Sunday, December 5, 2010
A hostile red circle. Particles of snow. Petroleum jelly and smoke. A swarm of blood, and light trying to push through that blood. Crumbling around the edges. Retinal hemorrhage? No, detached retina. Alarming if a good eye doctor lived a mile way. More alarming when it tears away close to midnight, and you're out in your second home by yourself, on a weekend, with a seven-month-old puppy on your hands, two hours from a decent hospital. And there you are, driving west on a winding two-lane road, as your vision gets cloudier and grainier. This is the story of Mark's last 24 hours. Luckily, texts helped to keep us in touch through the night. And luckily, the preliminary surgery, conducted while Ned slept in the backseat of the car, looks promising. I'm on the bus, passing through Syosset as I write; I'll be out at the house in few hours. Still, Mark's in no way out of the woods. The recovery for the next two weeks? The head must be kept forward at all times, or the work of surgery is undone. Take lots of Advil, the doctors say. Merry Christmas.