The Woman in the Mirror
佚名 / Anonymous
When I was 11， I found out I had a brain tumor. I had surgery to remove it， but the size and location of the tumor caused my optic nerve to atrophy. For three years afterward， I had partial sight， but my ophthalmologist told me that eventually I would go blind. At the end of my 14th year， doctors pronounced me legally blind and said there was nothing that could be done. I had a 5 percent chance of surviving the tumor， and I did， but somehow I could never deal with the fact that I was going blind. I tried to behave as if everything were just fine. When it happened， I was devastated.
My dad left us when I was 5， and I took that really hard. Because of that， and because I was blind on top of it， my greatest fear was that no one was ever going to love me， that I would never get married and have kids and a full life. I was afraid of being alone， and I guess that is what I thought blindness meant.
Ten years later， on Nov.16 of last year， I was cooking dinner and leaned over to kiss my guide dog， Ami. I lost my balance and hit my head on the corner of my coffee table and then on the floor. It wasn’t unusual. When you are blind， you hit yourself all the time. I got up， finished making dinner and went to bed.
When I woke up， I could see. Light was coming through my window， and the curtains were drawn. Of course， I was shocked， but not scared， not like when I lost my sight. There was a big mirror in my bedroom， but I didn’t look at myself right away. I wanted to wash my hair and put on make-up first. I do not look good in the morning， and I didn’t want to be frightened. As I was showering， caught my reflection. And just that left me speechless， really.
The last time I saw myself， I had short hair， a pale complexion and features that didn’t show because I had such light eyebrows and eyelashes. I looked awful， like a teenage girl， I suppose. Now， all of a sudden， I realized that it was true what people told me， that I was an attractive woman. When I stood in front of the mirror， I reached to touch my face. That was what I had been doing for 10 years—it was how I understood—so it was a natural impulse. It was not until I saw myself that I realized how much my memory had faded of things I once could see. It was about four hours before I told anyone. I stayed with Ami. We looked at each other and played outside in the yard. I just wanted to be alone， and take it in. It was so much.