[The following articles comprise a chronology of Michael's progressive loss of his eyesight. They form a remarkable story of courage and an indomitable will to live.]
This is a true story. It was a balmy August night in Silver Lake Hills, California. The year was 1993. Sitting at my desk, I was reviewing my notes from the Rachel Rosenthal workshop I had attended that previous weekend on Performance Art.
All the remarkable people, men and women, living with HIV and AIDS had shared so much talent. What struck me in the notes was Rosenthal’s quote, “Every challenge in life is a prop, and it’s up to us to decide how to react to it.”
I thought of all the people I had served as a hospice worker for five years and all the props they had to negotiate. I crawled into bed and could smell the jasmine I had planted the previous spring. I heard wind chimes singing in the distance and fell asleep smiling.
The next morning I awoke, the mockingbird making a big fuss as usual at 5 AM, when I felt my right eye throb. I opened it, and to my shock, I couldn’t see a thing.
“Oh my God!” I yelled. “What the hell?” I kept blinking, thinking it would clear up somehow, but to no avail. I called my friend Mauricio, and he agreed to take me to the emergency room at Cedars-Sinai. By the time Mauricio had arrived, my other eye began to cloud up and I was totally blind. He helped me into the car in a panic as I tried to calm him down.
The experience was surreal. I thought I’d wake up from this bad dream at any moment. I wasn’t in the darkness one reads about, not some dark void; it was more like a very thick fog with the light trickling through it.
From the ER I was wheeled to the elevator, and I was tempted to feel the Braille by the numbers, but I refused to entertain the thought. Surely I wouldn’t need to learn that. We arrived at the ophthalmologist’s office and waited patiently for my name to be called, and I finally found myself face to face with another invisible doctor. He was rather matter-of-fact when he said, “You have uveitis from an adverse drug combination. Your vision will return in ten days.” I received a prescription for eye drops and was to return in 12 days. He recommended I stay close to home during that time. I reassured him that I wasn’t planning to drive or go dancing anytime soon. He chuckled, and we were on our way home.
“How can you joke at a time like this?” Mauri asked. “Mauri, it’s just a temporary challenge – a prop. We’ll get through this,” I assured him. We drove home. I took a deep breath, reached for his hand. We both grew quiet – the silence was deafening.
(To be continued next issue)
No comments:
Post a Comment