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Lens problem
Jul. 18th, 2006 10:26 pmI'm sort of my own fight lately. I don't care about every new thing that happens to me. Like events don't mean anything as they happen, but only as they meld with the rest of me, become part of my picture of myself. It's like this: every day at work, I'm a person who steals small things from almost everyone he knows. Running errands and going to the bank, I still once found out things about my uncle that my dad would never want me to know, have ground my brother's face into the yard so hard he almost broke his nose, have at times thought that I'd like for my parents to die because it would make my life easier. Thinking about this, I have sad hindsight. Start wishing that I hadn't done those things, or knew them, or wasn't the type of person to ever think them, but, in general, I'm inescapable.
Basically, most of the things going in strange directions right now are directly attributable to the fact that I need a refill on my contacts. I ran out almost two months ago, and can't change them out like I was supposed to do three weeks ago. Since they are made to last one month, they are now old and thin. I can see them start to wilt on my fingertips when I hold them up to check their shape before I slip them into my eye. Once they are both in, I feel a pressure set in above my ears. It is more like a reminder that nothing is easy than a real headache. It also films my eyes over all day. At the end of the day, taking out my contacts, I have to strain to remember seeing anything clearly. As hard as I look, I can't seem to hook into anything well enough to feel like I've really seen it; it makes me want to walk with my dog like I used to, until my hair goes coarse with sun and the skin on my face pulls tight. My grandmother wants to die.
My mom said that she told my aunt she has a lump in her breast that is probably malignant. A biopsy might make it worse. I think this makes sense--I wouldn't want my own cancer to know I knew it was there. At this point, any sort of surgery would cause my grandmother more pain than just letting the lump, whatever it is, run its course. For a few years, my grandmother has had an aneurysm in a vein in her neck that she has told my mom she wishes would burst so that she could die. I was surprised to learn that an aneurysm is not an event. The cancer is just another way for her to get what she wants. My mom dutifully relayed this information to me. We have casually discussed my grandmother's wish to die a number of times. Neither of us has said that it is sad, because according to conventional wisdom, she has lived her life fully, has already done whatever she is going to do with it, and will die essentially unchanged from who she is now, because there is not enough time left. She lives in an assisted-living community very far away.
Near the end of the graduation party that was held for me, my aunt came up to me and asked me for a bowl. I asked what kind, and she said any kind, but quickly. I ran about quickly, brought the bowl, then stood and watched while my grandmother vomited into it. It looked like bad milk. I did only what I was told to do. My grandmother rolled her head back like an old dog, looked my aunt in the eye, and said "I'm going to the bathroom. Oh, Judy. I can't help it. I've ruined everything." My aunt and I slowly brought her to the bathroom. I don't think anyone else at the party noticed, except maybe my other grandmother, who sees everything through her thick glasses and has never revealed anyone's secrets. In the bathroom, we held her over the toilet while my aunt pulled her clothes down. My aunt started to gag. I didn't look away. We helped my grandmother into the TV room after she felt well enough to get up. We put her feet up. My mom walked in and wanted to know what was wrong. "Grandmother Rose doesn't feel well," I said. "She ate something that didn't agree with her," my aunt said. There was nothing more that could be done. My mom looked for the hot water bottle we threw away long ago. My dad grasped my grandmother's hand and told her expansively that she could come live in our TV room. I thought that if she did, it would probably be the room in which she would die. It is also always the room in which I have watched Sister Act more than twenty times, where a deaf Argentinean woman with AIDS and her brother and mother lived for two weeks on my parents' goodwill, where my dog peed in the corner, where my brother and I stayed up all night playing NBA Hang Time and slept on the floor as the sun came up and filled the room with sharp green light.
Basically, most of the things going in strange directions right now are directly attributable to the fact that I need a refill on my contacts. I ran out almost two months ago, and can't change them out like I was supposed to do three weeks ago. Since they are made to last one month, they are now old and thin. I can see them start to wilt on my fingertips when I hold them up to check their shape before I slip them into my eye. Once they are both in, I feel a pressure set in above my ears. It is more like a reminder that nothing is easy than a real headache. It also films my eyes over all day. At the end of the day, taking out my contacts, I have to strain to remember seeing anything clearly. As hard as I look, I can't seem to hook into anything well enough to feel like I've really seen it; it makes me want to walk with my dog like I used to, until my hair goes coarse with sun and the skin on my face pulls tight. My grandmother wants to die.
My mom said that she told my aunt she has a lump in her breast that is probably malignant. A biopsy might make it worse. I think this makes sense--I wouldn't want my own cancer to know I knew it was there. At this point, any sort of surgery would cause my grandmother more pain than just letting the lump, whatever it is, run its course. For a few years, my grandmother has had an aneurysm in a vein in her neck that she has told my mom she wishes would burst so that she could die. I was surprised to learn that an aneurysm is not an event. The cancer is just another way for her to get what she wants. My mom dutifully relayed this information to me. We have casually discussed my grandmother's wish to die a number of times. Neither of us has said that it is sad, because according to conventional wisdom, she has lived her life fully, has already done whatever she is going to do with it, and will die essentially unchanged from who she is now, because there is not enough time left. She lives in an assisted-living community very far away.
Near the end of the graduation party that was held for me, my aunt came up to me and asked me for a bowl. I asked what kind, and she said any kind, but quickly. I ran about quickly, brought the bowl, then stood and watched while my grandmother vomited into it. It looked like bad milk. I did only what I was told to do. My grandmother rolled her head back like an old dog, looked my aunt in the eye, and said "I'm going to the bathroom. Oh, Judy. I can't help it. I've ruined everything." My aunt and I slowly brought her to the bathroom. I don't think anyone else at the party noticed, except maybe my other grandmother, who sees everything through her thick glasses and has never revealed anyone's secrets. In the bathroom, we held her over the toilet while my aunt pulled her clothes down. My aunt started to gag. I didn't look away. We helped my grandmother into the TV room after she felt well enough to get up. We put her feet up. My mom walked in and wanted to know what was wrong. "Grandmother Rose doesn't feel well," I said. "She ate something that didn't agree with her," my aunt said. There was nothing more that could be done. My mom looked for the hot water bottle we threw away long ago. My dad grasped my grandmother's hand and told her expansively that she could come live in our TV room. I thought that if she did, it would probably be the room in which she would die. It is also always the room in which I have watched Sister Act more than twenty times, where a deaf Argentinean woman with AIDS and her brother and mother lived for two weeks on my parents' goodwill, where my dog peed in the corner, where my brother and I stayed up all night playing NBA Hang Time and slept on the floor as the sun came up and filled the room with sharp green light.
