Matt Phippen’s vision was cloudy that morning, like a corona of fuzz had descended on the periphery of his sight sometime in the night.

He’d noticed the obstruction a few hours earlier as he got ready for his Sunday closing shift at Scheels. He’d been groggy and figured he’d looked too closely at his bathroom lights, that this was one of those flares you squint away after glancing at a bright sun.

But the blurriness remained for hours.

Then, a few days later, his pointer finger started to go numb, and soon his thumb, too. Maybe he slept on his hand, he thought. Or maybe this was the lingering result of fracturing his collarbone a few months earlier.


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