Or going on about some of my way cool retreat grrrlfriends:
Instead, I'm consumed with medical concerns.
He took a soccer ball to the eye. To the OPEN eye. From a huge kick. A 5-feet-away kick. After screaming and writhing on the ground for 5 minutes (during which time I couldn't breathe), and tearing and squinting for another five, he saw a thick black line through his vision. Then severe fogginess. At the clinic he couldn't read the largest number on the eye chart.
Long story short. 5 docs, one clinic, and an ER visit later, we were sent home with a "probably not a detached retina" conclusion, a diagnosis that would've meant surgery right away.
I'm up, because I'm wired. We felt pretty confident until halfway home when he said, "Mom, I'm seeing spots." I thought he was joking. "That's not funny." But he was serious. All night long - for five straight hours - he'd complained of the same symptoms. Thick black line, but it faded. Fogginess, but it's lessening. Blurriness, but it's clearing. But never spots. And the craziest thing is he feels fine overall. When the nurse asked the "pain on a scale of 1-10" question, he replied, "It doesn't really hurt." They thought he'd misunderstood. But the doc says a detached retina is a "pain-free way to go blind." Great.
So now he's trying to get some sleep after telling me "Now the spots are pink!" Breathe, mom, breathe. He thinks we're over-reacting. And he's not normally one for medical bravery.
He scored a goal in the first play of the game, though. I like to find the silver lining, doncha know.
Stay tuned. And send healthy-eye vibes.