Here we go again

August 16, 2024: Nearly Seven Years Later

Today, we found ourselves in Sinclair, Wyoming—a small town that feels miles away from the chaos of everyday life. Brian had work to do at the refinery, and I was there to relax. But for me, it became the backdrop of something I didn’t see coming.

Taking the puppies out for a walk should have been routine, but as soon as I stepped outside, the brightness overwhelmed me. It wasn’t just the sun; it was as if the world had been turned up to maximum brightness, and my eyes couldn’t adjust. When I came back into the hotel, the sudden transition from the brightness outside to the dim interior left me in complete darkness.

I lay down, closing my eyes, praying that whatever was happening would pass. After almost 20 minutes, I opened my eyes. The room wasn’t dark anymore, but it looked wrong—dim and smoky, as if I were seeing through a veil. Something wasn’t right.

Determined to distract myself, I grabbed my tablet to work on a PowerPoint presentation I’d started earlier. But as I added images, I noticed they weren’t clear. The sharpness I relied on was gone, replaced by a blur that I didn’t immediately understand. I told myself it would pass, that it was just a temporary glitch. After all, I was on vacation. I wouldn’t need to push my eyes too hard for the next few days.

Saturday was the town’s centennial celebration, and I couldn’t wait to attend. There’s something special about holidays in a small town—the kind of charm that stays with you. I fumbled through the day with my crazy vision but still enjoyed the celebration. It was a moment of normalcy in the midst of uncertainty.

The ride home from Wyoming was a new challenge. The sunlight was so intense that my usual sunglasses weren’t enough. I found myself wishing for something darker to shield my eyes.

As soon as we got home, I searched for my prescription eye drops and started using them immediately. This wasn’t unfamiliar territory—I had gone through something similar with my left eye years ago. But this felt different. The fear of the unknown crept in, along with the questions: Would my vision return? Would this be my new normal?

For now, I’m holding onto hope, relying on what I’ve learned from past experiences. Tomorrow is a new day, and while my vision may be uncertain, my determination to adapt and push forward remains steadfast.