I really need to get to a point where I have some idea of what my post-divorce financial situation will look like. So I was frustrated when my lawyer postponed my consultation until the next day due to illness, and when, the following day, she was still sick, her assistant told me we’d need to wait to reschedule until after the receipt of further paperwork from the Plaintiff, the prince formerly known as my husband.

Shortly before the time of yesterday’s canceled appointment, I was working in front of a bright, sunny window. I then went back to my PC. I began to see something that looked like an amoeba continually floating by. I attributed it to the change in lighting, but it continued. I remembered someone once describing “floaters” as distracting things that you see even though they are behind your field of vision. I went online to check it out. It sounded like what I was seeing, but I began to feel better when they said not to worry about seeing a floater unless it was accompanied by light flashes. Then, about a minute later, I thought I saw a flash of light in my peripheral vision. I’m being a hypochondriac. Three more around my border of vision.  Maybe it’s reflection from my frames. I take off my glasses and things are definitely STROBING!  It’s almost 4 o’clock. I’d never be able to drive all the way to my regular optometrist, navigate the traffic and the hospital’s underground parking deck, and make it to his office before it closes. A coworker tells me where the nearest optometrist is, and off I go.

I walk in off the street– a whirl of hyper. I’m talking detached retina. They calm me down. As I wait in the room alone for the dilating drops to take effect, I look at the empty chair and remember who sat with my husband (latterly known as the Plaintiff) during his surgeries for retinal detachment. I don’t dwell on this; I feel the hurt and move on to more relevant matters. After a very thorough exam, the doctor tells me I have vitreous degeneration, which is a normal part of the aging of the eyeball as its interior changes from Jell-O to water. In my case, a big chunk of the fibrous tissue that used to hold my young, perky eyeball filling to the retina lopped itself off to frolic in the watery pool formerly known as my gelatinous left eye. Excusing the pun, she told me signs to look out for, and if none of them happen, the amoeba will dissolve, and she’d look back into the eye in a month. Needless to say, I was extremely relieved—I don’t like the words eye and surgery in the same sentence.

Even though it was traumatic, yesterday really worked out to be a good day.  First of all, I found an optometrist practice I really like whose office I can drive home from with dilated pupils.  And what if my legal consultation hadn’t been canceled? I can just imagine if my eye started going wacky at the lawyer’s office. Like—do I have to get divorced and go blind at the exact same time? Give me a friggin’ break!

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