The Black Nail

This past weekend I experienced something that I felt could best be described in story form. It was a happening that was very hard to put down in words. I battled with sharing it publicly – yet at the end of the day I decided it best that I do. Due to the length of this story I have included an audio version that you may download as an mp3 and play on your computer. Yes, every word of this is true. No, I still don’t have any answers.

Thank you for listening,

Cory Basil

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Visible Grace

It was around 1 PM on Sunday afternoon when it began.

My eyes started watering and itching; first my right – then left. I thought it was just a normal contact irritation so I removed them and switched to my glasses. I rarely wear glasses as I can’t stand my appearance in them. If memory serves me correctly I have had the same pair of glasses for ten years. Not so stylish in 2010 America.

I then returned to my chair where I was doing a bit of writing and had the Olympics on taking in the sounds and sights of anticipation – the roaring crowds, the beauty of success, the love of country.

The irritation progressed rapidly. I walked to the bathroom and peered into the tattered cabinet mirror at my eyes. Blood red. The colour of blood used at will in the film ’300′. I spoke aloud, “This can’t be good” – as if someone else could hear.  I had pink eye once last year, and I’ve flown a couple of red eyes, but this was a bit out of the ordinary. I soaked a washcloth in hot water and proceeded to clean my eyes. Sitting down at my computer I performed a plethora of searches on all things eyes. I could find nothing on the symptoms I was having beyond pink eye – and this was not that. I then sent my Mother a text asking her to say a prayer for my eyes as I didn’t know what was happening.

Within an hour I could no longer keep them open. The feeling of muscle strain that you get when you roll your eyes back intentionally was on a constant. I was feeling very disoriented. I lowered blinds and turned down the lights hoping that would help – as any form of light may be what was keeping my eyes from seeing. Perhaps a sensitivity issue.

The fuzzy blackness continued to fade in and out.

I then felt my way into the shower and let myself steep for close to an hour. Still not able to open my eyes, I found the towels and dried off making my way to the bed. There I lay praying that whatever was cursing my eyes be removed.

As if it couldn’t get any worse, it did.

Have you ever spent time with a blind person? You know the way their eyes flutter to and fro, constantly rolling uncontrollably? That began to happen. It wasn’t momentarily, but constant. And it did not let up even into the morning hours. I felt the grasp of fear for the first time in a long time. The pain was beyond explanation. Sharp burning needles stabbing at the back of my eyes and then some.

It would take me hours to write down all of the thoughts that carried on inside my mind throughout that evening and into the morning. The most prominent being, “I’m going blind.”

This must be what happens when a person goes blind.

The thought process of a journey through my life blind began with questions. What was the last thing I’d seen? The last movie? The last pages of a book I’d read? The last poem? What was the last thing I had written? Was it any good? What are the last images I have of my family? When did I see them last? I thought about how I’d find the music I wanted to listen to on my computer, how would I respond via email, texting? Communication is so heavy on the written side these days, how would I deal? What about my music? I’d have to learn to play by touch, feel. Who were the last people I had a truly deep conversation with, face to face, seeing the life in their eyes…

What about all of the beauty I’d now miss out on? The trees outside my house, the birds, experiencing Spring… seeing the world. I’d never get to see Europe with my own eyes.

I couldn’t recall where I had left my phone – to which it didn’t matter. I thought through how I’d attempt to operate my iPhone without being able to see. Who did I talk to last? Would I even be able to navigate a touch screen to find my recent calls list? Highly doubtful. I decided that if I could wait until I felt morning hit my face, or at least heard the birds begin their morning songs, I could make my way down the stairs and outside to find a neighbors front door to get help.

In between the thoughts of how I would live in my current state I began to dialogue with myself and God regarding my faith. What part, if any, did He have in what was happening to me. Why would this happen to me, after all that I’ve been through already. Why would God allow this? Is it even God allowing? Does this have anything to do with choices I’ve made with my free will?

Can prayer really do any good or is it too late?

