“Light scatter from the microscope,” the eye surgeon said. “Your own personal light show.”
During outpatient surgery today, vivid shapes—morphing from teal blue to chartreuse—resembled photos I’ve taken of water, at dusk.
Interrupting
my chronic, distorted vision
and escalating dread …
glimpses of Beauty.
Had I ever sat so still?
I froze in the molded beige chair: chin propped, forehead pressed against the top of the machine, the kindly attendant steadying the back of my skull.
“One sharp click accompanies each shot,” the surgeon warned. “We call this procedure the YAG Laser Capsulotomy.”
My worst moment?
The beginning, when the surgeon forced the giant, goopy, plastic lens over my eyeball—with no warning. It separated my lids to prevent blinking—ultimately a good thing, albeit uncomfortable—like most healing measures.
Years ago, post-cataract surgery, I had assumed my peepers were good to go.
Turns out lens implants often need further care as the posterior capsule holding them in place gradually clouds over, smudging vision. Some call them after-cataracts.
Like the spiritual life, occasionally, our clarity dims.
We long to perceive the Light but find ourselves peering through the equivalent of waxed paper. Night driving produces halos—and not the heavenly kind. Even our reading suffers.
A friend, empathizing with my worry, suggested I imagine Jesus lovingly spitting in my eye (See John 9:6-7).
Wondrous, how mirth dispels fear. Lets in light. After we finished laughing, she prayed for me.
A few hours after my surgery, when I could see again, I viewed several similar procedures on youtube. Carefully aimed laser micro-pulses burst through clouded capsules. It looked like someone taking potshots at jellyfish.
Or small meteors, erupting in space.
So at day’s end, my pupils nearly their normal size, Elizabeth Jennings’ poem becomes my prayerful ideal: poetry plus faith meeting science.
Now about these erratic horseflies arcing through my peripheral vision: “New floaters,” my surgeon said. “They’re just procedural debris that should settle in time.”
So like our ongoing issues. Head-turning, annoying, but what a great cue to pray for someone in need, each time a pesky black shape whizzes by.
I aim to practice contemplative light scatter: “the phenomenon by which a beam of light is redirected in many different directions …”
How do you redirect the repetitively annoying in healing directions?
“Clarify,” Elizabeth Jennings, New Collected Poems, p. 161
I like how you present and argue all the facts in addition to
your general writing style. At times, there’s a shortage of time to study long pieces,
but yours is brief and concise, I spent just a few minutes to read
the whole article. It is essential since no one has sufficient time to browse.
Elliot, thank you for dropping by. I appreciate your kind words.
Laurie, I’m so sorry to hear about your eye procedure but really pleased to see how it has gifted you with these wondrous words! Your inner vision as contemplative and poet has always been clear and sound. And I love the way you see marvellous things in response to your eyes not quite behaving as they should. I usually get bothered by the little black floaters that have a way of infiltrating when I want to look at something. However, you have given me a fresh approch to take, a reason to pause and pray and be grateful for the measure of sight I have, astigmatism and myopia aside. You (and Lynn here) have also inspired me to check out the Monet poem and acquaint myself with a new to me poet. I so love the way I am gently directed toward a fresh view of life via your perspective. Thank you! May recovery be swift and may you continue to see the benefits wrapped up in the tiresome aspects of life. That’s such a lovely grace gift. 🙂 x
Hi dear Joy, it’s always a deep pleasure to connect with you. I’m rejoicing to think of you using your vision challenges for a greater purpose. But then, that’s the way you live. Your writing tells me so.
Here’s a link for the truly marvelous Monet poem: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/52577/monet-refuses-the-operation-56d231289e6db 🙂
Thanks, Laurie! I love the poem. It’s a gem. 🙂 xo
I’ve just discovered her work this past year. Little by little, I’m reading her Pulitzer Prize-winning book: Alive Together.
