Tuesday, May 23, 2017
The Black Hole
Let me "take flight / From dismal," as Emma Lazarus wrote in 1881. But that's tough.
My bipolar disorder leaves me dismally inclined; its medicine reduces mania more effectively than it lightens depression.
On good days, I can appear civil, even though I roil in pessimism. But if stress kicks in, I simply sink into a Black Hole.
So when I agreed to have cataract surgery on June 20th, panic spun me down.
Oh, no! He'll operate on the wrong eye!
Oh, no! The surgeon will sell me a newfangled fancy multi-focal intra-ocular lens for $11,000 that will blur my sight!
Oh, no! I'll go blind!
So this email from my friend Kira stunned me: "I had cataract surgery years ago, and it made a wonderful difference. You will enjoy seeing the world with new eyes!"
What? Joy is a possible reaction to eye surgery?
From inside my bottomless pit, I could scarcely believe Kira's words. But they gave me hope.
So I inched out of my wretched abyss, struggling to know how I too might "take flight / From dismal."
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