Seeing with a Rebel’s Heart
January 2, 2022
For a long time, I have known that I was going to call this blog, “Becoming Braver”.
Each piece of art I create is a snapshot of the struggles and joys of being an artist and the struggles and joys of being a human. At least that’s the idea anyway.
Deep down, I have always had a rebel’s heart and an artist’s soul. It took a long time for me to OWN that fact. That alone was a huge step in becoming braver.
But owning it is just the first step.
Becoming braver is a choice you make every day. To me, it means living authentically; living out loud; living purposefully and facing whatever I have to face and do whatever I have to do to honor my choices.
Life then rises up to meet you in that quest; presents opportunities for you to ‘practice’ being brave.
I have been writing this first post in my head for several months, planning to end 2021 with a hopefully inspiring and thoughtful story about my art journey so far and where I am headed.
I thought I knew what I was going to say…
I couldn’t have imagined the story I am about to tell. I just couldn’t. Who could?
Nonetheless, here it is…
The week leading up to Christmas I began seeing black ‘floaters’ in my right eye. At first there was just one or two. They would come and go. I thought I was seeing bugs. Really.
I even laughed a couple of times when I realized there weren’t any bugs.
On Wednesday, the 22nd, I commented to Phil, my husband, and Kendall, our daughter, who was home from Denver for the holidays, how strange it was and how irritating. They said they both had floaters off and on. Hmmm. Maybe my eyes are just strained.
I carried on. There were so many things to do. I made a mental note to call and make an appointment with my optometrist right after Christmas.
On Thursday, the floaters were becoming a little more frequent and I began seeing just a glimmer of light in my lower right eye. I thought maybe it had something to do with my cataract surgery last year. Maybe the new lens in my eye was ‘malfunctioning’?
I carried on.
When I woke up Friday morning, the glimmer had turned to a bright glow all along the bottom of my eye. Now I was paying attention. I picked up the phone and dialed the doctor’s office. No answer. They were closed until Monday. Ugh.
The first thought I had was that the timing of things in my life is just laughable.
Christmas Eve? Really?
The second thought I had was okay, surely this is something they will be able to easily fix. I’ll be sure to get in with them first thing on Monday.
It just didn’t register to me as an emergency. I wasn’t in any pain. It was simply an inconvenience and a little strange. I have had trouble with my eyes since I was a child.
I carried on.
It was Christmas Eve. Phil was working. Kendall and I prepared for company we were having that afternoon and evening. What else could I do? I made chili. I set dishes out. I baked dessert. I curled my hair and dressed up more than I had in some time. We visited and laughed with a dear friend who dropped by. These simple pleasures kept me distracted and happy, so much so that I didn’t really notice until later in the day that the bottom quarter of my eye had gone black.
Family came over. We hugged. We ate. We caught up on our lives.
As the evening went on, it was like a dark curtain was slowly being pulled up over my right eye. By the time the family left, I looked at my daughter and told her I couldn’t see anything but the top of her head. The black curtain was three-quarters of the way up my eye.
She wanted to take me to the emergency room, but all I could think of was that nothing hurt.
It was Christmas Eve.
What were they going to be able to do for me?
I dreaded the idea of sitting in the ER, taking up a bed that someone else might need, just to have them tell me to see my eye doctor as soon as I could.
So I didn’t go.
The rest of the weekend I worried. I distracted myself. I put it out of my mind when I could.
We cooked some more and watched movies and talked and played with the dogs. We laughed. We started to plan our big 2022 vacation to the West Coast. I did the best I could.
I told myself it was going to be fine. I wasn’t looking forward to another surgery to possibly fix that lens, but I was truly convinced that’s what it was and it would all be okay.
On Monday morning, the 27th, I was up at 4:00am and literally watched the clock and counted the minutes until I could call the doctor. At 8:00am on the dot I dialed Oregon Trail Eye Clinic. My heart skipped a beat or two as I waited for someone else on the other end of the line to say hello.
When that someone answered, I quickly spilled out the details, she told me to hold for a moment, came back on and said I needed to get to their office right away.
Phil drove me. We got checked in, they dilated my eyes, asked me a bunch of questions, took multiple images with specialized and powerful machines, and then asked me to wait. The pressure I felt in my chest had been building for days. I could hardly contain it. The tears and the tension were about to come bubbling to the surface. Seeing my face, Phil took my hand and held it tight.
