Last week, Dr F the ophthalmologist found my eyes in beautiful shape, declared my optic nerve perfectly healed and well again. All smiles until she insisted on reminding me that living with this disease is like living under a volcano, never knowing when and where it will erupt next. Although in theory I am very aware of this, my heart sank and for a moment I badly wanted to shout at her.
In the evening I cried in R's arms while he reminded me in his reassuring calm way that many volcanoes remain silent for thousands and thousands of years.
3 comments:
We are surrounded by sleeping volcanos in the NW. Mt St Helen's blew in 1980 or so. Rainier and Baker rumble along. Could be tomorrow, could be in 100 years...bless R for the right suggestion.
I'm glad that you had a calm, reassuring voice to remind you that so much, well, almost everything, is unknown, unpredictable.
I read some of the earlier posts about your health and was especially affected by the observation that it seemed, "...as if I am ill first and myself second." How difficult to maintain a familiar identity when one becomes, it feels, a collection of symptoms. And that in addition to pain, discomfort, fear. As you wrote to your daughter, "It's day to day that matters." Let us make of it what we can. Wishing you well.
The exquisite challenge of being present to the present - the 'beautiful shape' of now, when fears can so easily overshadow. May you find your way there as often as possible. I've enjoyed encountering your blog. Pam
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