The Trophy Exchange by Diane Fanning Read Free Book Online Page B

thing? It’s not fair. Life’s not fair, Lucinda. Grow up.
    Her anger morphed into self-pity. She felt all alone, forsaken, worthless. Will I ever be able to work again? Drive again? Pour a damn glass of water again? A single tear welled up from her remaining eye. As it coursed across her skin down to her chin, she realized she would never again feel a tear on the other side of her face. She sobbed quietly until she drifted off to sleep.
    When she awoke, a feeling of weight and vibration on her chest was the first sensation to cross her conscious mind. The sound of Chester ’ s contented purring registered on her awareness next. She opened her eye and Chester placed a soft paw on her chin. “ Good morning, Chester , ” she said. He responded by pressing his forehead against her nose. She scratched behind his ears and smiled. I’ve kicked him, drenched him with water and scared him to death. And yet, here he is – glad to see me, missing eye, scarred face and all. His simple affirmation resurrected her determination.
    After her morning prep and a quick breakfast, she gritted her teeth and called for a taxi to take her to the shooting range. She wanted to gauge how much her skills had deteriorated. After firing twenty rounds, she gave up. One shot grazed the paper but the rest were far off the mark.
    The sergeant in charge of the range said, “ You ’ re thinking too much, Pierce. You ’ re trying too hard. ”
    “ Whatever, ” she said, blowing him off with a wave of a hand. But she vowed to herself to return again in thirty days.
    The next day, she went to her first therapy session. The focus was more on education – learning her limitations and the expectations of her rehab plan – and information – psychologist referrals, support groups and where to get special equipment to help her regain her independence.
    She was relieved to discover there were other visual clues she could use to regain her depth perception. The therapist introduced her to some of the basic therapy tools. He handed Lucinda a stick and placed her near the Marsden Ball, a suspended rubber sphere covered with letters of the alphabet. Then he swung it toward her face as she called out the letters she could see as her eye struggled to track the complete arc of the ball ’ s movement. She didn ’ t spot many but she did get a few. She was an abject failure, though, at the second exercise of hitting the ball back to him. She ruefully recalled ridiculing the girls who always struck out when at bat in a softball game. They did another exercise with flashlights, and again Lucinda ’ s performance was miserable. The therapist, though, assured her, that with less time than she thought possible, the routines would become easy. “ And routine, ” he added with a laugh.
    With close-up work like threading a needle, he told her, she was on her own. Her subconscious mind would make the adjustments. “ With a little patience, you ’ ll soon be pouring a glass of water into a glass without giving it a thought. ” She was skeptical but she tried hard to believe in the program and in herself.
    Then he delivered the bad news about driving. “ Nationwide, individuals with monocular vision have seven times more accidents than those with binocular vision. ”
    Negativity tried to kick her determination out of her reach but failed when the therapist handed her a sheet of paper with suppliers who carried the wide field mirrors she could install on both sides of her car to increase her range of visibility. “ And I will train you in the head and eye movements you need to further enhance your field of vision scanning ability. I ’ ll put you on a driving simulator first and when you have the knack there, I ’ ll go out on the road with you and help you fine tune your new skills. ”
    When he offered to provide a referral to a psychologist and set her up to participate in a support group, Lucinda scowled. “ I may be impaired but I ’ m not pathetic. ”