blindness at the break of dawn

I had this panic attack, I think that's what they're called.  A real first.  It was about a month ago, one 5:00 AM or so.  My usual time for waking up and worrying about the seas rising. Trying to calculate whether I live in the flood zone or out of it. And by how much either way. Worrying about liquefaction.  Yup, I worry about things like that. Worry about whether I can pay my bills, balance the checkbook to the penny, live long enough to prosper.  I'm really good at worry.  But not panic.

This was a panic attack.  A real one.

It was about blindness.  My eyes have been misbehaving more and more of late. And in the place of my usual global-sized concerns came this quite visceral and personal one.  I contemplated life without sight, and what that might be like, and whether I would be willing to live that life., or let life go. I thought of every single thing in the world that I'd have to give up.

Could I live without color?  I really wasn't sure I'd be willing to try. I thought of every pleasure in my life, and every drop of it for me was visual.  Petty little things. Like hiking on the cliffs, picking fruit in the market, driving.  I included driving—and I hate driving. But it made for a good panic.

Got into a disagreement (too short to call a fight) with my partner's mother over dinner not long ago.  Or maybe it was breakfast.  Something I made, and I apologized.  It didn't look right.

"As long as it tastes good," she said. And I begged to differ.  How could it taste good if it wasn't beautiful?

And we dropped the subject. It would not have been a fruitful question to explore.

So. The panic.

I should note, that even now as I write, my eyes are starting to fail.  I'm not sure if I can finish this post before the screen fades completely before my eyes. Solution: I'll keep it short. Very short.

Went to the eye doctor, and what did he say? Cataracts still 'not visually significant' but getting there. And okay, so panic gone. Something can be done about it, right?

And the panic went away, making me feel silly. And selfish. I had panicked over something so personal, rather than something larger than the self. I felt ashamed.

But in my panic, I visualized life without sight. Right down to the minutest of details. I practiced, even. Waking up and going through the morning rituals with my eyes closed.  A shower's not so bad, unless the bar of soap slips out of your hand. Then it's a bit more treacherous...

A couple days ago, someone I hold dear went suddenly blind. And she may or may not regain her sight. She did not panic. She faltered. It was more than her sight she was losing. Her platelets were rebelling against platelets. An autoimmune disease.I find it all so inexplicable. There is no why.

She's handling it with such grace, except for the eyedrops she must endure every four hours. She's relying on other senses to get her by until her malady passes.  And I insist it must, it must pass. And she must live. And I look at her, and all I want for her is life. And she shows me how it can be done.

They key, of course, is that she's surrounded by so much love. Humans who adore her more than anything else in the world. She is cared for. Protected. And most of all, adored. She has those loving bodies curled up next to her, warm against her skin. The love wards off panic and fear, and maybe some of the confusion. She's calm. And greeting each and every moment.

And I? I'm a bit jealous.

...

I'm not proof reading this. The blur and haze are setting in for the night...

the vomit factor

You know this one. There's this couple on the bus next to you, or at the next table — or somewhere, anywhere (but definitely in public) — and they just can't keep their hands off each other. And their lips off each other. And they're pawing each other. And they can't get enough of each other. Or there's the mother — or the grandmother, which is even worse — who's got pictures in her hand. She's forcing them on you. A cute cherubic face at different ages. And now, of course, grandma's got 10,000 more on her iPhone. And you can't escape.

It's called 'the vomit factor.'

I just heard that term the other day. I'd always wanted a name for it, and that's just perfect.

When I was pregnant with my first kid, I vowed never ever ever to be one of those moms. And every time I found myself slipping subtly into my wallet, just happening to also pull out a baby picture by accident, I knew that I too was a perpetrator of the vomit factor.

Luckily, the people I've encountered are a lot nicer than I am. They haven't rolled their eyes and scowled. They haven't turned away. Or yawned. Or maybe it was all internal. Or maybe, so caught up in my own preciousness, I didn't notice. Worse case scenario: the truth.

Anything with the word 'cute' appended to it bespeaks of the vomit factor.

That includes kitties and pups. I carry their pictures too. Plus the 10 million others on the iPhone. Although, my favorite picture that I walk around with and want to show off is the one I took of the enormous banner over the Castro Theater that reads 'Milk' and a picture of Sean Penn as Harvey, with all the glittering neon lights flashing at the same time. I'm proudest of that picture. I remember Harvey well, from the days in his little camera shop. I think my kids can handle that being my favorite shot just fine.

So. This couple the other day. Having breakfast at a place I go with T. There were four of us. And at least two of us were cringing mightily. Probably all four, but I couldn't tell. But we — we were smacking each other's shoulders in utter horror and revulsion. That's when she came up with the term.

The vomit factor.

And there we were having a great Mexican breakfast. And there we were ready to puke.

I'm not sure all four of us noticed, but two of us did, at least. We tried to be polite about it. Tried really hard. We failed miserably.

"Let's never ever do that," said one.

"Agreed," the other one agreed.

But it's a lost cause, really. It's just so hard to self-restrain.

Even with the iPhone, I'm still carrying pictures in my wallet. Happiest-couple-in-America pictures. Happiest-family-in-America pictures. Aren't-they-adorable pictures. Sweet-puppy pictures. My wallet is weighed down with the vomit factor.

There's the more gracious word for it, of course. We call it love. Maybe blind love, is that a term? That kind of love where you can't see that the rest of the planet is just not in there with you. The gushiness. The mushiness. The cute, adorable, and banally sweet.

This is me, intolerant, and yet just as gushy [shudder] as everybody else on earth when it comes to me and mine.

This is me, with apologies to all, for when even unsentimental I slip up and gush in public. Another [shudder] is in order here. And for that couple the other day at breakfast, maybe a better response is to cheer?

Maybe more of that is what we need in public spaces. Maybe a lot more.