Have you ever walked through a heavy snowfall and everything was kind of bright but your vision was impaired? That's how everything is to me right now.
Last Thursday when I woke up, I felt as though a film was covering my eyes. I couldn't really see clearly, but I thought maybe I had some sleepy stuff in my eyes. I rubbed them a few times, but alas, the fog did not clear. It seems to have gotten worse over the weekend, and though I called my ophthalmologist on Friday, I still haven't heard back.
It's a struggle just to type this, squinting at each letter to ensure no typos or grammatical errors. When I was out shopping earlier, I struggled to swipe my card and enter my pin number. When I spied a bag of hot dog buns for a moment I thought they were tiny hamburger buns for sliders, until I got close enough to touch the bag. I could barely read the ingredient list on snacks for my son to make sure there were no nuts in them. And because sensitivity to light accompanies the inflammation, on this overcast day I was squinting and wearing sunglasses.
Although this is a pretty sudden and severe flare of my uveitis, it's also par for the course being chronically ill. Every day brings a new symptom, a new infection, or fleeting moments of feeling "normal." I was finally recovering from a long, drawn-out cough, close enough to taste the sensation of healthy, when this decline in vision happened, and now almost four days after that, I'm feeling the beginnings of a new cold.
Having this illness is an exercise in alternating hope and frustration, depression and happiness. It's finding a balance between my mental energy and physical limits.
I have to be prepared at all times for these eventualities and have plans, and contingency plans etc etc so that I can minimize the impact of my illness, not only on myself, but everyone around me.
So while I'm busy worrying about my vision and hoping that,
while I wait for the doctor's office to call, no permanent damage will
be done to my sight, I'm also worrying about my family
and my job. I know that my limitations with inevitably affect those that depend on me, and it's stress upon stress that weighs heavily on me, robs my sleep, and exhausts my resolve.
After I finish writing this, I'm going to play with my younger son, try to finish up chores around the house, and then go to work at a medical clinic, to care for others.
The entire time, I will be struggling to see things clearly, literally and figuratively.
For some insight into chronic illness, you can read the Spoon Theory written by a woman with lupus.
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