For a long time, he's known his vision was going to get worse - the doctor he'd seen when he was six was perfectly clear about that. He was going to go blind by the time he was thirty-five. If he manages to hold out, he might make it to forty.
Being born without vision and knowing you're slowly losing it are completely different.
He's twenty-one now, and he knows that he's only got about four years until his left eye is completely useless to him. Recently it's gotten harder for him to see things more than a couple of feet away, and his depth perception is off - signs of things to come. He needs to recalculate every time he goes to throw, catch, touch... It's annoying. He's started wearing spectacles to try and accommodate himself, but he's going to need a new prescription by the end of the year.
Suffice it to say, it's frustrating, not knowing what, exactly is happening with his own body. He doesn't exactly trust the doctors that he's been seeing; they're all trying to lie to him, tell him to hold out for some sort of miracle and that there is a slight possibility that he can retain some of his sight. "There is a cure." No, there isn't. He was able to figure that much out on his own. He just needs someone that will be able to monitor his condition, and check up on him every once in a while. He doesn't need reassurances, and he doesn't want to keep seeing different physicians - he'd rather be as discreet as possible. So far, only his family and the private medical records of Dal have any knowledge of his condition.
It's hard to find no-nonsense, medically-inclined people in the underground. Someone who won't talk (to the media, or to anyone else), and won't baby him. He's not dying, for Christ's sake, he doesn't need to be coddled. But with enough connections, it is indeed possible.
He's come across on such person; a woman that goes by Mary.
After a long sequence of phone call after phone call, being directed from one person to the next, he was told of her existence. A surgeon of sorts, she's not exactly what he needs, but ought to know enough to give it a go. So he called her up and they agreed to meet. Her place, of course, because he would prefer her to be comfortable (rather, he didn't want her to know anything about what he does for a living) and she's already got the equipment.
He knocks on the door, now - once, twice, three times - and takes a step back to wait. From the outside, it's not too shabby. Nothing he would stay in, but he's got standards that are higher than most people would care to imagine and the money to meet them. Nice place.
Vaguely, he wonders if he could attempt the handle, see if it's unlocked, but he doesn't want to push it. Might be seen as rude to just waltz on in someone else's space. He'd be livid if it happened to him. Thankfully, he doesn't have enough time to deliberate whether or not it would be worth it; the door opens a few seconds later.
