Vitreum corpus bursting

The eye is a bub­ble. It is pre­cious, gives us a taste for col­or, presents us with both the beau­ty and hor­ror of the world. It guides our hands, instructs our thoughts and, above all, plunges its ten­ta­cles into the abyss of love. What could be more pre­cious than the oth­er’s gaze, this tan­gle of ques­tions exchanged by the bats that we are ?

The visu­al­ly impaired does well, how­ev­er, as we know. Its oth­er sens­es take over, knowl­edge of the world is not lim­it­ed to the bound­aries of the light spec­trum. Any­way, I’d be sad if I lost my sight. This is a tru­ism, but it is still a seri­ous truth and it is all the truer since, for some time now, the left eye has been show­ing signs of aging. A “hair” appeared one morn­ing. At first, I thought it was a speck of dust and that, with a lit­tle water, it would dis­ap­pear. But noth­ing worked. The hair fol­lowed my gaze, noth­ing floated.

The vit­reum cor­pus shat­tered, the oph­thal­mol­o­gist diag­nosed. For her, noth­ing seri­ous. She explained to me that the vit­re­ous, this dense liq­uid inside the eye, tends to liq­ue­fy as it ages, with the effect of these more “liq­uid” stains. How­ev­er, these may be ear­ly signs of reti­nal detach­ment. She, there­fore, had me under­go sev­er­al tests, espe­cial­ly since the pres­sure in this eye was par­tic­u­lar­ly high. I put my head in sev­er­al devices, the pupils were dilat­ed dur­ing two appoint­ments. At times I had the impres­sion that I was in front of HAL’s inquis­i­tive eye or bom­bard­ed by cos­mic rays. The result was beau­ti­ful pho­tos, each more eso­teric than the next.

In short, my doc­tor explained, I have a big optic nerve, which is a chance since it will take a lot of time before it dis­ap­pears. The cornea is also very thick, thick enough to with­stand this abnor­mal pres­sure. As for the fun­dus of the eye, it under­goes ear­ly mac­u­lar degen­er­a­tion that must be mon­i­tored. For that appar­ent hair in the upper left cor­ner of my vision, it would be there to stay… that it is not very seri­ous and that I would even­tu­al­ly no longer detect its presence.

I don’t think so. It already col­ors, it seems, what I per­ceive. It adds up to the lit­tle sad­ness already built in me every time I think about the beau­ty of life. It is a leaf that falls, silent­ly, to the sur­face of the water and announces autumn, win­ter, and dark­ness. Noth­ing to wor­ry about. This is nor­mal for me since a large fog­gy sky most often cov­ers my thoughts. It is not a ques­tion of sad­ness, rather the effect of the wind, an aria of Brel that can be sung or torn.

Every­thing’s fine, so it’s just annoy­ing. Hop­ing to keep a straight­for­ward look until my body decides it has had enough.