mother
Mother
I remember when I came to this office so
many years ago. My sight was only beginning to fade then. A
minor inconvenience, remedied by a pair of contact lenses. After
a painful and teary practice period, they became like a second skin.
Now a detatched retina blinds my right eye, and the doctor,
once so pleasant as he handed me a prescription, now brushes me
aside with a "We must expect these things as we get older." His briskness
may be an attempt to cover an uneasiness that he has no answers, or it may
be his natural response to a negligible
old woman.