“Sometimes the questions are complicated but the answers are simple.” Dr. Seuss
About three months after the death of my fourth child, I went in for my yearly appointment with my optometrist.
“Honestly, I’m not seeing much of a change here in the health of your eyes,” he reassured me, comparing the photos just taken of my eyes with those from a year before. “If anything, they may even look a bit better.”
My eyes were healthy, he stressed. My vision, my ability to focus on and discern objects, the pressures found within my eyes, as well as the blood vessels, the macula and all of the tissues surrounding, they were all in “fantastic” condition. Contrary to what I’d been thinking and fearing at home, there were absolutely no signs of disease to be found.
“I think the on and off blurriness that you’ve been describing to me is merely due to the progesterone that you’ve been taking in your fertility treatments. Once you’re done with all of those treatments, everything in your eyes should clear up.”
“So…” I paused, “to you, I am…what? The picture of health?”
“Yes, ma’am!” he enthused. “I see absolutely no reason for any concern.”
His words felt familiar. To the entire world, I was the same as “before.” Picture perfect. Flawless. Uninjured….unmarred. I’d heard nearly the exact same words from my doctors, my naturopath, my dentist, my fertility specialist, and now, my optometrist. From what anyone could see on paper, on a x-ray, within the results of a blood test, I, Amy Erickson, was in “great physical condition.”
Except that…I wasn’t.
And there was only one person in the world who seemed to know the whole truth, who saw through the illusion. One person who could feel how absolutely run down and frail I was becoming on the inside. How on some days, I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t focus, could barely function.
“Mama?” that person said sadly, touching my face. “What makes you happy?”
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Photo credit of eye on Visual hunt