Page 66 of Soft
CHAPTER 22
Grizzly
The morning started wrong.
It wasn’t even in some dramatic fashion. This kind of wrong was small, accumulating before you could even fully understand what was going on. By the time I realized something wasn't sitting right with my eyes, my vision was completely messed up.
A pressure that hadn't been there when I'd gone to sleep was very much there now, sitting at the center of my vision like it found joy in my discomfort.
I lay still for a while, hopeful it would fade. When I’d first attempted to get up, the quick movement had worsened the darkness shrouding me. It was terrifying in a way I’d never experienced.
With the ceiling above me, I waited to see how long this spell would last. It had happened twice before, both clearing within an hour or so. Sometimes I could get it down to manageable with the right amount of time being still. Sometimes it just… stayed.
My body wasn’t always my friend. And no amount of cajoling would make it any different.
Since I couldn’t see, I had to ask my phone to tell me the time. Once I realized there was no change happening in my field of vision, I called Cheyenne.
“Hey! If you’re calling for my breakfast order, I’ll push Paxton out of the way and marry you tomorrow,” she announced.
I snorted. “No thanks on the proposal. Sadly, I’m nowhere near able to come in today.”
“What’s going on?” Her voice turned serious. “Do you need me to come over? I can help with whatever you need.”
“This isn’t a need help type of situation.”Liar.
“If you’re sure…” Her hesitation was palpable through the phone.
Humming, I continued on without addressing her insistence. “My eyes are giving me a bit of trouble today. I’ll come in later if it gets better. Otherwise, let’s reschedule any meetings I had for later this week or next.”
“I’ll take care of everything. Don’t you worry.”
“Thanks, Cheyenne. I appreciate you.”
“As you should,” she teased. “But seriously, rest today. Eat some food. Relax as best you can. Nothing is urgent enough for you to push yourself.”
I agreed to do as she suggested before I hung up. It wasn’t as if I could get away with much more than that— especially without the ability to see.
I managed to get to the bathroom and back without falling over anything. Thank goodness for a tidy room and muscle memory.
Once I was back in bed, I contemplated what to do. I could hear my doctor telling me exactly what I needed.Rest your eyes. No screens. No fine print. No tasks that required the central field to work harder than it already was.
While I wasn't functionally impaired in the ways that mattered for basic safety, the central loss on a day like today had a quality to it that was difficult to describe to someone who hadn't experienced it. There was a gap where the focus should be, creating a situation where trying to look at an object directly was impossible. Imagine trying to read a page with a water stain in the middle that moved with your eyes no matter where you aimed them. Yeah, it was that frustrating.
I had been managing things. I knew the parameters. I knew what to do.
What I didn't know, on the bad days specifically, was how to turn the volume down on my own negative thoughts.
This was when the fear had the most room to move. On ordinary days, I had work to do and people to answer and calls to make. The industry's general state of motion occupied enough of my brain for fear to be pushed to the back. It didn't disappear entirely, of course. I had stopped expecting it to. But it stayed manageable and mostly quiet.
On bad days it was all I could hear.
On bad days it was just me and the stench of fear, with nothing useful to do.
Today in particular, all I could only think about was the time I had left. Three to five years, the doctor had said. Three to five years until the central loss was significant. Until the accommodation switched from being about font size and lighting to harder, more permanent adjustments.
There would be so many things to change. From my home to the way I worked, it would all be different.
I knew people managed this, fully and with their quality of life intact. My doctor had emphasized this. I had listened. I had read the literature. I understood the future wasn’t the catastrophe my fear kept insisting it was.
