Every man’s memory is his private literature. - Aldous Huxley I'll always remember the first time it attacked me, vicious and unrelenting. I drove around a mountain curve late in the day. The angle of the sun was perfect to sear my retina as I vaulted around the elevated stretch of highway. I didn't think much of it when the black spot remained several days later. The sun was pretty bright, I told myself. It'll be normal eventually. Two weeks later, I went to see my ophthalmologist. My eye throbbed with internal pressure, plus black dots and floaters everywhere. He took one look at my eye and ordered every test on earth. "It could be multiple sclerosis," he squawked the day before Thanksgiving. "Or hepatitis/HIV/rheumatoid arthritis/encephalitis! Gee, why is your blood pressure so high? We might need to have you tested for that, too."