For weeks I have not been able to drive, not since early May, maybe before. I forget. The initial shock of being told I couldn’t see well enough to be safe on the roads, even these single track roads when most everyone I met coming at me was someone who knew my sassy mini and who waved and whom I recognised. It felt like I had been taken prisoner without the offer of bail. My own home grew bars, my thoughts grew bars, not musical, but steel and silent. Thing is this. Without my ability to drive, I am no longer independent. Yes, I can walk down the village, and I did every day just for conversation and milk or wine or cheese or garlic, but going any further was forbidden to me, just like that.

It began in Africa. Took me a few days of fear and denial to admit that everything was cloudy and at other times a firework display. My son whooshed me to an optometrist who confirmed that the cataract (whatever the hec that is) in my right eye had suddenly come about. Come about was a term I recognised in advanced ballroom dancing lessons, at which I was apparently good at and at which I won a gold medal. My partner didn’t which surprised us both. I thought I was a visionary, one who sees far ahead and believes, but it was as if I had sunk into the depths. I don’t stay there but I have to tell you that the days became weeks, time slowed and the doubts took on caps. I would wake each day determined to be positive, usually effortless, and almost before I had sternly and confidently made strong black coffee at 0500, I felt the downpull.

I travelled to my cataract operation, as you already know, and the hoped for change in my life took about ten minutes. Seemed too easy. But the doubt kept whacking me in the gut. I applied the drops, didn’t bend over my waist (who does that anyway?) didn’t lift anything heavier than a half full kettle. Seriously? For 4-6 weeks when I live alone? What about the box of bird fatballs or bringing in wood? What about pulling on my shoes? What about the fact that I am the only me in this glorious wee home and things happen, heavy things, bendy things? I followed instructions nonetheless. My eyes are everything. My driving my independence, my sudden choice to go here or there, to give a lift, to get out and beyond my thoughts.

Today, this day, the day after Solstice, the day after Father’s Day, I go to the mainland and the ferry works to time. I have time, arriving way early to be safe. My heart is overbeating herself. I tell her, wheesht. We are fine, even though we might not be. Whatever comes, comes. We can do this. I wander. I never wander in Oban. I get out quick. Too many people doing this wandering thing, much pavement dodging. A non-stop stream of cars, although that word doesn’t work. Not a stream, more a punch. I stop at a cafe, settle outside, order a black americano. Delightful place. I converse with a couple going to St Kilda, and two young women who had bought crofts and had sheep. They all lifted me as I watched the doors of Specsavers open. In I go.

I brought in so many fears I am surprised we all got in. I know this place and the welcome is fresh as a new morning. I sat, not long, called in to the optometrist and resisted telling her she held my future in her hands. She was beautiful and gentle and laughed with me and still the unbeliever in me has met that before sentence was delivered. And then she said. ” You eyes are healthy, no problem anywhere. Your vision is sharp now. You can drive.

I never heard such beautiful words.