Love the way you see life lessons everywhere you go–even in the opthalmologist’s office. And then you express them with such creativity! Thank you, Laurie. Now, in answer to your question: Just today I stopped my car to allow a driver to pull out of a parallel parking space and enter the flow of traffic. At the next stoplight, he slipped through on yellow, I had to stop. It didn’t seem fair! My friend in the car with me jokingly said, “Lord, couldn’t you have kept that light green for one more second?” And then we reveled in the blue skies and white fluffy clouds, a nearby magnolia tree, and before we knew it we were on our way again–with smiles on our faces. The annoyance of Murphy’s Law was redirected into the light of joy. That’s one way to handle annoyance: look in another direction–with gratitude.
Nancy, your words pull right into the scene, and the emotions. Perfect example!
Who was Murphy anyway, I wonder … any relation to Eeyore?
I appreciate your last line: so simple, so direct: “look in another direction with gratitude.” Such a small movement of the head and freeing leap of the heart.
My beautiful friend with the shining periwinkle eyes ( still my favorite color on you) . It appears, God in His magic ways, had me praying for you in advance. And I’ll continue to pray for the healing of your marvelous eyes. But I must say that I know your “sight” has always been keen and will remain so no matter what the physical realm throws at you. 💜
Katherine, thank you for those advance warning responses sent up in my behalf! I was pretty nervous about it all. I’m still fuzzy around the edges but they can’t blast that area. It is wonderful to have my straight-ahead view cleared up. And it reminds me afresh of how important seeing with the eyes of the heart is. Love you!
Dearest Laurie,
Thanks for providing space to ‘immerse and emerge refresh’ even when dealing with something as physically and emotionally serious as your eyesight.
May you always see the Lord Jesus clearly with the eyes of your heart and spirit – your soul is a window full of eyes!
Robert, thank you, dear friend, for that beautiful prayer. I love that image of the soul as a window full of eyes. May it be so! And I wish the same for you and Ros, ever-increasing vision and insight for every challenge and ardent endeavor undertaken. Much love to you both!
Eye am forever blinking in astonishment in how you see the world. Thank you for sharing your vision. It is ALWAYS a welcome gift.
Smiling at your wit and irrepressible joy in life, which you share so generously, Pacia. Do you remember the movie “The Unsinkable Molly Brown”? I loved that movie. She reminds me of you.
What perfect timing ,,,yesterday I became aware of the lighting show playing out in the corner of my eye. Just two days before the light show, my optometrists office called to inform me that I was due for a check up. I disregarded it as i usually do with those types of calls …I wonder how they knew in two days time I would have what appears to be a transparent bowling ball floating here and there across the horizon …
Coincidence I’m sure ,,,magic ball probably not… yet here again today as I read of your exploits with what sounds like very similar symptoms I’m reminded how quickly things can change for us class of 68ers… Redirect , regroup ,change course, adjust tempo, and renew ones resolve , life’s aging compromises never far behind barking at our heels… Lol we’re not going to go quietly into night… Dam the transparent bowling balls full speed ahead…
Oh Larry, I’m laughing aloud (not at your eye problem) but at your closing sally. Full speed ahead, indeed! You say it so well! All those active verbs we now regularly employ. Shouldn’t there be some overflow aerobic benefit as we redirect, regroup, change, adjust, renew? I love the stubborn hope embodied in those lines.
And I’m so sorry to hear of this change in your vision. That must really impede looking through your camera lens, not to mention daily life. Praying you’ll get great care from your your doc and have years and years of good vision. Amen
Oh our eyes! What precious gifts they are, Laurie. Oh spiritual sight! What a precious gift it is. I am praying that, floaters and all (aren’t they annoying?!), you will retain your newly corrected good vision. Aren’t you amazed at the wonder of technology and surgery? When my grandmother had cataract surgery, she was required to lay still in a hospital, flat on her back, with weights securing her head from turning . . . and I think she was in there for at least a month–maybe longer! She saw, yes, but through thick-as-Coke-bottle-bottom lenses. I lament that I have had a significant eye change since my last visit to the doctor (being as nearsighted as I am, this always kills me!), and this changed has erupted right after my beloved doctor mysteriously left the practice. No one there is talking, so I presume there is some kind of gag order preventing them from saying what has happened to him. He always returns my calls, but this time, he did not, and I feel like a raft drifting out to sea. I get new lenses tomorrow, and pray the new doc has fitted me properly. He said my cataracts are not yet ripe enough for removal, and reading your post, Laurie, I’m dismayed to know that you can have secondary cataracts! Yikes!! Who woulda thought? But as we age, God willing, our spiritual vision should continue to improve, growing brighter and clearer with each passing year. Sadly, mine feels cloudy. I know I need some “heart-of-my-eyes” surgery, but I’m dreading it.
