Ripple Effect: The View Never Changes

The office temp looked at the schedule as Matt walked in the door. “Good morning! You have a client at ten this morning, and don't forget your appointment with Dr. Woodard at two o'clock, Mr. Murdock. Mr. Nelson called to say he would be in around eleven.”

“Thank you, Sandra. Is there anything scheduled late this afternoon?”

“No, sir, that's all that's on your schedule. Would you like some coffee?” Sandra liked this job, and she hoped she could someday get on full time at Nelson and Murdock. The bosses were nice, and the hours were good.

Matt smiled in her direction. “Not now, thanks. I'll get some later.” He hung up his coat and parked his cane in the corner next to the coat rack in his office. He had reading to do before his client came in, so he got busy with that first thing.

The client meeting ran a little long. Matt leaned out his office door and asked Sandra to order him a sandwich since he was running late. “You want anything, Foggy?” he called over his shoulder into the other office. “I'm gonna get a corned beef on rye. Want something from the deli?”

“Yeah, I'm starved, and it's my turn to buy.” Foggy Nelson was always hungry, it seemed. He got up, stretched for a moment, and came out into the foyer. He fished a couple of bills out of his wallet and handed them to the temp. “Here you go, Sandra. I'd like a pastrami on pumpernickel, plenty of mustard and a dill pickle on the side. Tell 'em it's for Nelson and Murdock, and they'll know how to fix 'em. Oh, and get yourself something, too. There should be enough there.” Foggy smiled at the girl. She might just be the one they'd been looking for. Cute, too. Always a plus, he thought. If she doesn't work out as a temp, maybe she might go out with me.

Sandra looked at the bills in her hand. “Thank you, Mr. Nelson! That's very kind of you. Did you want anything to drink with that?” She put on her coat and stuffed the money in her purse.

“We've got some sodas in the 'fridge. That okay with you, Matt?”

“Do we have any bottled water in there?”

“Probably. I'll check.” Foggy disappeared into the small break room. “Uh...yeah, there's a couple in here. I'll pick some more up on the way home tonight. We're good.”

“Anything else?” Sandra asked, knotting her scarf around her neck.

“That should do it,” Matt answered. “Thanks.”

Sandra came back from the deli and shook the snow off her coat. “I'm back. Do you want me to bring these to your offices, or put them in the break room?”

“We'll take it in the break room.” Matt leaned against his office door. More often than not, they each ate in their respective offices, but they had a little time, and Matt didn't feel like starting something else before he went to his appointment. “Why don't you join us, Sandra? Foggy? Are you ready to eat? Wait—that's a rhetorical question. Don't bother to answer.” He laughed and slapped his partner on the back as he followed Foggy into the break room.

Sandra began pulling the food from the bag and before she even got it set on the table, Matt knew which sandwich was his. His stomach growled approvingly, and he hoped he was the only one to hear it. The crinkling of sandwich paper only made things worse. Foggy got the drinks from the refrigerator and bumped Matt's hand with a bottle of water. “Here ya go, buddy.”

“Corned beef on rye for you, Mr. Murdock,” Sandra said as she carefully laid his sandwich in front of him, “and pastrami on pumpernickel for you, Mr. Nelson. I hope you don't mind that I just got myself a salad. No onions, I promise, so I don't offend anyone.” She looked up at Foggy, then cast a quick glance at Matt. She still didn't know how to read him. “Oh, and here's your change.”

“If you're talking to me, Sandra, you don't have to worry. Foggy eats enough of them for all of us, and besides, I'll be out of the office this afternoon.” Matt felt his watch. Already one o'clock.

“Gee, thanks, Matt. Way to make me look good. Where ya going, if I may ask?” Foggy flopped on the office couch and put his feet up.

“Yes, you may ask, and I'll tell you,” Matt replied with a characteristic smirk. “I'm going for my annual visit to the eye doctor. That okay with you?” He wasted no more time biting into his sandwich.

Foggy put his hands behind his head and smiled back. “What's he gonna tell you? 'Mr. Murdock, I have come to the medical conclusion that you are still blind.' Is that it? I've always wondered why a blind guy needs an ophthalmologist.”

Sandra looked across her salad at Foggy in wide-eyed amazement. She would never think to say such a thing, even though she'd thought it herself when she made the appointment for Matt.

Matt swallowed, took a sip of water, and replied, “Simple, Fog. Even though I can't see squat, I still have to keep up with the physical condition of my eyes. They check the pressure to make sure I'm not getting glaucoma. Not that I could tell any difference. Stuff like that. I've been going to the same guy since I got out of the hospital after the accident. Don't know what I'll do when he retires.”

“Wow. The guy must be ancient by now. That was—what—twenty years ago, almost? Better start looking for his replacement.”

“Yeah, I'll do that. This is great corned beef.”

Matt brushed and flossed his teeth in his private bathroom, making sure he wouldn't smell like the deli when he saw the ophthalmologist. He'd wondered a few times how doctors and dentists could handle being up close and personal with patients who had rank breath. Well, maybe it didn't bother them like it would him.

“I'll see you tomorrow, Sandra,” he said as he shrugged on his overcoat, grabbed his cane, pulled a cashmere scarf from his pocket, and wrapped it around his neck. “Goodnight, Foggy!”

“Later, dude.” Foggy returned to the pile of papers on his desk.

“Did you need me to call the car service?” Sandra asked quickly, thinking she had slipped up and not thought about it sooner.

“No, I'm going to walk. It's chilly, but not snowing much, and it's only a few blocks. Thanks anyway.” Matt waved at her on his way out the door. Cold enough to keep the reporters at bay for a little bit, though, he thought.

