welcome tuberculosis

honesty, aging, and cataracts

I opened Pinterest on my phone at 3 a.m. this morning and saw a framed cross-stitch wall hanging that said, “Welcome Tuberculosis.” But then I squinted until it said “Welcome to my loose interpretation of…” I am 51 years old, and I have cataracts.

It’s progressing slowly, and the ophthalmologist doesn’t want to do surgery until it all gets bad enough that I’ll feel like the procedure and its potential side effects are worth it. He used the phrase “bang for your buck,” which I thought was a funny take on surgery. Until then, I can barely read my phone, and every room is too dark, and also: welcome tuberculosis.

Every time I go to Wolfe Eye Clinic, I am the youngest person in the lobby. I have to remind the doctor, a young guy, that early onset cataracts do not run in my family and that I do not have diabetes. That I just drank too much wine in my 40s and have excellent luck. I don’t tell him that I’ve grown tired of seeing the world sharply, and this is probably a spiritual condition. There is no surgery for that. Probably.

At one of my schools, I share an office with a colleague who is prone to migraines and keeps the overhead lights dim. I compensate with a desk lamp, but the bulb is too intense - alarming, even - and is probably going to burn a hole in the cabinetry. This makes me anxious, so I turn it off and squint instead. (That’s not true. She turns the lights up when I arrive because everybody knows from my whining that I can’t see.) Sometimes you have to choose between blurry but at-ease or clear but anxious.

My cataracts and the fact that I went through menopause about 10-15 years earlier than the average woman, make me think I’ve started aging in dog years. I’m 51, but starting around 45, every year = 7. I am 86, and that feels right. Plus, if I do the math, my dog and I are about the same age now (and he’s losing his hearing). Anyway, it all just makes me think more and more about aging and how I want to do it.

I did a meditation with oracle cards this morning. (My wise friend, Kara Simons, at Joyful Resonance, creates beautiful “Grandmother” packs.) This morning I asked what I most needed to know, and she showed me OSTRICH, who is unflinchingly honest. Ostrich says, “...Words have power, and truth keeps them real. Start there, end there, and you’ll do just fine.”

I admire honesty in others (the clear and kind version) - people who say hard things even when it’s uncomfortable. I’m not a liar, not a through-the-teeth kind, but I am an avoider, and that’s probably a form of lying (if I’m being honest). So, I think that what I want most as I age is more honesty. I want a really truthful life, whatever that looks like. I want to be an honest person saying true things, and I want the people around me to also be honest people saying true things. I want to be an ostrich.

In summary: I have cataracts, would like to be an ostrich, and I think a cross-stitch pillow that said “Welcome Tuberculosis” would actually be pretty funny.