The nurse called my name and we went into another room. The doctor came in and proceeded with her examination. It took less than 5 minutes.
She sat back and said, “I’m sorry to tell you this, but you have a detached retina and unfortunately, the damage is already done.” My mind was racing and freezing up and the same time.
What?!?
I have heard of a detached retina, but never, not once, did it occur to me that’s what was happening to my eye. I didn’t know the signs. I didn’t know the symptoms.
I was completely blown away. We both were.
My thoughts went backwards…
Two weeks before, I was riding the high of publishing my website, completing a new series of small works, opening my online shop, making my first videos and sharing them on YouTube and with my mailing list of subscribers, along with many other firsts. There was an abundance of ‘wins’ to end what was otherwise a complicated, sometimes chaotic, and inconsistent year for me (and most of the world, if we’re being honest).
2022 was going to have a beautiful and energetic beginning. I was feeling forward momentum.
I had selected my “word(s)” for the year that would become my focus and intentions: INTUITION and IMMERSION.
My word for 2021 was ‘COURAGE’.
Crazy, right?
Did I not have enough experiences this year (and the past several years) that tested my courage?
I felt myself turning into a puddle in the chair. I didn’t know how much longer I could sit there. I wanted out of that room. I wanted to run.
“You may never regain your eyesight in that eye. You are at risk for this happening in the other eye, too.” The doctor’s words banged against my brain like a pinball.
She said I needed to see their retina specialist. He was out of the state for the holidays. The soonest I could see him was Thursday morning. We asked if there was someone else we could see. Could we go out of town? They called Denver, Ft. Collins, Rapid City. No one could see me for a consultation, let alone surgery to reattach my retina, any sooner.
So, we waited…four excruciating days.
When Thursday came, Phil and I repeated the whole process of checking in, eye dilation, pressure checks, more waiting. We met with Dr. Harkins and he confirmed everything we had initially been told and as if that wasn’t already enough, he found a hole in my left eye, too, that would need to be repaired.
I know we both asked a lot more questions. I know I listened. I know we met with someone about insurance. I know we drove home. I just don’t remember any details. It was all a blur, literally.
The next step was for the hospital to call to schedule the surgery. They did and I am.
I go in on Monday, January 3rd, to reattach the retina in my right eye and close the hole in my left eye. The whole procedure shouldn’t take more than 2-3 hours with another 2-3 hours in recovery. Then I get to go home. The doctor says there’s a reasonable chance that I should regain some vision in my right and the left should be stable for a while…for a while.
Reality for now looks like this:
I bump into things and I spill things and the whole world feels like it’s slightly tilted when I walk. My depth perception is way off. Of course, I can’t drive. I feel like I’m living in some sort of a cocoon. I see better with extremely bright light and extremely bright light bothers my left eye. It’s a conundrum.
Until surgery, I am not supposed to have my head down or lean over. It puts pressure on my eye and the fluid around it. Painting or drawing is almost impossible at this point. Believe me, I have tried. I need to make art, but I know right now I can’t.
Surprisingly, with help from my glasses, I AM able to see my phone and my computer. I have been able to text and type with only a few minor issues.
At first, I was so consumed by the idea of losing my eyesight altogether that I was missing some of the quieter thoughts and a calm that began to form in my heart, my rebel’s heart…
No matter what, I will be okay. I will find my way through this. Light and color and shapes, mark-making and visual textures are still all possible. I will need to find a way to work in less detail for a while…and BIGGER, my mind said. I must work bigger. I’ve already had visions of huge canvases in the garage and throwing paint like there’s no tomorrow.
Is this a gift? Not being able to see detail very well will force me to become looser, and more abstract, which I’m always striving for anyway.
I will get there.
First, I must practice patience and courage and hold out hope. Hope that my eyesight will be better. Hope that everything heals. Hope that I can return to my art with new eyes. I am only just beginning.
By learning how to be brave on canvas and paper, I have learned how to be brave in my life.
Can bravery be practiced, learned, or only experienced? I believe it’s all three.
Sharing what I create takes vulnerability. By sharing my vulnerability, I hope to encourage others to share theirs.
Becoming braver IS how we move through life, whether we want to or not.
Oh, how rapidly my perspective has shifted in seven days…it already feels like years.