“I'll see you in the morning, then, Mr. Murdock. Bye.” As the door shut behind him, Sandra flinched at the thought that maybe she should have used another phrase instead. Although, Mr. Murdock didn't seem to mind, she mused.

Harold Woodard grabbed tiredly for the chart in the file rack outside the examination room. Matthew Murdock, age thirty-one, injury at age fifteen when caustic chemicals burned both eyes. No light perception in either eye due to degradation of corneas and trauma to optic nerves. The doctor closed the folder, and steeled himself to go in and face the man he had first examined as a boy. One of the worst cases I've ever had to deal with. Poor kid didn't stand a chance. He took a deep breath, and forced a smile as he walked in to greet the patient, as had been his habit for so long. It suddenly dawned on him that he was wasting his effort for this one.

“Well, hello, again, Matthew!”

“Hi, Dr. Woodard! Long time, no see!” Matt grinned as he extended his hand to the elderly gentleman. “I'm sure that joke got old a long time ago for you, but I can never resist.” He sat back in the examination chair as the doctor pulled the stool with the squeaky wheels up in front of him.

“I'm not usually one to make that statement, myself. Some people these days are so politically correct, and I certainly don't want to get sued. Although, I do know this young lawyer fellow...” he chuckled as he readied his equipment. “How have you been? I see your picture in the paper quite a lot these days.”

Matt's smile faded. “The tabloids never have enough fodder. Spider-Man must have taken a vacation, because they have this wild notion that I put on a costume and run around the city fighting crime these days. Can you believe that?”

“No, I can't. All they have to do is ask me, and I can vouch for you that there's no way Matthew Murdock, attorney-at-law, could possibly do that, because he's one hundred percent, tee-totally blind, and has been for years. Maybe I should write a letter to the editor of that rag.”

“Don't waste your time, because I already have a lawsuit pending against them for defamation of character and whatever else we can think of. But if I do need an expert witness, I'll keep you in mind, okay?” Matt's smile returned. “Shall we get on with this little ritual?”

Dr. Woodard pulled the slit-beam lamp between himself and Matt. “Lean forward, and put your chin on the rest. I'm going to see how your cataracts are doing.”

“Well, doc, the view never changes from this side,” Matt quipped as he felt for the bar and leaned into the machine. He could feel the heat of the lamp, and hear the doctor's measured breathing as he looked at both of Matt's eyes.

“Okay, you may sit back now.” Dr. Woodard snapped off the light and pushed the machine to the side.

He sighed deeply.

“What? Bad news? I'm going to have to give up driving?” Matt chuckled nervously, trying to break the tension in the room.

“Well, no, can't say that's what I have to tell you.” The doctor sighed again wearily. “It seems that your cataracts have deepened. That's not a really big deal since you can't see anyway. The only reason we would remove them would be cosmetic at this point, just like it always has been. Your eyes don't really look much different than they did this time last year. Have you been having any problems? Headaches? Pain in or behind your eyes?”

“Uh—well, since you mention it, yes. I have a lot of headaches, but I had convinced myself they were just stress. Sometimes, my eyes get really dry, too, and I use some drops I get at the pharmacy for that. What's the matter?”

“The pressure is really up in both your eyes. I'm going to prescribe some drops for you to keep that down. Again, you wouldn't know, because there's nothing that you could tell since your optic nerves are already damaged. The problem could become that you begin to have enough pain in your eyes that we might have to considered prostheses.”

“What?” Matt asked incredulously. “I didn't think I'd have to worry about that.”

“Unfortunately, it's something that might happen eventually, Matthew. I know no one ever wants to hear that they have to go through having their eyes removed, but it may become your only option. I'm always pleasantly surprised when I examine you that I don't discover some rare form of cancer from that horrible stuff you got into all those years ago.” He removed his glasses and wiped his brow. “You have really been quite fortunate, all things considered, you know.”

“Believe me when I say that I know that, doc.” Matt replied, nodding solemnly.

Dr. Woodard scribbled a prescription on a pad, tore it off and placed it in Matt's hand. “Get these filled and use them religiously twice a day, okay?”

“Will do, sir. Are we done here?” Matt put his shades back on, preparing to stand up.

“I want to see you again in six months, Matthew. We need to keep check on your ocular pressure. Any questions?”

Matt stood and reached for his cane in the corner of the room. “No, sir. Just, thank you for your candor, and I may take you up on writing me a note to give to the powers that be.” He shook hands with the doctor once more, then turned to feel for the doorknob. “See you in six months, then!”

“Goodbye, Matt.”

As the door closed, Dr. Woodard noted a few things in Matt's chart. Continue to monitor ocular pressure. Return to clinic in six months for re-evaluation. Continue to monitor cataract growth and atrophy of the eye itself. Possible candidate for bilateral enucleation at later date.

The elderly man closed the folder and put it on the desk. He sighed heavily again, and thought about the bad news that he just had to lay on Matthew Murdock. As if the guy didn't have enough on his plate already, with all this tabloid nonsense. Can't they just look at him and tell that he's blind? Doesn't take a rocket scientist, or even an old ophthalmologist, to see that. Nothing has changed since his accident, until just now. And it's for damn sure that he'll never be anything but blind. Can't they cut him a break?

He picked up the folder again, and took it out to the nurse's station. “Make sure you schedule Mr. Murdock for an appointment with Dr. Lawton, will you, Angela? I didn't have the heart to tell him that I'm retiring at the end of next month. He's had enough bad news to last him for a while. Thanks.”