Vulnerability & Mindfully Slowing Down

There’s a quote commonly attributed to Kierkegaard that goes: “Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.” In other words, we don’t know what the future holds and we make decisions based on the information we have at the time.

When I wrote that post about not knowing the future back in mid-July, I fully expected to be able to see out of my left eye by now. In God’s good provision, he doesn’t let us know when we have a long ordeal ahead of us. We just have to live with the current reality and hope that things will improve.

When I saw my doctor for a follow-up about six weeks after my vitrectomy, he said “I would have expected the blood to have cleared by now, but it certainly hasn’t.” He did another ultrasound on my eye to check the retina, which looks good. He then comforted me by saying, “The blood isn’t hurting anything in your eye. I mean, other than you can’t see out of it.” It’s almost funny. Almost.

I knew deep down that the only next step was going to be an injection in my eye. Sure enough, that was his recommendation. The ironic thing is I had the surgery (which included more laser treatment and an injection) so I would be sedated and not cognizant of the needle going into my eye! Since we’d had many conversations about my needle phobia, my doctor advised that I get a Valium prescription from my GP and come back in a week for the injection.

As Dennis and I sat together in the doctor’s office, I felt so motivated to get the injection in hopes of restoring my vision that I almost told the doctor I could do it. But, honestly, I don’t think he would have let me based on prior conversations. Instead, I felt this calm, peaceful feeling descend on me as I imagined having the injection and conquering this fear (with some medicinal assistance!). It occurred to me that injections may be required to preserve my vision as I continue to live with retinopathy; not unlike accepting the need for injections of insulin when I was first diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes all those years ago.

A week of prayer accompanied a deepening sense of acceptance as I let myself imagine the injection and experienced less and less anxiety. I came home from pre-planning meetings at school on Thursday, the 22nd so Dennis could drive me to the appointment, since I’m still not driving on the freeways. When I came in the door, Dennis announced that Sienna and Mateo wanted to go with us, for moral support. I was moved that they wanted to be there (even just in the waiting room) while their mom conquered a fear. They have been very compassionate and supportive during this entire recovery period, so having them come along felt comforting for me.

There’s always a long ramp up to any eye procedure as they take images, dilate your eye(s), and then you wait for the doctor for a while. Dennis and I chatted while we marveled at the fact that I didn’t feel nervous. I was fully alert and aware of what was going to happen, without anxiety. Valium did its job! The injection was quick, and I felt okay, until the doctor said “Okay, it’s done” at which point I started to get lightheaded like I might pass out. Thankfully, the feeling passed pretty fast, and I felt such relief that I got the injection!

It’s been over a week since the injection, and I haven’t noticed any significant improvement in my vision. There’s some change in what I’m seeing in my left eye (a bit more light coming through) so I’m grateful for some progress. But, what’s mostly changing is my level of acceptance. Instead of focusing on what I’m missing right now, I’m prayerfully, mindfully focused on the new school year beginning and soaking up these moments of growth and transition with my children and my students.

I’m also trying to intentionally slow down and be present in the moment. Not seeing in one eye means that I can’t see what’s on my left side unless I turn my body to check. Last weekend my House had a beach clean-up event in the morning at La Jolla Shores. Being the last Saturday of summer, it was packed! Just before we left, I was down by the surf talking to a parent when one of the House Leaders called my name. I turned to talk to her, took one step forward, and a man on his cell phone (looking down and distracted) smashed into my left side. I wanted to burst into tears but was able to hold off for a few minutes to make a gracious exit. I felt so vulnerable.

Now, school has started, and we just returned from the House Retreat, which was fun and memorable, especially for my House who won the House Retreat Cup! The first week of school included a lovely opening convocation, Vocatio breakfast, and bonding with my students on the first day. All the normal parts of a school year beginning, and I felt largely present and engaged. But I still can’t see well. I still feel vulnerable often. My sweet fellow teachers were mindful of supporting me on the retreat, particularly since it was my first as Housemaster, so my responsibilities were constant. As I lay down to sleep on Thursday night, I thanked God for my safety and that of all our students at the retreat.

This condition has made the concept of “taking one day at a time” quite necessary. I’ve also tried to embrace the idea of really slowing down to intentionally move through space. Gripping handrails on stairs, watching my feet as I walk on mountain trials, trying not to multitask so I won’t get distracted and collide with something! There is goodness to be found in ceasing striving to do it all.