Remember Dr. Old Fart from last year? The one who, on his way out my door after writing my dismissal, waved his hand and said, ‘Oh yeah, watch out for the diabetes. Someone will be along later to give you some material.’ And I’m screaming:’ Hey! I don’t have diabetes, no one has said I have diabetes, my blood sugar is fine, what are you talking about?!’ Now you see a nonworrying kind of person would have shrugged , rolled over for the insulin shot instead of using a chair to hold the nurse at bay while growling through gritted teeth: ‘I don’t friggin’ have diabetes, my carotid was 99% occluded, they fixed it and I’m fine!’ So I called my family doctor, who made a call to the clinic from where Dr. Old Fart was about to be retired and let them know he was on the loose again and about to start diabetic treatment on a non-diabetic patient.
Now, see Sweet Girl, worrying did that…it was a close call with the evil eye but I managed to get it turned around.

This latest worry piece seems a bit different. With the carotid I really dodged a bullet with that one but I don’t think I’m going to be able to worry the evil eye away with this one. You see what you didn’t ‘grok’ after the ophthalmologist’s visit is that I have developed macular degeneration in the last six months losing 30% of my sight. Your reply of, ‘Well you have at least 70% vision remaining, right?’ tells me I’m beginning to understand that there are just some things one cannot discuss with one’s children. You have not realized that I've stopped counting change at the checkout counter, that my shoving paper bills at you is not just your quirky mom being being overly generous.  You’ve not said anything about why you have to keep putting my favorite  lounge chair back to its original place rather than two feet in front of the television.  

The Macular Degeneration  has accelerated from 1-30% in six months and suggests that the next six months are not going to be fun since it cannot be cured,  only managed or controlled. If it continues and they cannot find a way to stall or stop it, then in another six months I will be down to 30% remaining vision. I’m not giving up Tall Girl, nosiree, I’m just worrying and I know you don’t want to hear it. But I feel better knowing I can adjust my computer, that there is something called Computer Glasses out there, that there is a Center for the Blind nearby where I can get more tips on managing my daily life and that my lovely Havanese slowly herd me and keep out of my way now, not waiting for later.

I worry about the dogs. The first thing I said to Lynne when I called crying to tell her: ‘Oh I won’t know which of my dogs I’m holding.’ There was about five beats of silence and she said: ‘Of course you will!! You do it now…start practicing with a scarf around your eyes, and start training that Junior Pup to pace the length of a show ring and be determined you will be back in the show ring.’

I’ve begun making a list, Tall Girl, of things I’ll have to change in the kitchen to accommodate my declining vision. But that won’t solve the issue of my identity slipping away simultaneously with my vision. You see my vision is integral to my identity as a researcher, scholar, writer, reader and as a dog exhibitor/breeder. Do I add ‘blind person’ to my identity bundle, or remove those which are no longer useful but which have been a crucial part of my identity over the years?

I don’t know what to do about lost identities, so I worry.

Text and Photo Copyright © 2009  Ahavapicaro

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