Free Blindsided by Priscilla Cummings Page A

house.”
    Her father guided Natalie through the barn until they stood by the grain bin. Natalie felt the edge of the cold iron container and could smell the molasses-soaked feed.
    “Look,” he said. “I’m going to put a shotgun up here.”
    He let go of her elbow and Natalie heard him pushing things around. Metallic cans clinked and glass bottles rattled. “Right here.”
    “You’d better describe it, Dad,” Natalie said, “because I can’t see what you’re doing.”
    There was a pause. Natalie heard her father sigh. He just was not able to accept the fact that she couldn’t see so well anymore.
    “The long cupboard—up over the grain bin, Natty.” He sounded impatient and it hurt. “You know, where I keep the salve and the medication?”
    “Right, right. Okay.” Natalie nodded vigorously. “I know it.”
    “I’ll put the shotgun up here and stack some extra shells beside it. The safety will be on. I’ll show Uncle Jack, and your mother, and you where it is. But you don’t mention it to anyone else, you hear?”
    “Yes. I promise,” Natalie replied, amazed— astounded— that her father would include her in this knowledge, and loving him all the more for it. But how could she possibly find, load, and fire a gun at this point?
    She felt her father’s arm around her shoulder. He gave it a squeeze. “Just in case,” he said softly. “I hope you never have to use it.”

A FLOATING HEART
    T omorrow. She has to catch the bus back right after lunch,” Natalie’s mother said into the cordless phone tucked between her ear and shoulder as she took clean coffee mugs from the dishwasher and stacked them one at a time in the cabinet above the counter. “When Natalie saw Dr. Rose last month, her IOP was twenty-four— twenty-four , can you believe it? It’s never been that high. . . .”
    It struck Natalie then, listening to her mother in the next room, how they had learned a whole different language over the years and foisted it on their friends and relatives. Like CD ratio and IOP. Most people wouldn’t have a clue what those initials meant—and probably couldn’t care less. But Natalie’s sight depended on them. She could still remember how Dr. Rose had tried to explain it to her years ago.
    “Everyone’s eyes are filled with fluid,” Dr. Rose had told her, doing his best to simplify things so Natalie, who was eight, could understand. “Fluid constantly enters the eye and then leaves through a tiny drain. The balance of that fluid inside the eye is called the intraocular pressure —the IOP. Now, if there is a problem in this natural drainage system, then the fluid builds up, creating pressure—think of a water balloon expanding—and, with nowhere else to go, presses against the retina.”
    He paused. “Do you remember what the retina is, Natalie?”
    Natalie knew the retina was like a little movie screen in the back of the eye, but she still looked puzzled, so Dr. Rose pulled out a marshmallow from a little zipped Baggie in his top drawer. “Imagine the surface of the marshmallow is the back of your eye, Natalie.” He pressed his index finger into the marshmallow. “That’s what the cupped area of your retina would look like, where the optic nerve gathers and sends its all-important messages to the brain. If fluid in the eye builds up, it can press against this cupped area and make it wider and deeper.” Dr. Rose then took his thumb and pressed a larger indentation into the marshmallow. “The bigger that indentation, the more likely there is vision loss.”
    An eye. A marshmallow. It was finally beginning to make sense. Years ago, Natalie had even tried to explain it to Meredith while they strolled around the playground at recess kicking stones. They were only in third grade, but Meredith said she really wanted to understand why Natalie was going to miss a whole week of school. “I’m serious, how come?”
    So Natalie tried to explain about the upcoming operation that would give