Helping Hands

I am in awe of how people in the most smallest of ways can either be sensitive to one another, or how they can be insensitive. In the latter I do not mean that it is done purposely, but that it is rather due to how we prioritize our commitments.
I had been to a writers club that I belong to. Because of the beauty of the day we decided to set outdoors. It was one of those days, where the blue of the sky, and the arrangement of the clouds made one feel that you were part of oil painting that had only just begun. The wind was blowing with just a touch of coolness, and sweaters were handy if needed. As our facilitator was giving suggestions on simple ways of explaining our thoughts, my eyes began to cloud over and cause discomfortment. I asked the other ladies if they were having the same problems. They all commented on the smells of the gas and diesel of the vehicle's that were driving by, but no eye problems. I left and came home. After a call to the Doctor, and a referral to and opthomologist I was seen right away. I had an allergic reaction to something in the air, and after prescribing some eye drops, and antibiotic I was sent home. The next morning my eyes were worse. We called the Doctor back and was advised to come right in. After another exam, I was told I was also allergic to the antibiotics. Another was prescribed and again I was sent home.
My eyes were closed shut and no amount of trying to persuade my lids to open helped. I went through 4 days of complete blindness, being able to move from the bedroom to the living room with the use of my hands along walls and chairs. If a chair was moved, I became quite bewildered. My love of reading books and watching movies were not to be. My husband called all our friends and asked for prayers. Everyone agreed to pray, and then we heard from no one for 3 days. The one person that called later made the comment "I had so much to do, that I just forgot to call and see how you were". My husband stayed by my side putting the drops in at the correct time and making sure I had something to eat. He did not complain, nor did he offer any suggestions on how I moved about. His helping hands at that point in my life was done through nothing more than love for me, and a compassionate heart.
I love you my husband.