Fog and Darkness

“The fog comes in on little cat feet…” Carl Sandburg, “Fog”

“No light, but rather darkness visible.” John Milton, Lost Horizon


Fall is by far the most appealing season to me of four. The sticky, sweaty feel of summer has given way to brisk early mornings, comfortable days, and cool nights. Leaves are changing their fashion from green to gold, orange, and red. As I walked out this morning, I was greeted by the loud commotion of birds roosting briefly in trees down the block, taking a moments respite on the way South. Fall is a season of dramatic change and renewed vigor. Yet, for me, autumn brings an annual look at a daily difficulty.

My annual vision checkups come around this time of the year. Yes, that’s plural. It means a visit to the glaucoma specialist, then the retinal specialist. Those who know me are aware of the ongoing battles with my sliced and diced eyes. These necessary visits bring about a bit of stress, though the real stress is in some ways long past. It’s time to see if my bad eyesight might be getting worse; if my vision has any new “surprises” in store. As for the old infirmities, they are both very present and possibly hiding around the next turn of the calendar.

Each morning I am greeted by the fog, not outside, my inside. I’m not sure what else to call it. Well, there is the official opthmological terminology: macular degeneration. It’s supposed to happen in one’s sixties or seventies. It started with me in my early forties. The central vision becomes blurred. If it runs its full course, the blur becomes a dark spot and central vision is lost. Not exactly something to look forward to in the coming years. For now, the blur is there and affects most every action of every day. It has more or less put an end to night driving. And as fall turns to winter, daylight becomes a precious commodity on weekends. In De;cember and January, that’s my time to shop, travel, get around town, ‘cause it’s dark by the time I’m home on weekdays. Darn that fog. Thanks to a good bus line, one can live without driving a great deal.

The real problem, however, lies in the day-to-day. Blurred central vision means blurred reading. Foggy eyesight means being unable to look people in the eye to talk. Oh the natural motions of a lifetime are there but they find no face, just that blur. A slight look to the side brings the face into peripheral vision but then I’m looking not quite at the person. It is frustrating to be unable to see the faces and read the expressions of family, co-workers, students, parishioners, clerks. Fortunately, I can still tell “Meghan” from “Marvin” so that’s a relief! I’ve been told that the blur will not be going away. It’s there – thankfully only in my right eye for now. The fog has indeed drifted in but is settling down for a lengthy stay.

And then, there’s the darkness. While the fog comes in gradually, the darkness has appeared three times in the past with no warning. On the first occasion, I was sitting at a computer at a church typing some notes when I begin to sense a problem with seeing. Most notably, things in my left eye seemed to be getting dark fast. I went from church office to emergency room and heard a diagnosis that was both foreign and frightening. “Son,” said the retinal specialist in his south Texas drawl, “Yer retina is detaching from your left eye, and fast. Gotta get you into surgery in the morning.” He briefly explained the procedure and left me to my fears. It was one of my few experiences in real fear in my life. Major surgery on my eye in less than 24 hours. And why, God, does a retina come loose anyway? Got no direct answer from above but the doctor later said it was tied to genetic makeup. My dad had weak eyes. (Memo to my kids: Pray now for new discoveries in visual sciences.) Meanwhile, as I waited, the darkness grew larger. How cold and ruthless; I put my hand out where I should have been able to see it and…. nothing. Just a black space.

The surgery was successful though recovery was tough. Eventually, the left eye got better…until a few years later when I suddenly noticed one afternoon, the dark spot was a slowly returning. Still scary but not nearly the fear. Experience does that for you even in the bad times. A new city, a new surgeon, this one with some newer procedures. A quicker recovery and restored sight. A cataract was removed a year or so later but the darkness was gone.

Then a hot summer day four years ago brought about more of the same in a different way. Driving along on highway 6, and suddenly a dark spot….but in the right eye this time. I slammed the steering wheel, then calmly turned the car around and headed home. I knew the drill. Again, new city, new surgeon, good results. And since that incident, no more dark spots. But I there’s always a chance that I’ll wake up one day or be talking to a student or a co-worker or to my child, and the dark spot will ooze its way into the light.

Autumn brings the beauty and cool temps and leaves and harvest. It also brings the official look at the state of my vision. So far, so good. Glaucoma risk still contained; macular degeneration stable. The retinal doc will check the rest in a few weeks. I feel blessed to live in a city with a top-ten ophthalmology department and world-class specialists. If they can’t help, then that’s that. I also am blessed to have a family who lovingly tolerates my limitations, co-workers who do likewise and provide help along the way, and church members who know I can’t get out at night. And the biggest blessing I have is the sight I still have. I feel pretty young but my eyes are, in a sense, elderly. I’m grateful to wake up each day being able to see my way to the shower and the coffee maker; to see my children at play, to enjoy a daytime drive on a fall weekend, to even type this entry.

Fog and darkness – now ever present parts of my life. And instructors in lessons of life and how you live it.