Man with no eyes

I found myself sick of myself again yesterday.  I am one of these sick people who feels guilty for complaining, like I should be increasingly grateful for all I still have.  And, I am.  But, I have many moments of feeling as though my body has turned against me, my life is ruined, I will never be happy again and I will die this way.  I wish I could erase my memories of being well - who I was in the past.  I hide pictures and cringe at them when they fall in my path of sight.  But, each new day brings worsened health, so my memories would have to be following a blazing fire in my mind to destroy each last moment. So, here I am at the lab.  One of the few places where sick people can be found.  I don't see them out much in my crowded city - never at restaurants, rarely at the grocery store.  But, I do see them at the lab and, obviously, at hospitals and doctors' offices.  I am actively working to suppress my frustration with the lab staff.  Come on - can't anything be made easy for me?!  I am sick! Three men are in the waiting area with me - two mentally handicapped and their aide.  One sitting in a chair repeating his daily routine aloud.  The other sitting Indian-style on the floor, head down, covered by a hoodie, holding up his shoe and pointing to each of the lace holes.  I can't really see him. Finally these men are called back to the draw station area.  The aide removes the man's hoodie.  The man has no eyes.