We stayed in Israel for two weeks. I woke up on the morning of our departure, my right eye felt itchy. I shrugged it off, probably allergies. By the time we landed in Boston, my eye was swollen shut and weeping. The next evening, both eyes were itchy, and by the morning of me return home, both eyes were swollen. Opening them was painful, and when I did, all I could see was blurry shapes and colors.
I moved to my new home a few months ago and am still in the process of unpacking. Not yet in the habit of placing items in appointed places I often forget where I put them. I’ve lost my glasses several times and occasionally my phone has shown up in odd locations, as has my wallet. Finding my phone hasn’t been a problem—I just asked my partner, Cindy, to call it, so I could find it by sound (unless it wasn’t on vibrate). But when it came to my glasses or wallet, I had to do it the old-fashioned way.
She lived happily ever after.
Or so she thought
Brain bleeds and subsequent surgeries ended the life she knew and her dreams of the future.
In the wake of the surgeries, she struggled to reclaim her place in the world, to regain the life she lost.
I fought to zero in on the technician’s voice. “Her head is down. So that’s good news.”
Where did she see the head? Up or down, all I could see were shapeless blobs. She was saying something else. I tried to focus on her words. Perhaps she’d clue me into the secret language of the ultrasound.