Here’s how I began last time I wrote about birding after eye surgery.
There were activities I’d been advised not to do for a few weeks—ones that add to my life. And there was a regimen of not-very-fun things I had been advised to do. Thankfully I was not advised against birding. Was encouraged to go for walks.
Now I’ve had two surgeries, one on each eye. My second was February 15. It hurt more, was bloodier, was on two muscles rather than one.
Looked bad. Motrin, Tylenol, ibuprofen—I rotated them. Eyedrops and ointment multiple times daily still.
My second surgery reached 8/10 pain compared with 4/10 the first time. The prescribed oxycodone was tempting, but I didn’t take any.
A friend was prescribed oxycodone after his surgery, said it works. Quite a stretch for the friend group. I have my ongoing ordeal, another had half a lung removed, the other recently had surgery.
After my second operation, I said I’d go for walks. Not too long, they said. Don’t drive for a day as the anesthesia wears off.
But the birds! Waited 24 hours. I do my best to frame the limitations of surgery recovery as a chance to bird. Plus, birding must be good for your eyes.
For the first time in two years I saw a single reflection as I brushed my teeth. Holy shit, one of me. Bloody tears and snot mixed with toothpaste in my mouth. I was listening to Françoise Hardy. A bit much, crying in the mirror to “J’Ai Jeté Mon Coeur”—but a nice moment.
The eyes aren’t totally right yet. Comes and goes. Still better than they were, and they continually improve. Surgery is not an immediate fix. My eyes didn’t work together for a long time. Takes time to undo that. Waiting before a follow-up I realized: The majority of what I see right now is single. Then some double. Comes and goes.
For every moment of joy, there’s one of fear. Please end, please. Irrefutably end. I’d like to see how I’m meant to. Read and bird. I heard a Red Crossbill, unthinkingly closed one eye to look for it. Have to break that habit.
This will only get better. I don’t give energy to the alternative. I trust the surgeon, my eyes, brain, the passage of time. I called a gull “you beautiful bastard.” Got a laugh. I’ll call my brain the same. That beautiful bastard has held it together.
At a follow-up, doctors gave me eye tests. Turn this way. Lift your head, now down. See the letters? Only move your eyes—head still. One? Two?
My eyes behaved as the surgeon hoped.
Remaining double is because eye muscles are swollen and still healing, I was told.
Again, it’s not immediate. I have another follow-up in April. If the first surgery had a potential timeline of months to work, so might this one. What happens happens.
For normal moments, I try normal things. Throw on my Big Year playlist—featuring “Peregrine Falcon,” which slaps (as the kids say)—and look for birds.
En route, Bald Eagle. I pulled over for pictures. Decided just to enjoy its wingbeats.
Because I’d been sure to wait 24 hours, it was late afternoon. A white-rumped Northern Harrier. Northern Pintail—elegant silhouettes.
Thought I saw Horned Grebe. That’d be odd. Some spots I expect Gadwall, others Horned Grebe. This wasn’t a Horned Grebe spot. The birds weren’t Horned Grebe.
Next spot, Canada Geese. I’ve seen plenty of Canada Geese, as you likely have. That doesn’t mean I don’t value them.
To quote Aldo Leopold: “For us of the minority, the opportunity to see geese is more important than television.”
And there’s Mary Oliver’s “Wild Geese.” The world
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting— over and over announcing your place in the family of things.
I wanted to see a Ring-necked Duck. Never seen one at this spot. I’ve seen them where I would’ve tried if there wasn’t waterfowl variety, but luckily there was.
Mergansers. Hooded, Red-breasted. Bufflehead. Common Goldeneye. Mute Swans. I dislike Mute Swans—was excited by duck silhouettes behind them. Hooded Mergansers. Green eye streak on a different duck. Green-winged Teal.
I walked where I once observed a Wood Duck hen. Red-winged Blackbirds sang, unmistakably. Saw maybe a dozen. Red-winged Blackbirds feel auspicious.
I saw plenty more while birding a different spot with another birder. They pointed out a Pileated Woodpecker as the blackbirds sang. Pileated Woodpeckers are a treat, make rectangular holes in trees. Another appeared. Auspicious blackbirds indeed.
I looked up what blackbirds symbolize. I’m superstitious with birds. My Catholic confirmation has been rendered moot, but there is something larger than me at work. I don’t have access to it; I have access to birds. Much as I love owls, if I see one I think: Death. When I hear one I’m happy to listen—but also know what they symbolize. If things go awry after, I think: Well yeah, that owl. They symbolize more than death, but that’s where my mind goes. Blackbirds mean good change is coming. Couldn’t help thinking of my vision. It will be nice, in time, to always see properly.
