The Musings Of An Opinionated Sod [Help Me Grow!]

Looking more and more like a pirate.

In fact all I need is a hook and a hat and my metamorphosis will be complete.

Sadly, I don’t look like this because I am going to a fancy dress party, I look like this because I’m going blind.

Good news. Only in one eye.
Bad news. The other eye is fucked from years ago.

I’ve written a bunch this year about my ‘new’ eye problem … how it seemingly came from nowhere when I was holidaying in Penang at Christmas.

I’ve also written how it is part of a rare, auto-immune disease that’s been triggered by the trauma my other eye experienced when I was 21.

I know, it makes little sense … but the upshot is my eye is getting worse – not better – which is humbling, frustrating and terrifying.

What makes it more painful is no one knows what triggered the disease in the first place, nor do they know what is causing it to sustainably resist all the treatment despite all the tests I’ve had, and having.

And boy, have I had a lot.

Injections.
Laser.
Drops.
Photographs.
Scans.
Blood-tests.
So many eye tests, I know all the letters without looking at them. Hahaha.

I’ve been seen by optometrists, surgeons, specialists and – because it is such a ‘unique’ problem – a fuckload of medical students.

Hell, the chief surgeon called me a ‘medical celebrity’ … possibly the best backhanded compliment ever articulated.

And while an operation in November will hopefully dramatically slow down the speed of my vision loss – potentially even restoring some of it – they’ve already told me I will be facing a lifetime of treatment and care.

The problem is my eye is a fucking diva.

The disease – if left untreated – will take away all of my vision.
The medicine for that creates massive pressure that can also take away my vision.
And the pressure meds are causing weird cataracts that are already robbing me of my sight.

[And no Andy, it has nothing to do with the size of font I use on this blog … though now, when I write a post, I have to make it so big that it could easily double as a fucking billboard]

So for the Doctors, it’s like a giant game of whack-a-mole, just with eyes …

Or said another way:

My eye is a perfect storm of fucked-up, pain-in-the-ass, one-in-a-million problems.

Aren’t I lucky, hahaha.

Now, before this gets too depressing, I appreciate that compared to many, I am in an incredibly good position.

I’m not just saying that, I mean it.

I have great doctors and nurses looking out for me, which I’m incredibly grateful for. On top of that, I’ve been brilliantly supported by everyone around me – including my team, everyone at Colenso, all our clients and the artists I work for, which is epic, because it’s definitely made life more difficult for them all.

Plus I’m in the best physical – eye aside – shape of my life.

Annnnnd the operation in November offers me some real hope and positivity about the future [for my eye, at least – ha] albeit it’s not a dead cert by any stretch of the imagination.

However I must admit, even with all this good stuff, the worry of seeing [excuse the pun] the potential loss of my independence is not a great feeling.

Without positive and successful intervention, my eye will be able to fuck me up in ways past bosses and colleagues only dreamed of pulling off:

From robbing me of my ability to drive.
To robbing me being able to travel with ease.
To robbing me of my ability to experience different forms of art.
To, albeit much, much further down the road, robbing me of my ability to work.
And then – worst of all – robbing me of my ability to see my brilliant son growing-up.

I know that’s all worse case scenario … I also know I’ll find a way to adapt if/when I get to this situation … but it doesn’t feel great. Though what’s strange is it’s less about the loss of my vision and more about the loss of my relevance.

By that I don’t mean in terms of my career – though that isn’t exactly awesome either, haha – but more in terms of being able to contribute to life:

My life.
My families life.
My friends lives.
My teams lives.
My colleagues lives.
My clients lives.
Societies life.

Maybe for the first time I’ve realized how important all that is to me.

Not because I see myself as some sort of’saviour’ or any bullshit like that, just I find real joy in helping people find theirs.

And while I am sure many people have experienced or discovered this revelation – be it because of age, gender or health situation – it served as an important reminder to me about what ‘value’ really means.

Because while titles, money, success and popularity are all very nice, feeling you’re connected and contributing to life is maybe even more vital.

How fucking ironic I’ve only been able to see this because I may not be able to see anything in the future.

Life certainly knows how to write the darkest of comedies.

And I certainly know how to write the most depressing post on a Monday. Ever.

Of course, the really bad news is that ‘talk to text’ technology means that even if the worst happens sooner rather than later, I can still rant on this blog. Which may sound terrible to you, but is quite lovely to me.
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As an aside, nothing has shown how much of a previous generation I belong to than trying to use ‘talk to text’. I “ummmmm” and “ahhhh” and take about 10 goes to say the simplest command or sentence … whereas Otis – who uses it a lot because of his dysgraphia – is clear and concise first time, every time. Regardless what he is expressing or trying to make a machine do. Proving I am from the generation where type was power, whereas the future – and kids – are all about voice
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But in all seriousness, while this post is depressing as fuck – I’m OK. I just needed to get it out of my system.

Not for sympathy or a cry for help, but just to get it out …

Because as weird as it may sound, now I own ‘it’ rather than ‘it’ owns me, and that’s helped me remember the one thing I know I’m good at which is being a fucking competitive piece of shit, so now I’m sure I can give it a good fight rather than let it have an easy win.

Even more so if the op in November goes well.

And if things do go south … then I’ll have a good excuse for my bad spelling and dress sense. Plus I’ll officially be more pirate than any person at TBWA will ever be. So they’ll either have to hire me into old age to maintain their agency positioning or I’ll get to Lord it over them for the rest of my days.

Win:Win:Win in every way.

Jesus, is this post ending on a high?

I think it is …

What fucking rollercoaster of a rant … but kinda perfect for a Monday.