Image credit Grace Ho via Unsplash
“Oneida, I wish you wouldn’t torture yourself this way. Come back with me.” Del held out long, skeletal fingers toward the diaphanous waif that he loved with all his heart, that is, if he still had one.
“Just a few more minutes. I like to hear their laughter.”
“We have laughter, too. It just takes a bit of adjustment.”
“I know.” She continued to stare wistfully at the people being whisked about on the rides. “You’ve told me before.” She turned towards him, a quizzical look on what was once her face. “How long has it been?”
“Since you arrived? Barely a decade, my love.”
“Why is it so dark in here, Dr. Chandler? How am I supposed to know if the operation worked for not?”
Ten-year-old Joey Wright was sitting in what felt like an eye doctor’s chair waiting for his new pair of glasses. There had been something wrong with his eyes and Dr. Chandler had to do an operation. He had to stay in the hospital and wear bandages over his eyes for six-weeks, which was pretty lousy because he couldn’t see anything, so he couldn’t do stuff like watch TV or play video games.
But Mom said that before the operation, his eyes were really, really bad and that it would all be worth it when he got better. Funny though that he couldn’t remember very much from before the operation.
“You’ve been in complete darkness for the past six weeks, Joey. I want to introduce your eyes to light very slowly, but first, I have to put on your new glasses.”
Rhonda Chandler was one of the top ten ophthalmologists in the nation and the fees she charged would normally have made it impossible for Joey’s Mom Janis Wright to be able to afford her services. But Joey’s case was unique, marvellously and terribly unique. So Dr. Chandler agreed to take the boy on as a patient for whatever Ms. Wright’s medical insurance would provide. The real payoff for Chandler was to work with a person who had one-of-a-kind eye structure and to finally utilize the experimental lens material she had developed.