It has been 6 years. 6 years since the day, in November 2014, when I started seeing ink drops dancing in front of me. I shook my head and blinked several times but it just wouldn’t go away. And then flashes rushed in front of my eyes, as if a bunch of paparazzi were getting their best shot of me. But I was alone. And I was not crazy, either.
It has been 6 years since the time my view of life changed forever. Especially since I realised I was at risk of losing sight completely. It has been 6 years since my retina detached and my world threatened to collapse. It has been 6 years of regular appointments at the Retinal Degeneration Unit, of sitting in a waiting room full of really old people amazed that I share their symptoms, that I feel their pain, that I see as bad as they do. Of endless fundoscopies and countless opinions. Of swinging back and forth between times of alarm and high retinal traction and times of joy and relief. Of seeing the eye floaters to which my brain was supposed to adapt to, but, stubborn as it is, never really did.
It has been 6 years since I changed my view on life. Not just literally, I can assure you.