“An artist is not paid for his labor, but for his vision.” -James Whistler
Cameron was taken a few hours later to a part of the hospital called Recovery Hall, the name the nurses gave it. She was told she would learn how to deal with the blindness.
Cameron had studied brail in college. It was one of her courses, but it seemed much easier, when she could see it. She cried about eight times before she really got the hang of the brail. She cursed too many times before she got the hang of the walking stick thing they told her she had to use from now on. For a first time patient, she seemed to pick it up quickly.
Then, she remembered she could never paint again. She asked the nurse about options. She couldn’t see color. She couldn’t paint. She couldn’t see.
The nurse said if she thought of something she would definitely let her know. That was nurse Michelle.
Another nurse came into the room. Michelle introduced him as Mark. She said Mark would help Cameron tomorrow with her school work, so she didn’t get behind. Michelle also said it was time for her bath. They let Cameron sit back into the wheelchair and pushed her back to her room. As they did this, Cameron started to cry, but no tears came out. Too many tears before she assumed.