TMI: As a Visually Centred Person I’m Scared for My Eye Surgery

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Although Pisces season is over, I’m keen to keep sharing. Overshare perhaps but I have nothing to lose by being vulnerable and maybe there’s a wee Sarah-like kiddo out there looking for their own courage amidst a big decision. Two things are currently true: I am getting corrective eye surgery and I’m terrified of getting corrective eye surgery.

The Lululemon bag told me to do one thing a day that scares me so I’m pulling through in a big way. Over the next few weeks, I’ll be getting the procedure and then will be recuperating in the dark. Alone. I’m kidding on the second part. My loved ones are at the ready but if I were them knowing how annoying I will be, I’d leave me alone in the basement.

Eye correction has been a long time coming. While I typically make everyday decisions fast, I make the big ones slow. For example, I married my partner after a near decade of being together; I became a parent at 37; and although I have worn glasses and/ or contacts for my intermediate, edging on severe near-sightedness since I was 11 years old, I’m just getting corrective surgery at age 39. A casual 28-year mulling over process.

Simply put: I’m scared. I’m scared that although I trust in science and know that I’m not the exception, someone out there has to be. I’m scared that my hard-earned aesthic driven career and source of joy is at risk. As a freelance wardrobe professional, I use my eyes a lot. A lot a lot. They are my current, best tool. If you’ll really indulge, neh, enable my delusion, I’m at near tears scared that I may never see the ever-changing appearances of my child and spouse as they age. And boy do they each have beautiful eyes.

Reality check: I’ll be fine. My quality of life will get better. How do I know? For starters, I won’t have an entire drawer in my bathroom vanity dedicated to daily contact stock, drops, and glasses. A whole empty drawer to fill? What shall I do with it?

Another reality check: how dare I be so ableist to assume that should I be the very teeny tiny few that lose quality of vision, that my quality of life will suffer? That’s a pretty messed up thought within me.

Carrying on, staying somewhat calm, I’m the type who finds comfort in preparing for the worst-case scenario. (Knowing that when I say “worst-case scenario” I am belittling the fullness of life for those with vision issues). I digress, in university when I feared failing classes – specifically two my freshman year: Calculus withdrawal and repeat, and a not good enough “D” for my major Economics 101 class outstanding - I would work my way back from the worst-scenario, to a mid, and then to a mild. So, in the case of not good enough grades to stay in my preferred Commerce degree program, I knew that I could perhaps change majors. And let’s say I flunked out of my plan B major, I could switch schools. And if those two options didn’t work out, I could start working a job that required no post-secondary degree or diploma and do that. Likely excel even. With all the scaries met in my mind face-to-face, suddenly the possibility of flunking out of business school didn’t seem so scary. I asked for help through TA’s, paid tutors, and my fellow classmates and just plugged on. Four years later I earned my BComm as originally planned. Ha!

Now using that same logic, I have made myself a “must do and see” list before I go in for my surgery. A kind of visual bucket list attainable right here at home. And because I’m thick in my feelings, I’m sharing it all with you. Before surgery I want to:

• Go thrifting.

• Walk through Holt Renfrew one more time visually drinking up the designer duds.

• See a movie.

• Buy fresh flowers.

• Memorize my kiddo’s dark, sparkly eyes.

• Memorize my spouse’s aqua, effervescent eyes.

• Stare in the mirror and marvel at my own grey blue chameleon eyes.

• Look down at my hands that look damn near exact to my mother’s.

• Go out for a fabulous meal.

• Go to an art gallery.

• See the face of a happy client seeing what clothes can do for them.

• See a live show.

• Sit on a park bench and people watch.

• Ride a bike.

• See the mountains.

• Sit by the river and watch the water pulse.

• Read a book, Vogue, and Architectural Digest…

I could go on and on and on. So much visual beauty to enjoy that I’m getting choked up while typing.

After a few deep, dramatic breaths I remember that all those experiences are not solely sight-centred. In fact, how dare I not mention my other, in-tune senses? Excuse the use one more time, my “worst case” scenario still sounds pretty damn good with a change of perspective*. Maybe I’ll:

• Go thrifting with a fashion friend and get them to test me if I can guess the fabric content after just touching.

• Put my hands on the floor of Holt Renfrew and feel the vibrations of the passerby.

• Listen to a movie.

• Smell fresh flowers.

• Remember my kiddo’s dark, sparkly eyes.

• Remember my spouse’s aqua, effervescent eyes.

• Touch my own eyelids that cover my grey blue chameleon eyes.

• Massage rose lotion into my hands that are damn near exact replicas of my mothers.

• Taste a fabulous meal.

• Sit and listen to patrons at the art gallery.

• Hear the testimonial of a happy client seeing what clothes can do for them.

• Feel the bass at a live show.

• Sit on a park bench and people listen while a loved one describes their actions - let’s be honest – and their outfits.

• Figure out how to ride a bike again.

• Be in the mountains.

• Sit by the river and listen the water pulse. Dip my toes in if I’m inclined.

• After learning, read braille versions of my books, Vogue, and Architectural Digest.

With this mini bucket list well underway, I’ve really only got a few things left to do: take the prescribed meds, pick out a killer outfit for the day, and take my favourite pair of dark sunglasses with me.

Again, it’s a situation where two truths can exist: I’ve committed to surgery and I really scared that I’m doing it. That’s the truth.

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*For those out there with vision issues, I’m open to hearing if I’m being too Pollyanna in my reframing. Totally cool to metaphorically and literally “sit down” and become more humbled in my privilege. Of course, I don’t know your or your loved one’s true experience and I only hope to grown more empathy.