Sickness and health and questions

Sometime between the time I fell asleep on Thursday night and the time I woke up on Friday, one of the stitches in my right eye broke. I didn't realize that right away when i woke up, so I went off to facilitate a workshop in a school almost 2 hours away. By the time I finished the workshop, I realized this wasn't just a regular day's eye trouble, and went to the doctor instead of back to office. He looked through the microscope, started, looked at me and said "I would be jumping in pain right now."

Well, I wasn't yet, but I was soon after. Or nearly. The stitch was pulled and made to retract under local anesthesia, but the next morning, it was back again as a loose thread hanging in my eye. This time, it was yanked, nipped, prodded and God-knows-what-else without even the local anesthesia (which the doc told me wouldn't help anyway). More than the physical pain, it was the pure weirdness of having a needle, tweezers and some cutting instrument against your eye and knowing that if you blink or move a millimeter, you would be inviting MAJOR trouble.

Anyway, that drama seems to have closed for now... the stitch was in place when i visited the doctor's today. But it opened up larger questions.

I am freshly aware of my own vulnerability. Knowing that something like this could happen with no external provocation-- in my sleep!-- is scary. It makes me afraid to travel, to even go away for a weekend, because what if it happens again? It probably will happen again at some point-- how reassuring can it be just to know that the string has gone under the surface of the eye but no long-term measure has been taken, or can be taken? I asked the doc that question, he agreed with the fear but said the risk of removing the stitches was too high to take them out because of that.

I am always aware of my vulnerability... every time I cross a road or climb down stairs, I am aware of how I don't see everything I need to be seeing well enough and I reminded of all those small accidents and near-accidents. It isn't a conscious thought, just a subconscious clenching of the fist or pursing of the lip. Now, I am simply aware of it in one more way.

Ken taught me to embrace my vulnerability; he taught me that if I could accept the fact that I am vulnerable, I can be really strong.

I'm trying to believe him. I guess I do believe him or I wouldn't share my writing, publish this blog, or encourage others to write. But do I believe him enough?

Or, more to the point, even if I do believe him, do I believe the trade-off is worth it?