<p>please be honest, does it seem like i answer a question, do you understand, etc.</p>
<pre><code> As I lay in the hospital bed, the doctors words replaying continuously in my mind, I realized that I lacked the ability to cry; it was not as though the tears were held back, but more so that they were inexistent. Certainly the situation called for strong emotion, as my mother sat beside me, reaching for my hand, tears becoming visible in her eyes, but I could not force a much called-for reaction. All I could think of was how I could never make it through the school year and how this major setback might ruin my life. My father stood at the foot of the hospital bed, seemingly contemplating the quickly spit out diagnosis and hoping it wouldnt be as obscure coming from another doctor.
Earlier that afternoon, December 10, 2003, I hurriedly left class, eager to put on my jersey for basketball practice. Ironically, the place I wanted so badly to go was the same place I so willingly left just minutes later. As I trapped the ball in my hands, rebounding the ball I longed for, my teammate swung at that same desired orange sphere. Unfortunately, I turned at that precise moment and received his fist, directly in my eye. Diagnosis: possible nerve damage, concussion. I was suddenly jolted back into the reality of being stuck in a hospital room for what had already been eight hours, thankful to have just stopped vomiting due to trauma, when the nurse walked in with my first pain medication after the injury.
Two days, many tests, and even more medication later, I didnt have the courage or the strength to walk out of the hospital to the waiting car, so my mom pushed me in a wheelchair. Exams would start Monday, and I didnt feel good enough to watch television: how was I going to take a test? Contrary to my fears, but exactly as I had hoped, my teachers and the school administration were very helpful and accommodating in averaging my grades without the exams I was doomed to perform poorly on. A week later, I revisited the doctor, who took more CAT scans. Following the test, he sent me home to rest and wait for a call from his office.
The next day, Julie, his assistant, called and informed me that the injury was a blowout fracture of the orbital floor. She explained to me that this meant my eye socket had shattered upon impact and my muscles were no longer being supported; surgery was required. The surgery, which took place the week following Christmas, included reconstructing the socket using a titanium plate. The doctor assured me that I would soon regain my perfect vision and get back to my good grades.
The doctor was wrong. I had double-vision for almost seven months following the operation, and I faced another, more delicate and risky surgery this past summer. Getting my life back on track was initially very difficult; I no longer had the interest to read a book for enjoyment, because it took me almost triple the time to read my assignments as it did prior to my injury. The most noteworthy thing since my injury, though, was receiving my report card after third quarter of my junior year. It read all As and one B+, and I knew all were in honors or A.P. courses. Knowing that I received wonderful grades because I had strived to keep up in my classes, my confidence boosted. I prayed daily that my vision would soon be corrected. Finally, a doctor in New Orleans examined my injury in July. There, he expressed his desire to help me regain my vision, and he offered to operate on both of my eyes. The word terrified comes to mind; I had no idea whether or not I should allow him to perform the surgery, because there was a risk, though it was very small, that my vision could be worsened. I wanted to be healed, but I had serious second thoughts about allowing the doctor to touch both eyes. Eventually, I agreed to go ahead with the operation, and the results were better than even the surgeon expected. Now I see single in almost all directions, though I do still have trouble looking certain ways. I continue to pray that my vision will be completely restored, but until then, my injury will constantly remind me of the struggles I have faced and, more importantly, the ones I have overcome.