My head was in such pain. Almost unbearable. Shortly after the bus started moving I closed my eyes the remainder of the way home. Sitting in a seat to myself, directly behind the bus driver, I gripped my book bag tight every time the bus went over a bump in the road. My brain jumped around in my skull, like a kid in a bouncy house. There was a sweet afternoon breeze coming through the window, as we continued on down the road. The powerful gust of air helped soothe my aching head, as it slapped me in my face. Still, my eyes are closed, head laid back on the seat, as my arms are crossed over my book bag, like a mother clenching her newborn baby tightly. Finally, it was my stop. I had a bit of relief because I was finally released from the horrible bumpy bus ride. What is usually a 3 minute walk home, felt like an eternity. Each step I took, my feet dragged along the ground. My body felt heavy and limp, as I made my way to the door. My book bag, containing two large textbooks, wasn’t helping the situation either. I felt like I was carrying my moms entire leather jacket collection on my back. As soon as I entered the house, I immediately went to my room and got in bed. No snack, no t.v., no complaining about whatever homework I had, just a one way ticket to bed. After laying there for three hours I managed to get up, still pained, and take some ibuprofen. My neck and back were hurting at this point, and now my Mother was really worried. I couldn’t even lay flat. I was crunched up in a fetal position on my bed, with my blanket over me for comfort. At this point, I didn’t even realize my head was still hurting. The pain streaming from my neck and back was so unbearable I forgot about it.
My mother was tired of seeing me in pain, and so was I. So we went to the emergency room. Simple process. Go to the doctor. Tell them your problems. Then they fix you. That’s not how it went at all. The wait time seemed like it took ages. All I kept thinking about was the amount of school I was missing, and the workload that I had waiting for me when I came back. I hated missing school, and I rarely got sick. When I finally got put into a room, it took even longer for me to see the doctor. The room was cold. My hands were dry making the blankets and everything else I touched uncomfortable. I had a cold sweat. “I just want this to be over”. That is all I remember saying. I remember asking my mother to turn the lights off, because they were worsening my headache. She did so graciously and constantly tried to readjust my blankets to make me feel more comfortable. Eventually, the doctor came in, asked me a few questions, and then made a diagnosis. “You just sprained a muscle in your neck. That is all”, said the the doctor. He sent me home with tons of muscles relaxers, whose names were too long to pronounce. They looked like dinosaur names. As soon as I left the emergency room, my mother gave me a dosage of my pain killers and sped home. I remember feeling relieved to be at home, but conflicted because I was still in pain. I felt defeated, because I felt my complaints and pain I was suffering was disregarded without giving a sufficient reason as to what the source of this problem was. Still, I was worried more about school than I was myself. I wasn’t focused on getting better. I was focused on making it past this tough point and getting back to the only duties I had at that point., which were to be a kid and go to school. My Mother had no clue on what to do to help relieve my pain, since the medicine I was prescribed did not help. I laid back down in bed, and stared up at the ceiling wishing for the end to be near. I closed my eyes and was able to get some sleep, not from the medicines, but from the exhausting pain I was still suffering from.