I used to dislike change. Then I changed. My new feelings toward change are captured in a “Daily Affirmations” from Words and Pictures by Pamela Leavey.
I am willing to see that I can evolve and change the aspects of myself that I am not happy about. Change is always good.
Doesn’t mean it’s easy, quick, painless—but always good.
It’s also good to zoom out now and then. I went back to the first birding spot with that birder. They didn’t know me before the injury. As I talk more about it, they express surprise. You’re kind of a force. That went to my head, but I try.
Newton’s third law. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.
What happened brought massively negative changes. Rock bottom. My efforts against its aftermath must be equal and opposite.
This hit me quite clearly, walking for birds. “I’ve been going through a lot for a while,” I said. I try not to make excuses. Acknowledging this has always felt like an excuse.
It’s also ridiculous not to acknowledge. I didn’t fully for a while. I’d acknowledge it happened, not what it meant. They call that denial. My life took a shit. I accept that now, accept what it means—cut myself slack.
There is much I want and am making efforts to change. I had paragraphs here. Progress, updates, synchronicities, hopes, fears, problems—realizing some problems are good ones to have.
Deleted those paragraphs. Felt like I was counting my chickens. I don’t count my chickens. Things can always take an unexpected shit, I’ve learned.
The sun was going down that first day. I often see birds as I stop birding. Saw one. Always happy to see an American Tree Sparrow. No picture. Watched and smiled.
Then I heard a House Finch. A House Finch? Who cares? Imagine I’m raising my hand. I care. That morning, I took a Larkwire birdsong quiz. House Finch, Warbling Vireo, Indigo Bunting, House Wren.
House Wren is easy. Warbling Vireo isn’t bad—sometimes sounds like it’s asking a question. Then House Finch. The finchy rise. Indigo Bunting took longest.
When I heard this bird two words came to mind. Finchy rise! When my vision had its problems, I worked on birding by ear. Now I’ll always bird with the help of my ears. A bird’s field marks and sounds are pieces of a larger puzzle—the bird overall. Plus, birding by ear allows for birdsong mimicry and fun words, like finchy.
This is longer, but finchy doesn’t seem a suitable final word.
Recap: I had another eye surgery. It will solve things. If it doesn’t—but it will—they’ll get solved another way. I’ve been birding, thinking about change.
“Equal and opposite” is a mental refrain. A traumatic brain injury upended my life. I somehow feel the same, brain-wise. That luck fueled denial. I changed in other ways.
I love to write, so am happy my word-finding wasn’t affected. Also glad I still have bird facts. Gull facts—facts with which to deride Bald Eagles1 and Mute Swans.2
Plenty did change. Vision, fine motor, balance, speech. Physical symptoms. Confidence.
The accident killed me, metaphorically. The worst thing to happen to me. Reading that, my old ways are rearing their head. Shut up! Excuses! But it’s true. This was the worst thing to ever happen to me.
Opposite: The accident was fast; recovery is slow, takes years.
Equal: Improve with the same force as an 18-wheeler wrecking a rental sedan. Tom McGuane comes to mind, when he wrote that stripers run with "the solid, irresistible motion of a Euclid bulldozer easing itself into a phosphate mine."
The opposite of killing is giving life. Equal and opposite demands I give life to a better me. I’ve been trying. Is there still work to do, not all internal? Absolutely. Will it be done, will changes be made? Yes. Like eye surgery, it isn’t immediate. Slow and long—the “solid, irresistible motion of a Euclid bulldozer.”
Let’s conclude by leaning again on Pamela Leavey.
I am willing to see that I can evolve and change the aspects of myself that I am not happy about. Change is always good.
Kleptoparasites that steal fish from my beloved Osprey.
Nonnatives introduced because they’re pretty. They compete with native waterfowl for habitat and resources, sometimes just kill them. Still pretty?
James, so sorry to read about everything you have been going through the eye surgeries. I find some comfort in knowing my words have given you come comfort. I come to those words often during times of struggle. I share those words in hopes that I give others something they can relate to.
Your photos are all so wonderful. I love the song of the house finch and the house sparrows. My yard is filled with both. I agree 100% with Aldo Leopold, geese are better than TV.
I hope you are finally on the mend.
Excellent essay James. Hoping you're on the mend with the eye surgeries as well.
Excellent quote from Aldo Leopold re: seeing geese. I would easily spend a 5 minutes watching Canada Geese or Snow Geese over hours of TV any day.
Love those Northern Pintail photos. It's been a few years since I have seen one. There is a certain regal quiet manner about them. We had a mated pair of Northern Pintails show up here in the Ottawa area several years ago in late Winter/early Spring. It was interesting watching them amongst a mixed group of Mallards, American Black Ducks, and Canada Geese. Those two pintails were celebrities for several weeks to us local birds and nature-lovers.