. I feared letting them down and shaming myself.
These are the fears I carry in my bag of tricks. They sometimes keep me from bravely opening my heart, stepping into new territory, and exploring unexpected experiences. When I was young the bag of fears I carried was nearly empty, so light I barely noticed; certainly not so heavy it stopped my explorations of the unknown future. As I grew older the bag grew fuller, heavier and more burdensome. No more. I dumped out the bag’s contents this week! The more light let in by my cataract surgery, the lighter my bag became. I cannot wait for my second surgery. I know I learned this many times before; but,some lessons are worth learning more than once.
If only each of us could remember this lesson, unload our bags of fear, and open our hearts to each other. If we could open the closed doors which block us from one another and step bravely into each other’s lives with light and hope instead of fear…I can only imagine how exciting and enlightening that would be. I am so glad I had this surgery. If anyone tells you that you need cataract surgery, don’t hesitate to say, “Great, I am ready!” The truth is is we all need cataract surgery. Some lessons are worth learning more than once.
Removing Cataracts,Louise Annarino,7-24-2014
Some lessons are worth learning more than once. This is true of the lessons learned from my recent and first cataract surgery. I expected that the cloudy view of the world from my left eye would be replaced by a cleaner and crisper field of vision. What I did not anticipate was the amount of light which would permeate my new, unclouded lens. When I close the left eye darkness descends. My right lens is simply grimy, eroded and covered by the detritus of all it has seen over 65 years, like a sheer curtain keeping out much of the light. I had no idea how darkened my world had become, the curtain’s descent was so gradual.
My house is so much brighter, even on the cloudy days we have been having. I don’t need more lamps or brighter bulbs, as I had thought. Light reflects from the softest, most absorbent surfaces, not merely from mirrors. Candle light does light up the dining table enough to see the food on my plate. I had forgotten how much light there is in the world. How bright a future can be. I expect even more light after my second surgery.
It is not until we open our minds and hearts, are willing to open new doors, bravely step out into unknown territory, and curiously step into unexpected experiences that we realize how limited our lives and how clouded our thoughts have become; and, how dark our futures seem.
I thought I enjoyed my garden. I had only known half of it. There is no dearth of bees as I had thought; their tiny bodies now gleam against the backlight of flowers, more colorful than I had imagined. Tiny bugs move soil around the base of each plant, opening tunnels for rain water to reach roots. I thought reading had become burdensome. I no longer struggle to pull words from the page; they leap off onto beams of light straight to the retina. I thought my skin and hair had grown dull with age; but, they glow from the energy speeding through my body, alight with oxygen and sugars to grow new and younger cells. I thought the future could only grow darker. I was wrong. The future always glows brighter.
I dreaded the first surgery, terrified it could leave me blind, or with even less vision. I feared my body might reject the new lens, or my body would suffer an allergic reaction to the medications used to make the surgical procedure physically and emotionally comfortable. My worst fear was that I would not be able to hide my fear. I feared I would have a massive panic attack, causing havoc for the dedicated caregivers working so diligently on my behalf. I feared letting them down and shaming myself.
These are the fears I carry in my bag of tricks. They sometimes keep me from bravely opening my heart, stepping into new territory, and exploring unexpected experiences. When I was young the bag of fears I carried was nearly empty, so light I barely noticed; certainly not so heavy it stopped my explorations of the unknown future. As I grew older the bag grew fuller, heavier and more burdensome. No more. I dumped out the bag’s contents this week! The more light let in by my cataract surgery, the lighter my bag became. I cannot wait for my second surgery. I know I learned this many times before; but,some lessons are worth learning more than once.
If only each of us could remember this lesson, unload our bags of fear, and open our hearts to each other. If we could open the closed doors which block us from one another and step bravely into each other’s lives with light and hope instead of fear…I can only imagine how exciting and enlightening that would be. I am so glad I had this surgery. If anyone tells you that you need cataract surgery, don’t hesitate to say, “Great, I am ready!” The truth is is we all need cataract surgery. Some lessons are worth learning more than once.
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