“No work, no driving, no school until further notice.”  My eye doctor told me.  “This doesn’t just happen, he quietly said as he turned to my mother who had taken me to the appointment.  “If you have any headaches or dizziness, go to the emergency room immediately.”

              Later that night, I was on my way to the hospital.  I laid in the cold, sterile room as the world was going dark and suddenly disappearing from in front of me.

              Maybe it’s just been a long day. My eyes are probably just tired. I thought to myself as I leaned in to see my blurry computer monitor. Maybe there’s something wrong with my computer. Nope.  I wonder if it will help to turn off the lights in my office. Nope. This is weird. I need to get my eyes checked. I thought to myself as I clocked out, packed up my laptop, and headed home.

              “Hi, I’m having some trouble with my vision. I can’t see. I need to make an appointment.” I told the receptionist over the phone. Failing to clearly communicate the severity of what was going on. I hung up and called my mom. “Hey mom, I’m getting my eyes checked tomorrow. Can you give me a ride to the eye doctor?”

              “Of course. I would be happy to.” She replied, thinking I just needed somebody to take me to the office because I was having my eyes dilated perhaps and would not be able to drive. She picked me up and as I explained what was going on, we both quickly realized that this was much more urgent than just dry eyes or allergies.

              “Okay, look at the picture of the parachute in the machine. I’m going to take a picture of your eye.” The doctor’s assistant said as she pushed my chair closer to the machine.

              “I cant even see the parachute. Are you sure it’s on?” My questioned puzzled and concerned everyone in the room as looking into this machine was nothing new to me. I had been going to this doctor’s office nearly my entire life and was very familiar with all the staff and can still picture the bright red and yellow parachute in my mind from having seen it so many times. Somehow, after many attempts, we were able to get the pictures to hopefully diagnose what was going on.

              “Looks pretty normal. See these lines here?” The doctor said as he enlarged the picture of my inner eye on the screen and tried to show me the different blood vessels and nerve endings in my eye.

              “Not really.” I replied apprehensively as a bit part of my livelihood involved looking at a computer screen. I did my best to tell myself it was just allergies or worst case, I may just need a fancy new pair of glasses.

              At the hospital that night, the emergency department was either unusually busy or again, I failed to communicate the urgency of the situation when I did my best to describe how the world was disappearing and I could not see the eye chart hanging in front of me. I was finally brought to a room where my vitals were taken, some blood drawn and a CT-scan ordered.

              The doctor burst in the room and seemed to be yelling for no good reason. “Okay. The scan came back normal, and your bloodwork and vitals look good. Let me take one more look at your pupils.” He said through stale coffee breath as he waved his light in front of my face. “Pupils look fine. One might be a bit bigger than the other. I’ll be right back.”

              He rushed back into the room, whipped past the curtain and aggressively handed me a freshly printed article about a condition that can cause one to have different sized pupils temporarily. “This is probably what you have. Nothing we can do. Follow up with an ophthalmologist.”

              “But I can’t see. I can’t read this. The print is too small.” I retorted. I was sure I was on some sort of prank TV show or perhaps he was going to chuckle awkwardly and take the papers back as the on-call ophthalmologist walked in.

              The nurse took over and began unhooking the blood pressure and heart monitors. “We’re just finishing up your discharge paperwork. You’ll be good to go in a few minutes. He said.

              My mother and I did our best to advocate. “What about an MRI? Isn’t there anything else we can do?”

              “Nope. The MRI machines need to be kept free and available for those actively having a stroke or something like that. Just follow up with your ophthalmologist”

              I was shocked at the level of apathy and lack of empathy I felt from the staff. A few days ago, I could see fine and now I cannot. Isn’t that enough? I thought to myself.

              “It’s really hot in here. Can I have some water? I feel like I’m going to pass out.” I said as beads of sweat dripped from my face. My body quite literally went into shock at the confirmation I was just given.

              As instructed, I followed up with an ophthalmologist in the area. Not only did he lack any kind of bedside manner but seemed irritated when I finally had the chance to ask him if this was going to get better.

              “Probably not.” He replied curtly as he spun back around and continued scribbling notes into my chart.

              The next several months were filled with seemingly endless doctor’s appointments. I was brought to one specialist after another. I went through many different treatments, medications, and even adhered to a strict diet.

              The lights on the stage of my world had faded to black and there was nothing that could be done to bring them back up.

              It was in the darkest time of my life, when the world quite literally disappeared in front of me that I saw Jesus in a whole new way, brighter than ever before.

              I imagine him standing in front of me, having always been there, knowing all my pain, saying to me…

              Can you see me now?

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