Sitting in my therapist’s office last month, talking about how much I like the newest medication in my cocktail, how few side effects there are, and how good I feel, I tossed in, “best of all, my eyes are no longer bloodshot! That’s an awesome side effect.”

I started telling her about the early days after my husband left, how all that crying and wiping my eyes caused me to lose a bunch of my eyelashes. I did what most insecure women in their 50s do and bought a lash regrowth serum. Every night as I applied it I stared at all my other imperfections, including my bloodshot eyes. I read something about red eyes making you look older, so I bought eye drops, used cold compresses, Googled home remedies, but never found the magic cure.

She looked at me, but didn’t say anything. I started in again, “Heck, I’d take this drug just for the clear eyes, but it’s really doing so much more . . . I’m not crying anymore.”

My therapist smiled again and I burst into laughter. “I’m not crying anymore! That’s why my eyes aren’t red.” I suppose, technically, it’s still a side effect of the medication – but more of a side effect of a side effect. This new medication put my feet back under me and gave my poor eyes a break.

Another side effect of a side effect? I’m no longer lying in bed most of the day, so I feel like crafting again.

Here’s what I’m working on now.

These denim hearts can fit in the palm of your hand. They’re made from the scraps of other projects and stuffed with the remnants of an old pillow, too flat to use anymore. The denim is well worn and so soft I just enjoy holding these, like a touchstone or sensory soother. No idea what I’ll do with them, yet, but the fact that I’m making over-full little hearts is not lost on me.

My eyes are clear, my heart is full, and both are side effects of my life right now.