My little boy flits right by me like a silvery apparition, a ghost. I can hear his sweet husky voice calling out to me, but his face is a ghoulish swirl of beige tones that no longer cohere. I am lying in bed, my one good left eye covered in gauze. I’ve just had my second trabeculectomy surgery done, two days after the first one on my right eye. All in a bid to keep the glaucoma ravaging my sight at bay. It’s just past the one-year anniversary of my disease, or what I now call my second child. I…