Rather literally -- out of sight -- as in, I cannot see.
Without corrective lenses, I am "legally blind," meaning I see only colorful blurry shapes. I recognize people by the dominant color of their clothes. So.... if I see you in a red shirt in the morning, and you change to a yellow shirt later on, I have no idea who you are -- not until you are right up in my face (and then, well, I forget faces these days, too, but that is another tale for another time).
So here is how I became --Out. Of. Sight-- here in Mexico:
1. Although I distinctly recall setting out a box of 6 contacts for my left eye, and a box of 6 contacts for my right eye -- neither box made it to Mexico.... which is to say, I have ONLY the contacts I was wearing when I arrived in Mexico (already a month in use, due to be replaced immediately, as in first week of May).
2. Oh well, thinks I. I can survive by wearing glasses all the time except in the ocean... which is when I will wear the outdated contacts... The ocean requires vision.
3. However, within days, my glasses and the case they were in disappeared (along with my headlamp, which affects late night pee forays -- thus giving me another kind of out-of-sightness).
4. Seriously >>out of sight<<. All I have left are those outdated contacts. I must carefully monitor when I wear them.
5. Then came The Big Glitch!! I hear them first -- and then see them, even in the dark of night: Cows are VERY big!! So it was a snap for even me to see them. Unfortunately, they were in OUR yard, where there are four mango trees with countless ripening mangos well within cow -- oh no, HORSES TOO -- reach. They can decimate the fruit of entire trees in a short while. Robert took off with a big stick and a loud voice, chasing and corraling them toward where there was a break in the fence (always, it is in the corner of our property that we share with one of our ...more casual, shall we say... neighbors).
8. Robert needs help chasing them down and corraling them toward that corner. I am blind! So hell... In the dark with just that little headlamp, I put in those precious contacts, grab a big stick (there are old tree branches lying around all over our wild backyard)... and start running around, shouting, waving the stick, blocking their escape routes. Mind you, I am wearing just a sarong tied around my neck, with sandals.
9. False security: they seem to have returned to their side of the fence and so I take OUT my contacts and crawl back under our mosquito netting, and nestle onto my Thermarest under a light sheet.
10. Then, DAMN!!! They are back! So I put my contacts back IN, and take off shouting, with my big stick waving. Once back on their side, Robert sends me back to bed while he sets to making sure the fence and gate are truly secure...
11. I take out those precious contacts, lie down on my thermarest and ---- fall sound asleep.
12. Wouldn't you know!!! In the morning, when I went to put my contacts back IN -- the only contacts I have for the next two months, my only line to SIGHT -- I discover that one contact is missing. It is simply NOT in its little compartment of my contacts case. It is gone. It is my right eye-one -- the most blindest, worst fuzziest of my two eyes. I quietly mention its loss to Robert.
13. (Ironic that this part of the story is "13" -- let us jump on to "14")
14. Robert quietly, carefully, slowly, walks over to the edge of our mosquito net tent, looking all around most intently. My contacts are soft'lens water soluble-ish light blue thin things.... Could be ANYwhere, including stuck under a sandal for starters.
15. And yet, he f 'in FINDS it!!!! Folded in half, dried hard like a teensy chip, it was right there in the dirt, outside the opening to our mosquito net tent -- he could see it there, among all the dust bits and little dirt chunks of last night's foray into our jungly backyard.
16. After a 24 hour soak and continual changing of the cleanser solution -- I could wear it again, no pain -- just good vision.
17. Only THEN, did Robert discover that it was HE who had gathered up my glasses case, and headlamp -- and stashed them carefully in HIS ditty bag.
18. Three and a half more weeks of this perilous hold on sight ... two outdated contact lenses, and a pair of glasses.