Turning a corner, I presume you are familiar with that wonderful poem about Monet and his blurry vision. Much to “see” in it.
Sending you well wishes and prayers for a speedy recovery!!
Sending much love
Lynn
PS What are the photos depicting? Fabric? Just lovely!
Hi dear Lynn, the photos are all shots of water, at dusk. The variety of patterns and hues calm water takes on at day’s end fascinates me.
And yes, it is amazing to think of the tools and expertise now available for all manner of medical care. I can’t imagine being sandbagged in a hospital bed for a month. What survivors our grandmothers were!
I hope all goes well tomorrow as you see the new doctor. And that you find great frames you will love. (I’m nearsighted, too.)
As to the secondary cataracts, the reading I’ve done indicates this only occurs in 20% of patients. I am sending up a prayer as I type that you will be in the fortunate majority.
I’m not sure I’ve read the Monet poem. I will Google it. Thanks for the recommendation.
Blessings on your weekend, my friend!!
Sandbags! That was it.
I’ll send you a link to the poem by email. you will love it!!
Fabulous! I’ll look forward to it 🙂
Lynn, the Monet poem is gorgeous! Simply stunning. Thank you for introducing me to it. I will read it often and try to absorb it’s technique along with its wise beauty.
Oh, Laurie! What a beautiful telling. And Jennings arrived just in time. <3
I'm so glad we're buddies. 🙂
Sandy, you are Laurie are surely two of the most gifted contemporary poets I know. I love your work, as well!
xoxo
Lynn
Lynn, can we hire you as our PR person? But no, you have too many other marvelous giftings. Thanks for cheering us both on!
xo
I should have known you two were friends. Birds of a poetic feather….!!
We’re taking a class together, and this is our final week (of 12), so I’ve gotten to know her much better and love her, love her work. Such a privilege to work and learn together. (It’s a class on writing for children. Stretching!)
Awww, Lynn. I can’t touch a candle to Laurie’s work, but you just made me stand a little straighter. Love you, lady. xo
And yes… this class was so filling. I am sorry to see it end.
I know, wasn’t that perfect? I love it when those connections happen. Wishing you a wonderful weekend, friend! And brilliant ideas for the alligator story 🙂
You’ll be the first to know when I get ‘er done.
Counting on it! 🙂
Oh my goodness, so much to ponder from your wondrously-composed words. Thank you.
And, I am very thankful your eyes are okay.
Hi Carol. How lovely to hear from you today! My vision is clearer. Thanks for your concern. And your feedback!
I came across a TED talk clip by Jane Fonda on FB this week. She’s still gorgeous, ardent, and wise, at 80. She thinks of life as 3 acts, ~30 years each. I was freshly inspired to treasure my third life passage, to reflect on my past as well as ongoing story in life-giving ways, and to keep on learning and growing. I’m grateful for every voice raised that reminds me attitude counts, adventures await . . .
Her book on aging and doing a life review is interesting. I don’t agree w/ all of it, so take what I can and poof: blow the rest away. 🙂
Lynn, I haven’t seen the book. I just glimpsed a few soundbites on FB and appreciated her zest.
I do love the word “poof” and the freedom therein to take in what speaks and let the rest go.
May your weekend fill you up with joy!
always more to learn as we age, if only we can listen! thanks for the images. I’ll remember the “Jesus spitting in my eye” phrase.
Carol, so true. That’s the attitude I want to be uppermost in my thoughts as these months/years roll by. What can I learn from this person, this book, this situation, this knowledge? It’s still an adventure!