It's Funny Now

I was talking with my Aunt on the phone today about random things, really. How we got on the subject of my life right after my first 'episode' with blindness, I don't remember. But, as I told the story, the story that I think should be sorrow-provoking, I hear.......

laughter.

My Aunt is on the other end of the phone, laughing her ass off at the sad, sad story I was telling. And really, it was sad. I swear. How much sadder can it be to be blind and have a hungry baby to feed, but you can't see well enough to feed her? Now, I consider that sad. Sad for the feed-er and the feed-ee. But, that's just how I am.

My Aunt on the other hand, I don't know about her. Laughing at the short-comings of others. I think she might have been the school bully when she was little.

I'll tell you the story, and you tell me how funny you think it is. Be honest. I can take it. After the tear-filled laughter from my Aunt, my skin is thick.

Picture it, my kitchen, early 1998. (A little ode to Sophia Petrillo from Golden Girls. I loved that character!)

Anyway, I had just had my first 'episode'(I don't know what else to call them) with blindness. I had lost most of the sight in my left eye, which adversely affected my depth perception. Remember that. Rebecca is in her high chair, ready to eat.

I sit down at the table to feed her and you know how hungry babies are. They don't like to wait. Most times, you can't shovel the food in fast enough. They're screaming and wailing. It's chaos until something hits their stomachs after a few bites. So, this is Rebecca. She's screaming bloody-murder and I'm having trouble getting it all together because I CAN'T SEE!

My dear husband is in the living room, conveniently ignoring the noise, as most husbands will do if it means they don't have to do anything, so I was alone to fend for myself. I begin feeding her, but she's still screaming. Funny. She normally stops screaming, at least long enough to swallow. I try another bite. Still screaming. Hmmm....something's not right.

At that moment, Mike walks into the kitchen to finally see what all the ruckus is and says, "Honey, you have to get the spoon closer to her mouth. She can't reach it."

Apparently, the two or three bites I had already given her, she was wearing in her lap. No wonder she was still screaming. She was leaning way ahead to try to reach the spoon, her little mouth working so hard to try to get it. I was going through the motions, but not accomplishing anything.

You know, looking back, it's a wonder she didn't starve to death! I mean, what if Mike had never walked into the kitchen to do or get whatever it was he came in to do or get? What if I never knew that she couldn't reach the spoon? Can you imagine?

I guess the mental image of her in her high chair, her little bird-mouth trying so hard to reach a spoon that her mother so viciously kept just out of reach is kind of amusing, in a twisted, mean sort of way. I am kind of chuckling to myself now because you know, I can. The story is about me, and if I want to laugh at myself, I can. I'll give you permission to laugh too, if you want. It's ok.

That was the beginning of my disability, and there have been many, many more stories like this one happen over the years as my eyesight has gotten worse and worse. At first, they made me cry, but now when something stupid like that happens, I can deal with it. I don't feel sorry for myself any more. It's a fact of my life, and I'm alright with that.