I swung softly in a hammock with my computer on my lap. Staring at the blank page before me. Waiting for the emotions to come through to the page. Looking at past reflections of myself and recognizing the gift of hardship. The kind of hardship that teaches you to be stronger, wiser, and more understanding of others. I swung until the words moved in a gentle stream onto the page. Revealing a time of past paradigm shifts and awakening. A breath of fresh air as I lit the lamps of dark corridors in my heart.
When I came into this world, I was born with cataracts. Something I often claim as proof of similarity to Benjamin Button. I was born old, and have since continued to have issues that often arise in those who have lived a good number of years longer on this earth. My brain ceased using my left eye as much around the age of seven. From the frequency of eye specialist appointments I was promised that one day my blurred vision in one eye would be fixed, but I had to wait until my eye was fully developed in order to pursue such a surgery. I held onto the promise even still as I walked into the office to discuss the possibility of surgery when I became of age.
I startled a few technicians from being sixty years younger than most other patients there. The rarity of a twenty-something seeking a fix to a problem of vision she has never known to be different. I listened intently to the risks, statistics, logistics, and recovery time. The last time I had eye surgery, I was too little to remember. Young enough to not remember when it got infected, and how hard it was for my parents to sacrifice sleep just to put drops in my eye. As I grew older I had a thick contact that was pried out of my eye in the evenings, and bifocal glasses which kids at school thought were broken. I wore patches on one eye until I was around nine years old and did not think anything of it until a group of girls teased me at school. And here I was seeking to redeem the patience of my younger self by having a lens sutured back into my eye.
Already in the year 2016, I have sat in dozens of different kinds of doctors offices and have had over 100 appointments. By the end of the year I will have experienced two surgeries, both of a very different nature. But with each appointment, I am a step closer to being healthier. To having the bad health days named with reason, and finding relief in a diagnosis that can be healed.
Whether your battle is with mental hardships or physical ailments. Do not lose hope on a diagnosis that can lead to the right treatment. I am blessed to not have reports that send me deeper into the hospital system, and I am lucky to have an incredibly supportive network to help me along the way. You are not the name of your illness, nor are you broken beyond repair. Your illness has a purpose, you just need to open your eyes beyond your own pain to see the beauty in your story. Open your eyes and see the wondrous beauty that leads you to count the joys over the hardship. To recognize the people who have helped you in your journey, and to see the hope in the days to come. For every part of your journey reveals different seasons that teach you a little more about life, love, and the preciousness of life. Just open your eyes.
Love and Light,