The seventh anniversary of my retinal surgery rolls around on 17 December 2008. I never have blogged about or even privately written about the experience (it is on my five-page-long list of “blog posts to write”). But I do not really require words to keep the experience fresh in my memory: the terror I felt upon first hearing the news that my retina was detached nearly to the optic nerve, and required emergency surgery if I was to avoid blindness; the annoyance of the four weeks of convalescence afterward, during which I had to remain face down nearly all of the time; the slight gray shadow that to this day still hovers at the top of my vision in my right eye because of it.
I like it when this time of year rolls around, though, and I remember, because remembering the surgery (the entire experience, really) reminds me how precious vision actually is (and not only because I am a graphic designer); how truly amazing it is to be able to see the colors that dash before my eyes every day; how dangerously close I nearly always am to uttering, for whatever possibly silly reason, that oft-quoted Wes Bentley as Ricky Fitts line from “American Beauty,” about filming that famous plastic bag on an autumn day, “Sometimes there’s so much beauty in the world, I feel like I can’t take it, like my heart’s going to cave in.”
In the past, when I have paused to reflect on the memories of my retinal surgery, at this anniversary or any other time of the year, really, it has generally been due to emotional / relationship trauma with which I was dealing in my life at the time. So that, while I marveled at the perfection of vision itself (both as a sense and as an even more intangible, intellectual ability to “see” inside one’s self, to look objectively at one’s life and one’s place in it, at the decisions one needs to make, etc.), I was usually always depressed, and unwilling to make certain decisions, unable to “see”, really, what I should be “seeing”. Bittersweet, to be feeling so thankful for the retention of my own vision, while remaining (either consciously or subconsciously) unwilling or unable to enjoy that same kind of vision, that same kind of high-powered self-perception, when it came to my actual life.
So it feels nice, this year, to be reflecting on the anniversary of my retinal surgery with such a wide smile on my face, as I have not in the past. Because not only am I thankful that I can still see a flash of a wing’s color, a reflection of the sun’s rays off of a shell, or the sinewy movement of a hundred legs, in my peripheral vision, as I am dashing down a downtown street while chatting animatedly on my mobile, and stop suddenly to capture each bird, snail, or centipede within pixels for a photographic study of color saturation. But I am also, this year, this anniversary, thankful that I am able to “see” myself more clearly, as well, to see my life, and the decisions I have made and still need to make, in sharper focus than I have ever before seen them.
And I rather like that.
Because that kind of vision is just as priceless, and just as irreplaceable, as the other.
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[Larger versions of these images are, as usual, available in my Flickr Photostream.]
Filed under: Film, Photography , defining moments, linkage, love each day, memories, needful reminders, photoblogging, retinas
This is a very moving blog post. Sometimes it takes these close encounters with death/illness to understand how much it is we do have. I am happy that your surgery was successful. Your reference to the quote “Sometimes there’s so much beauty in the world, I feel like I can’t take it, like my heart’s going to cave in.” describes exactly how I feel on many occasions…glad to see I am not the only one!
You may also be interested in a blog written by a visually impaired artist/writer/filmmaker: http://holeyvision.blogspot.com
Amrita: Thank you so much for reading, and for the amazing compliments. I agree that it often takes these encounters with death and illness to widen our perspectives, and that, for however frightening or saddening they may be, are necessary experiences for us to learn how to focus on things that actually matter quite a bit more than those things we may have been focusing on prior to having those experiences.
When I first saw “American Beauty” and was touched by that particular line, I remember feeling so silly, so emo. But my experiences since then have made me proud of my affinity for those words. Thanks for letting me know that I am not the only one who appreciates them, either.
And thank you for the link to Holey Vision! It looks amazing and I shall be perusing it at length over the weekend!
You always seem to write exactly what I need to read when I need it most.
A beautiful post with beautiful sentiment by a rather beautiful soul.
Thank you.
Kerstin: I don’t know how I manage to do that, my dear, but I am certainly glad I do. Thank you for the beautiful compliments, as usual; I’m glad you enjoyed this.
good stuff. thank you.
Lummox: Thank you, my friend. I’m glad you liked it.
AB,
Congrats on yet another year being blessed with the avility to capture your surroundings, by both moving words and incredible photographies..but also on you new hability to see within yourself. That is something most of us are still looking for… (pun sooo intended :p)
I totally excuse myself for the type’o on the fist “hability”…my fingers pressed submit before my eyes finished reading..talk about lack of teamwork….
That must have been absolutely terrifying. Thank God everything turned out well.
Only a post like this could make me appreciate a picture of a centipede.
OMG, that is one of my biggest fears! My eye doctor informed me that people with vision as bad as mine (and, honestly, I don’t even know the prescription off the top of my head, but suffice it to say it’s close to legally blind) are at high risk for retinal detachment. I was like “WTF?!” I mean, how does that even happen? How did you find out?
The Bloggess: You have no idea how much that compliment coming from you means to me, my dear. I am so happy that you appreciated both the post and the image.
Black Heart: Yes, people with famously bad vision (I am actually officially legally blind without correction) are far more susceptible to retinal detachment and macular degeneration as we age, so if you’ve been advised you should pay attention to it, you should. I found out about mine during my annual check-up and ordering of glasses and contact lenses. And my regular optometrist looked a little too long into my right eye and said, “You have a detached retina. I’m referring you to our surgeon.” So, yes, frightening, and definitely something you should pay attention to as you get older.