The next morning I woke, and sat up in my bed. I was trying to determine how my body was feeling. I touched the back of my neck, and turned my head in different directions. My head began to throb, as I slightly turned it in either direction. I felt helpless at this point. I could not think straight, and had not had a straight thought in two days. I shuffled into my bathroom to wash up. I remember looking in the mirror and noticed that I looked different. I stared back at my reflection to try and determine what was going on. I blinked my eyes a couple of times, and realized I wasn’t able to see out of my left eye anymore. I wasn’t horrified or scared of what was to come, but confused. In an unconcerned tone, I said, “Mom, I can’t see out of my left eye.” Next thing I know, we’re rushing back to the emergency room, and I’m wearing nothing but my pajamas and a hoodie to keep me warm from the December cold. I could just feel the tension from my Mother. I could tell she was scared as we sat in the the emergency room, which we were just in. I was silent. I realized I had not said much since the whole endeavor started. I kind of just went with the flow, and always looked forward to a better tomorrow. A better hour, or even a better minute. My head continued to throb, and all I could do was close my eyes to give myself the illusion that it was soothing the pain. When I spoke to the nurses again, they remembered that I was there the night before. When I explained to them that I could no longer see out of my left eye, the room became still. I sensed that there has been a mistake made, but still I remained hopeful that the problem would be fixed and that I would be able to return to what I deemed as my normal life. After being admitted to the hospital, the doctor came in and delivered the diagnosis to my Mother and I. The words he said made no sense to me. I didn’t understand what he meant. Idiopathic Intracranial Hypertension? Never heard of it in the slightest bit. But what I did understand is that this problem would be fixed soon. I was happier than I had been previously. Things felt like they were looking up.
While heavily sedated with pain killers, a doctor came in and had my mother sign some paperwork. This paperwork was a waiver for me to agree to having a surgery done on my eyes. Surgery scared me, but I knew it was to help me. So still, I went with the flow. After surgery, I woke up with bandages over my eyes. A doctor shined a light in my eye and asked me if I could see anything. When I replied no, he put his hand over my shoulder and said he was sorry, and that he did all he could to save the last bit of eye sight I had left. I still didn’t understand what was going on. Part of me was in disbelief. I continued to focus on the fact that tomorrow could be a better day, and things would go back to normal. I didn’t even realize that I was going blind. I was so fixed on them doing what they had to do to fix me and letting me go, that I did not assess what was happening with my body. When I woke up that previous morning, the word blindness never crossed my mind. I just thought I temporarily could not see.
After a few days, I was finally able to go home. I remember sitting up in my bed feeling my bandage. My left eye, now blind, was the eye that didn’t have a bandage on it. My right, still healing from surgery, was covered tightly. I looked around my room. I was unable to identify where I was, or what was even in my room. Everything was black. If the light was shinning bright enough, I could start to identify things in pieces. I got up and felt my way to the bathroom. I looked at myself in the mirror, and began to cry when I didn’t recognize myself. It felt as if I had a cover of my eyes and no matter how hard I tried to remove it, I couldn’t. I felt trapped. Everything hit me at once. I started thinking… a lot. “How am I going to take care of myself, I could barely find my way to the bathroom. Will I forget what I look like? Why didn’t I take a better look at myself before any of this happened? Why did this happen? Why me? What did I do to deserve this?” is all I kept saying to myself. My tears turned to anger very quickly. My whole life as I knew it, changed. I had no time to prepare. I had no warning at all. My mother heard my weeps from down the hall, and came to give me a hug. There we sat in the bathroom, holding each other. I felt like a table cloth that was pulled from underneath a fully set table. It happened so quickly and abruptly. I still had myself, but a part of me was gone and was never coming back. “You must remain faithful my dear. The world is a cruel place, and things like this will happen. Whether you think you deserve it or not. Hardship is the pathway to peace. If could trade places with you I would.”, said my Mother. Something inside of me had clicked. It was fueled by anger. I still don’t know why things are the way they are, but I vowed to always make sure I was good. A big chunk of my independence was taken away from me that day. My Mother couldn’t do anything for me, but offer support and shoulder to cry on when I needed it. I knew nothing about blindness or the journey that was yet to come living this new lifestyle of mine. But the feeling of anger kept coming back to me. I wasn’t angry with anyone, but the world. From that point on I started to do more for myself than I ever did before. I didn’t want to be treated differently or rely on someone for help. Instead, I did my best to see the good in my situation. This pushed me into adult hood, because my perspective of the world as I knew it changed. As I did before, I focused on making tomorrow better because anything could happen at any time. I’m determined to make the best of whatever situation I’m going through as long as I’m living on earth. I looked at my new view as half full, rather than half empty.