I still have so many questions regarding my faith in God and where I stand with various denominations and religions at the end of the day. I believe in God. I have always believed. Just as I have always – unquestionably – served Him. However, I feel incredibly cheated by religions and church. Throughout my 20′s I have discovered that so much of what I have been taught is not true to form. So much of what I had been told that was directly from God has not been. Man’s laws and beliefs have been masked as God’s. Being one constantly striving to be of moral fiber and character – this dishonesty cuts deep leaving me questioning the intent, the motives and the reasoning. Why so much manipulation and deceit conceived in the name of God?

In the last few years I have truly become a student of life. All that it brings my way. I search and test everything, finding answers to the questions. I have plummeted into the world of a deep thinker. Constantly analyzing and over-analyzing. I want to know and I trust no one but myself when it comes to finding the truth. It is difficult to have a head full of logic, a heart full of faith and an imagination full of the unknown. As we have seen in so many of the lives of the worlds greatest thinkers logic and faith cannot co-exist. I have not and will not lose my faith. It’s sewn deep within. It may never have a label to go along with it – but then again, that is the freedom I now have. Logic does make trusting difficult. Yes, I know every scripture backwards and forwards that delves into the art of faith. Trusting. Believing.

Hoping.

I capture hope in signs all around me. Are these signs from God? Or is it just my mind putting two and two together and seeing what I want to see? Putting my faith in signs being acts of God, placed there to direct me and guide me, has been my downfall before. In a catastrophic way. Is it possible to pair logic with a sensitivity to everything I see around me that is unseen?

The hours grew long.

I battled with selfish thoughts for a spell. I would not want to live in this state. To not be able to see would be the death of me. I thought to be born blind would be one thing, but to see so much and know all that is out there to see and not be able to see it would be too much. I could end it with such ease. Playing images of those I’d heard of living blind and succeeding I discarded all of these dark ill thoughts.

I moved my mind into challenge mode. I tried to focus on the muscles that were in spasm – trying to slow them with concentration. I tried to concentrate on the pain that my eyes were going through and change my definition of pain.

To no avail I kept on for hours.

At some point in the early morning I fell asleep while praying – out of sheer exhaustion, I assume.

I awoke several hours later. It was the kind of awake where your eyes are still closed but you regain consciousness. The inner dialogue began without missing a beat. The burning needle sensation was gone along with the muscle strain. I struggled to force my eyes open.

I could see again.

Still incredibly weak and weary from the experience, I was overwhelmed by the grace I’d been given to see another day. I couldn’t help but hear the old hymn playing in my head.

“… was blind but now I see.”

I have always loved that song for the truth within it. For the rest of my days those truths will be a bit more literal.

I pulled myself out of bed; my eyes still twitching intermittently. I began looking for my glasses. In my never-ending quest for reason, and my fear of a reoccurrence, I had to get to a doctor and see if there was record of this happening before. I wanted to know the cause.

As I left my house I began cataloguing everything I was able to see. The fact that I could drive made me chuckle a bit. I have never had the attitude that I am owed anything – but in simple living we take so much for granted.

NPR was on the dial in my car, the show airing was in mid-stride as they examined Sigmund Freud and his discovery of uses for cocaine; among them addiction. Oddly enough they were discussing it’s use as a local anesthetic for the eyes.

Upon arriving at the doctor’s office I explained in brief the happenings of the night prior. I caught a few quizzical glances as he let me continue. He then performed a series of tests and to with one he said, “This may sting a bit, it’s a local anesthetic for the eyes.”

Of course.

My eyes were runny and swollen when I left the office, an orange sticky substance stained my face clear down to my mouth. In my hand I carried a scribbled upon white piece of paper full of prescriptions. Even at the generic rate they were unaffordable – yet necessary.

I suppose.

No direct answers were given, only a few assumptions. So I wait it out, applying medication every 2-3 hours until another appointment which is scheduled for Thursday morning. All the while wearing my “not old enough to be vintage” glasses.

At least with four eyes I can see.

There are so many roads you do not understand lest you walk down them on your own. For whatever reason I had been given a small taste of what it would be like to be blind. The internal struggle is one I never want to experience again.

You may write it off however you will;
“It was just a fluke happening for a day.”
“It was just your body trying to reject something that didn’t belong.”
“It had to be an extreme case of Conjunctivitis.”
And so on.

As for me, I can’t help but believe that I have been given another chance to see.

And maybe, just maybe, I shouldn’t ask so many questions.