December and while the letter box clattered with the sound of Christmas cards from family & friends, I was and still am stuck indoors with sunglasses on thankful that the weather was and still is grey and miserable. Thankful because the grey makes it easier for me to see. And being able to see is something that I have never taken for granted because I sadly know how easily that simple privilege can be taken away. 

On the last day of November, I woke up to flashing threads in my right eye. I knew immediately what was going on, it was serious and I needed to get to the hospital. Having a chronic condition means that when these type of emergencies happen (and there have been quite a few over the years) I know where to go for help. A&E. I do not pass go, I do not collect my £200. I go immediately. As soon as I arrived I registered and told the nurse that I thought I had a suspected Detached Retina. Her pen paused a little and she looked at me. I knew that she knew the severity of this. I told her I had seen the flashes and the floaters were starting. She took my details and told me to sit down and wait. 

An hour and a half later I was called in to see the doctor. His left wrist was in a cast and he had a trainee paramedic in with him. It always amuses me to bring to mind these little details after the fact. The floaters had increased and while I was trying not to freak out, you know it is serious when they call the on call opthamolgist ocnultant and you are told to get to the eye clinic at the hospital. I keep mentioning the severity of this - because it is. I have known of this danger for decades. I am a high risk candidate due to the severity of my short sightedness. I have known since I was around 6 years old. To know from that young age that my sight would be at risk has been a constant companion. Like my imaginary friend, that anxiety followed me for decades. I didn’t know what it meant back then but I knew it was a bad thing because my parents, the opticians, the doctors had always made it clear to me - be careful, be on your guard, be ready. When it happens, get to the hospital - fast! 

This caused me to feel a lifetime of anxiety. Imagine being told that one day this would happen to you or to your child. The sense of fear became a customary fragrance in my childhood home. Fewer fairytales and more eye checks than your usual child might have at bed time. I thought nothing of it other than the persistent feeling of dread and doom. By the time I got to 18 years of age, my eyesight had worsened. I am now a solid -9 in my eyes and that has remained steady since I went to university, over 20 years ago. 

By this age, the thought of going blind had faded into the background, but it was always there. Always being a driving force in what could and couldn’t be done. My parents are of the “of course you can do it” attitude but that is only academically. Sports were soon taken off the table for me - no netball, no contact sports. For the knock to my head by a person or ball would make me an even higher risk than I currently am. The school agreed with my parents and I wasn’t allowed to do somethings. Tennis however was allowed, as was dance and swimming. But the risk for many other activities was not for me. 

But I had wanted to live, live fearlessly and perhaps I lived a little recklessly. I loved and worked and partied abroad. I have found purpose, friendship and love in many cities and many countries. I found a way to live even though that little clock was ticking away in my ear. Having a retina detaching itself was defiantly on my annual Bingo card. And each year as the clock struck 12 at every New Years Even party, I thought, “Yes, another year gone, another year with my retinas remain in tact.” My measure of success became that I was “ok” another year. 

But in November 2023 my Bingo card got stamped. After the nurses in the eye clinic saw to my eye tests and dilating drops so that the ophthalmologist could see the back of my eye, I was seen to very quickly by the consultant. I knew immediately before she uttered the words, “I’m sorry..” My good fortune had been that I was there in hours and having laser eye surgery to treat it. But the wave of panic broke and I broke down in front of her. She knew that those in high risk categories are very likely to see this day and she comforted me with her words. I was in the right place but my heart was broken. Torn apart like my eye but hoping that I and my eye would be saved. I placed my sight in her hands. We all waited for after the daily eye clinic and I went into the laser surgery room with the doctor. Her healing hands saved more than my sight that day, a piece of my soul healed. By lunchtime I was back home, dazed and confused but with enough laser in my eye to give all the Star Wars sequels a run for their money. 

Two weeks of endless eye checks, surgery, more checks and more surgery - I have had x3 laser eye surgery to save the eye in 10 days - and it has been exhausting - physically and emotionally. By the third and final surgery I was an old hand at the laser and would giggle at the flashing lights. I may have gone slightly mad, who knows but it is a very real possibility at this point. 

I commend the Retinal specialist for understanding and acknowledging the utter draining of having this anxiety constantly. That sharp blade had fallen after almost 43 years and I cried in - well relief is not quite the word but finally the unthinkable yet unstoppable happened. That anxiety finally shut up. “It is a lot to carry” the doctor said, “its been a long time to carry this.” I nodded mutely - how does one process ones deepest fears when you face them head on and look into the laser light? 

How am I now? Not ok. But then again I never have been ok. I now enter a new relationship with fear and anxiety. I am more at risk of this happening again. I am constantly on the look out for more flashes and floaters. I am feeling more scared. Sacred to be on my own in case I need to be driven to the hospital. Scared to be out and about in case it happens on the street. I still can’t quite tell where the pavement ends and the road starts. Scared because my world is much much smaller and the independence I lived in, now looks very different. Scared that unlike a broken foot or other issues I have, this one is the most serious of them and yet looking at me you wouldn’t be able to tell. No pain, no blood, nothing to tell you that I find it difficult to see now out of my right eye. That my clumsiness is more about not seeing well than my muscles not working well. 

Unlike a broken foot, medical staff hold their breaths a little now when I tell them about it. I now get seen quickly, eyebrows knit in concern. A broken foot looks dramatic but my eye is the real star of the show. I see it in their eyes, I sense what they are sensing. Things have changed, I have been changed. I have once again touched the deepest of dark personal well of fears. But I know I will be ok, I know that I can find joy and happiness once again. But now and for a long time I will dive deeply before I can surface. 

One such dark moment was in December. I was supposed to be in London, celebrating with thousands of people the Annual Celebration of CEMS. I have worked with CEMS for over a year and as an Alumna I have always loved going back to what made me, me. I felt very low and lonely. After all the project I had been working on for over a year would be shown. But instead of sitting in a glowing audiortirum of graduands and proud professors and parents, I was at home on the sofa with sunglasses on. This wasn’t FOMO, this was AMO - actually missing out. 

And then Leonardo Lotto gave a speech. Leo spoke with strength and eloquence about his life changing experiences. I felt inspired by his words, I felt stronger. I recalled that for me CEMS has been always more than a degree, it has been a way of life. It has taught me more than letters and numbers. It has taught me love - love for people, for differences, for places, for learning, for life. The resilience I developed has given me so much more. Leo gave me that back, that memory, that I have the skills and ability to always look on the bright side. I know that recovery and my condition will never be linear. I will never “get better.” I will never be “ok.” I know that my condition will land me in hospital time and time again. But I do know that I can deal with it, that I can ask for help and help will find me. 

I do worry about the future. I worry about each moment in fact. I worry about work. I am very fortunate to have a supportive family, friends and clients but I freelance because an employed role in an organisation is far too much for me. I have some big questions to ask myself in 2024. I have some truths to accept and I have to adapt to my health, my new eyesight, my new life. But life is to be lived, to be an adventure. In my case, my seatbelt is on, my safety helmet is on so I hope for a little less drama and more time for me, myself and I/eye!

I hope to see (pun very much intended) around and about but for now, have a fabulous 2024!