Ascending Light

Jennie House

'It will depend on your attitude' they say; 'it will be difficult, but as it will progressively get worse, it's worth a try.'

For years I had been exceedingly myopic and for the past two years, near blind; and with the great digging up of the roads and pavements in the city, outside life had become quite hazardous. Unable to see the Green Man to cross the road made many an errand somewhat dangerous and keeping alert for when others crossed gave no measure of safety. A white stick steered many out of my path but prompted others to offer help and such gestures, often full of unexpected warmth, touched me.

However, it finally seemed that a technological advance had crossed my path and I moved from a limbo on to a waiting list. The weeks went by. Then, returning one evening from a day's absence, I stepped over a letter as I opened my front door; 'we apologize for the short notice but we can now take you for the first of your eye operations on Tuesday at 10am.' I had four days in which to get organized.

On September 30th a shrill telephone breaks the intent preparation: 'A cancellation has occurred ? could you come to the hospital as soon as possible?' Leaving a forlorn breakfast roll in the oven (remember to switch off), I head for the bus mentally noting where the diversion sign straddles the pavement and wait with a knot of others, still peak-time travel. Two double deckers arrive together and we slowly move up the hill into a bottleneck of traffic. Patience.

Finally I tap into the hospital and join another group of people. Is someone weeping? No, just blowing their nose. Regularly. . .waiting. First one room then into the next. Waiting. 'Sterile' observes the lady from Dunbar who suggests some lively cartoons or flying ducks. Chat washes around the seated walls which slowly empty until I wait alone, save for the distant squeak of a nurse's show or a trolley's rattle. . .then 'come! Come! Floor 5.

ASCENDING LIGHT exclaims the very large capitals within the lift. I am handed over to blue-gowned kind hands from Bulgaria (I enjoy their wine) ? her capped head efficient and conversational. . .under the theatre lights the shadow of the surgeon explains his procedure; how to breathe, how to close the eye then to open; how to hold still and join the concentrated enactment of implanting sight. . .twice. I catch myself almost levitating with the tension and breathe myself, in, out, down again. . .a heart shaped pad is packed across the eye and taped securely enclosing blackness. Then I sleep. . .

Alone at home the next morning, it is time. I've been up and about for some hours, must procrastinate no longer and tentatively begin to strip away the stinging elastoplast from its gripping hold on my face.

Instantly I know I am not blind, that it has worked. No longer blackness but a glow of intense blue which breaks into shards of blue light. Shapes detach themselves from this first geometry and take on their own colours. Outside the window two very small birds career past and for an instant I meet myself as someone I used to know. Extraordinary.

On the street I grin to meet you whether I know you or not; euphoria. It will not last of course, but meanwhile this is an indelible day ? the significance of which is sobering and will being about its own balance. I wish it well.