They appeared quite suddenly at the left-hand edge of my vision: long, dark wispy shapes like strands of windswept hair, intruding on my lunch one Saturday in December when it was barely light outside. Later, getting up in the dark, I noticed a strange flickering brightness just visible at the same left-hand edge. It felt sinister and unsettling.
It was a week before Christmas and a new variant virus was spreading with great speed across the city. By the time I reached the eye hospital the next morning, London had entered a new level of lockdown and plans for the festivities were being hastily redrawn.
The hole in my retina was small and neat, the pleasant doctor told me, and the laser treatment straightforward. They could do it that afternoon, in fact. No side-effects other than a very small risk of permanent blindness if I moved during the procedure.
It was all over in a matter of minutes: short bursts of intense, yellow glare which left a heavy ache and temporary darkness but no pain. I steadied myself by preparing for the worst, checking off the things I could still enjoy in a life with reduced sight.
My follow-up appointment was set for 7th January. On 6th January the country went into full lockdown. Stay-at-home orders were issued. We were entering the meanest season of the year, drab and lightless, and there was nothing to do. Visiting a hospital felt full of risk.
But when it came, the day was bright, energised by a soft, low winter sun. I walked along the winding, wooded New River path towards the eye hospital absorbing the pattern of delicate, dark branches set against the pale light, storing up the images for future review. The moment felt hopeful.
Lucy's London Blog 