They Told Me No – Learning To Heal Myself

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A few weeks ago, I had scheduled a consultation appointment with a laser surgeon to discuss correcting my vision. Even though I knew that nothing was going to happen that day, I couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. I am fully aware that corrective eye surgery has been around for quite some time, but, occasionally, things go awry. I was only born with two eyes, and I would like to die with both of them.

The appointment seemed to be going well. He asked me a bunch of qualifying questions, all of which I gave him honest answers to, and they also happened to be correct answers. Then came the eye exam, so he knew what he might be working with.

After doing the usual optometry exam, he said, “I have to tell you, I don’t feel comfortable doing this surgery.”

My heart sank.

“You do have some options,” he said. “You could get a lens implanted into your eye, which could bring your vision up several notches, but you would probably still need to wear some sort of corrective lens on the exterior as well to be able to see 20/20.”

He paused.

“I’m just going to be honest with you. If I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t get this surgery. Basically, your eyes are much larger than normal, which isn’t a bad thing, but your corneas are stretched very taut, and there isn’t a lot for me to work with. What this means is, as someone with extreme myopia, you are likely to get cataracts later in life, and there wouldn’t be any more eye to work with should we have to correct that later on.”

I thanked him for his candor. I watched his blurred form leave the room to allow me to put my contacts back in. The appointment was over.

At the front counter, as I was checking out, the woman looked surprised when she saw his recommendation on my paperwork.

“He told you it would be best not to get surgery?”

I nodded. I even threw in a little smile, even though I felt like I wanted to cry. “I just have some physical limitations,” I confided simply, thanked her, and left.

It was raining outside. It appeared that the skies were doing my crying for me. Might as well thank them, too.

I felt sad. I felt frustrated. I had finally accepted what I thought would be my fate of surgery and given in to the perceived inevitable. Then it turned out that it wasn’t inevitable at all, and instead what was inevitable was to just sit it out and wait as my eyesight got further away from me, more blurred. I already can’t see my hand unless it is an inch or two in front of my face. Yes, contacts and glasses work for me, but for how long? I am near the end of my more comfortable possibilities. I shudder to think of my very brief experiment with the contacts that cost $300 a pair and felt like I had pennies in my eyes, then made me so nauseous I had to take them out. My “perfect vision” lasted all of five minutes.

What could I do? I cried a little, that’s what I could do. And then I could scheme.

You see, when I was a child, Koolma tried to get me to participate in what I thought of at the time as silly exercises that she said had helped people correct their own vision. I remember swinging my arms as I rotated my torso from side to side, peering through a piece of black paper covered in pinholes. I never noticed any sort of improvement, but, then again, my attitude was much different at the time, and I can’t say that I did it every day, at least once.

I knew she could be a resource. She had cared for Mr. Sweetie while I went to my appointment, so, when I picked him up, I told her about how it went. And then, unsolicited, she told me of this program she had purchased somewhat recently, a vision self-correction program.

I got a little excited. I mean, when anyone tells me it’s impossible, I want to show them it isn’t. And I certainly didn’t have anything to lose!

We sat and talked about it, about working together through the program, doing the exercises together, and I started to feel a lot better. There was a shimmering ray of hope through the clouds.

So I am embarking on a journey to heal myself. What else can I do? Being a sitting duck has never appealed to me. My goal is to have to go back to the eye doctor before the year is up and tell him my prescription isn’t working for me anymore, that it hurts my eyes, and actually be able to SEE the priceless look on his face when he realizes that a “miracle” has taken place.

This little endeavor just fits so nicely into what I am doing right now. I am on a mission to clean up my life, free it of as many chemicals and additives and as much toxicity as possible (indulging occasionally is going to be okay), and this is one more thing that I am striving to learn to do for myself, naturally, that will teach me a lot about myself and my strength and limits, no matter what the outcome.

I will leave you, dear readers and mamis, with a little message: to thyself be true. Sometimes, other people have some great advice; heck, sometimes they may even know a bit more about certain things that elude you. But, until you have put everything you have into something, at least twice, and it hasn’t panned out, never say never. Never say it’s impossible. For some folks, a dream, and working towards it, is all they have, and there is absolutely no sense in just flushing that away before it’s been pursued.

Are there things in your life that you want to change for the better? Are there ways in which you could be healthier, improve your quality of life? What’s stopping you?

 

Encouraging Empowered Mamis Everywhere To Do What They Do

Mami

Mami is an artist, aspiring entrepreneur, and first-time, full-time mother. She enjoys long walks with Mr. Sweetie, good food and cooking, her family and dear friends, writing, arting and crafting. She doesn't know everything, but wants to learn, and loves to do research and share what she finds. She thinks life is like a box of puzzle pieces: you keep trying until it fits, because every piece has its place. She owns and operates whatever she sets her mind to, and knows that the sky is only the limit if you haven't left the ground yet.

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