Llanor Alleyne
Writer | Editor | Artist
A few weeks ago I woke up and everything in my line of vision was seen through a viscous gray film. The vibrant colors of my rug, the rows and rows of haphazardly shelved books, with their intriguing jackets had become washed out, less lively versions of themselves. I blinked a few times and gradually the film receded and all the little, bright colors that make up my apartment came into real view. I swallowed my freak out and got on with my day. The next morning it happened again.
Yesterday with my eyes hurting and not refracting light properly, I underwent a two-hour eye examination at the SUNY School of Optometry. I didn’t like how attending Dr. R was murmuring to trainee Dr. Y. “Didn’t you notice the bubbles on her eyes?” he whispered. I looked from one to the other of them, silently imploring one or both of these men to speak directly to me. Finally Dr. R sat down and said, “A couple of things we need to talk about.”
As a writer and avid reader the last thing I wanted to hear was that I have a disease that could potentially leave me blind. Swallowing freak out is one of my specialties, so I sat with my hands in my lap and waited for him to continue. I learned that I have an infection in my eyelids that produces the gray film. It is incurable, though manageable with eyelid swabs, daily heat compresses, eye washes, and Omega 3 vitamins. “You will have to do this for the rest of your life,” said Dr. R. I thought, “OK, this sucks but I am not going blind.” But Dr. R wasn’t finished.
“You’re tests results are also pointing suspiciously toward glaucoma,” he said. With the eyelid infection in full bloom, confirmation tests could not be conducted during this visit. With antibiotics paving the way, I will go in for those tests next week.
I can’t pretend not to be afraid. I have been wearing glasses since the age of three, and I’ve lived with not seeing solely with my own two eyes for much of my life. The possibility that I might have glaucoma isn’t as frightening as the reality that, should I be diagnosed with the disease, I will have absolutely no means of paying for treatment. As a member of the sea of unemployed people living in America I’m also part of the vast ocean of people without health care in this country. My best friend, who took me out for lunch after my eye care appointment, is acutely aware of this and said, “There is no way we will let you go blind.” What if I didn’t have loving, kind friends?
But I didn’t start writing this post to rail against the mendacity of many in Congress who oppose health care reform. I started writing this because I don’t want to stop seeing colors. I don’t want to stop being able to read two books a week. I don’t want to stop painting or creating collages. I want to see my nephews heartbreaking smiles and my sister’s round face when she is gut laughing. I want to see Ingrid’s gorgeous brown eyes and Tracy’s gold-flecked green ones when they are talking to me.
I’ve always appreciated my sight, but today that has soared to new stratospheres. This morning, with the antibiotics starting to work, I went through old sketchbooks and found “Miss Mamie Sings Her Soul” (pictured), a finger painting I’d done in 1999 when I was frustrated with nearly everything I was artistically doing. She made me laugh then, and she does now. It is not going to hang in the Louvre, but “Miss Mamie” reminded me not to take things so seriously. And she reminds me, in all of her primary colored finery, that I can still see.
Finally got this to load on my computer and WOW! I love how you continue to seek beauty even when things are looking dim…literally! No one should have to worry about losing their sight because of a lack of healthcare! Hopefully this weekend we will be headed in the right direction as far as healthcare goes. It is insanity that in America in 2010 people can’t get what they need to get well or stay well. It’s criminal really! Thank God you have wonderful friends!
You were in my thoughts when the vote for health care reform was happening. I appreciate you sharing your story with us and as frightening as it is, it is beautifully written. Thank you.