Hiding

I am living in hiding right now. When I go out I wear sunglasses, so no one can see my red, blood-shot, swollen eye. I speak less and move quietly. I try not to go out at all.

We had friends over on Saturday night and I sat at dinner, by candlelight, with my shades on. I spoke little and just followed the conversation. Jonathan kept calling me Sophia Loren. I smiled. But said nothing. At the Y I meet with people and have important conversations, in rooms with no windows, with my shades on.

My eye hurts. Not a lot. Just the stitches on my eyeball rubbing against my lid. And then I have fears that the graft is not taking and I will have a lumpy misshapen eyeball forever. And my mind goes crazy.

And I realize two things.

First, a small pain can affect your life and personality in a big way. It affects me in obvious ways--I do not want to talk much. I dart in and out of meetings and drop offs, just trying to get them to end. And this small pain--barely enough to merit a tylenol--irritates me. It makes me grumpy. I snap at my children and give up on things easily.

Second, how you carry yourself--whatever the reason--begins to affect how people see you, and then how they react to you begins to affect again how you are acting. So I hide behind my glasses, not making eye contact and not speaking. That makes me mysterious, and I can see that for some people that attitude translates as arrogance, and judgement.

In the end, my eye, which is not even serious, makes me do less. I do not want to be out in the world. I do not want to interview people or pitch stories. Even though no one can see me, I feel less confident, less at ease. I long, even more than usual, to engage in solitary pursuits. Or to be with my children, who love me so much they do not even notice that my eye is red and bloody and big.

And suddenly, with a rush, I realize how blessed I am. I have a body so strong it has always come through for me when my mind and heart have faltered. But physical frailty derails me.

And I think of all those with chronic illness, chronic pain, treatments that make them miserable with no guarantee of a positive outcome, and I think I was not compassionate. I could not anticipate the layers of emotion, and how that single physical ailment can completely alter the way you move through the world.

Now, in a very small way, I understand.