the next person to speak to me of "God's Plan"
is fucked.
My grandfather finally broke down and agreed to have surgery on his left eye, the only one he can still barely see with. If the surgery is successful, the deterioration that is leading toward a certain and complete loss of vision will be delayed on a timeframe that will likely extend until such time as his heart finally stops.
If it is unsuccessful though, he will walk out of the hospital on the same day, completely blind for the rest of his life. Total darkness. No hope of recovery.
I watched him use one of these readers tonight--given to him by the Dept of Veterans Affairs--to read the appointment slip two letters at a time. Two letters = whole screen. Any smaller and it cant be made out.
Again, two letters at a time. Not a section like the above photo. And while it's not optimal, he could at least see it. And he kept running it back and forth, just to look at it. Gazing for twenty minutes at an appointment slip. One that's already been read; one whose contents have already been memorized. Just looking it over, again and again, two letters at a time. Scared to death that one day, the first Monday in October to be exact, that he's not going to be able to see anything like it ever again.
Part of me understands that a hundred years ago, this surgery probably wouldn't be possible. I am also rational enough to know that total darkness is the near outcome without the surgery. Understanding and Rationality do not help me right now. I am still furious at everything not of my making that conspires to make the 87 year old man that raised me choose to set a time and date to face down a fate of something he considers to be worse than death. He's ready to die, but he's not ready to be blind.
My grandfather finally broke down and agreed to have surgery on his left eye, the only one he can still barely see with. If the surgery is successful, the deterioration that is leading toward a certain and complete loss of vision will be delayed on a timeframe that will likely extend until such time as his heart finally stops.
If it is unsuccessful though, he will walk out of the hospital on the same day, completely blind for the rest of his life. Total darkness. No hope of recovery.
I watched him use one of these readers tonight--given to him by the Dept of Veterans Affairs--to read the appointment slip two letters at a time. Two letters = whole screen. Any smaller and it cant be made out.
Again, two letters at a time. Not a section like the above photo. And while it's not optimal, he could at least see it. And he kept running it back and forth, just to look at it. Gazing for twenty minutes at an appointment slip. One that's already been read; one whose contents have already been memorized. Just looking it over, again and again, two letters at a time. Scared to death that one day, the first Monday in October to be exact, that he's not going to be able to see anything like it ever again.
Part of me understands that a hundred years ago, this surgery probably wouldn't be possible. I am also rational enough to know that total darkness is the near outcome without the surgery. Understanding and Rationality do not help me right now. I am still furious at everything not of my making that conspires to make the 87 year old man that raised me choose to set a time and date to face down a fate of something he considers to be worse than death. He's ready to die, but he's not ready to be blind.