I spent my childhood walking a fine line between being an energetic young boy and avoiding contact sports to protect my eyesight. I had lost the sight in one eye at the age of five, so instead of football, I put my energy into rowing and sailing. By the time I was 22, I was working towards rowing for my country. Then, during a training session, I noticed my vision was unclear in my remaining eye. I had an operation and spent two weeks with bandages over my eyes. Sadly, it didn't work, and the second operation two months later was also a failure. My world came crashing down. I had been flying high---- as well as my shining rowing career, I had been about to take my finals and get a job in the city. Now, as my fellow graduates celebrated their results, I lay in my childhood bedroom, angry. I would wake up in the morning and convince myself I could see a shadow, but I felt bitterly angry when I realized I couldn't. Previously, I had lots of assumptions about blind people, but now I joined their ranks. I had no choice but to change my attitude. I started to realize that my challenge was not about seeing but about creating a new life for myself. The simple pleasure of just sitting in a cafe and watching the world go by or even making eye contact with anyone is no longer possible. I had to rethink how to engage with the world. As much as I disliked the things of blindness---- white sticks, talking computers and guide dogs---- I welcomed these as the tools that would enable me to regain my independence. I moved out of my mum's house and got a job in entertainment. I also started seeking out projects that would help me get out and mix with people. A big part of my identity has always been about the thrill of competing---- success and failure. I am excited when I am giving it my all, so I started to compete again, first in rowing and then in extreme physical challenges such as completing six marathons in seven days in Gobi desert. Filling my life with experiences helped to sweep the blindness to one side. It took me 10 years really to deal with losing my sight. When I walked to the South Pole in 2009, the first blind person ever to go there, standing shoulder to shoulder with sighted people, I felt "normal" again. But two years ago, my sense of "being normal" was challenged again. I was staying at a friend's house when I fell out of a second-floor window onto the ground below. I have no idea how it happened---- I was just going to bed but ended up waking up in hospital. I hurt my brain, and my back in three places. I discovered that I couldn't feel my legs. Doctors said that there was a 12-week period for sensation  to return, and when this came and went with no change in my legs, I began to despair. I was due to get married, but on the day of our wedding my fiancee  was sitting by my bedside as I prepared for another operation to put metalwork in my back. I'm still in a wheelchair, but I refuse to accept that my story ends here. I have got involved with a training program, which aims to redirect the nerve pathways in my legs through training. I'm now teaching myself to use sit-skis and a hand-powered bike. I'm sure how I'd manage emotionally without a sporting goal to drive myself forward. It has saved my life in a way. I may never win a gold medal, but that doesn't stop me trying. After the second operation, the writer   _  .
was full of confidence found a job in the city lost his sight completely lay in bed sleeplessly
Question: I spent my childhood walking a fine line between being an energetic young boy and avoiding contact sports to protect my eyesight. I had lost the sight in one eye at the age of five, so instead of football, I put my energy into rowing and sailing. By the time I was 22, I was working towards rowing for my country. Then, during a training session, I noticed my vision was unclear in my remaining eye. I had an operation and spent two weeks with bandages over my eyes. Sadly, it didn't work, and the second operation two months later was also a failure. My world came crashing down. I had been flying high---- as well as my shining rowing career, I had been about to take my finals and get a job in the city. Now, as my fellow graduates celebrated their results, I lay in my childhood bedroom, angry. I would wake up in the morning and convince myself I could see a shadow, but I felt bitterly angry when I realized I couldn't. Previously, I had lots of assumptions about blind people, but now I joined their ranks. I had no choice but to change my attitude. I started to realize that my challenge was not about seeing but about creating a new life for myself. The simple pleasure of just sitting in a cafe and watching the world go by or even making eye contact with anyone is no longer possible. I had to rethink how to engage with the world. As much as I disliked the things of blindness---- white sticks, talking computers and guide dogs---- I welcomed these as the tools that would enable me to regain my independence. I moved out of my mum's house and got a job in entertainment. I also started seeking out projects that would help me get out and mix with people. A big part of my identity has always been about the thrill of competing---- success and failure. I am excited when I am giving it my all, so I started to compete again, first in rowing and then in extreme physical challenges such as completing six marathons in seven days in Gobi desert. Filling my life with experiences helped to sweep the blindness to one side. It took me 10 years really to deal with losing my sight. When I walked to the South Pole in 2009, the first blind person ever to go there, standing shoulder to shoulder with sighted people, I felt "normal" again. But two years ago, my sense of "being normal" was challenged again. I was staying at a friend's house when I fell out of a second-floor window onto the ground below. I have no idea how it happened---- I was just going to bed but ended up waking up in hospital. I hurt my brain, and my back in three places. I discovered that I couldn't feel my legs. Doctors said that there was a 12-week period for sensation  to return, and when this came and went with no change in my legs, I began to despair. I was due to get married, but on the day of our wedding my fiancee  was sitting by my bedside as I prepared for another operation to put metalwork in my back. I'm still in a wheelchair, but I refuse to accept that my story ends here. I have got involved with a training program, which aims to redirect the nerve pathways in my legs through training. I'm now teaching myself to use sit-skis and a hand-powered bike. I'm sure how I'd manage emotionally without a sporting goal to drive myself forward. It has saved my life in a way. I may never win a gold medal, but that doesn't stop me trying. After the second operation, the writer   _  .
A. was full of confidence
B. found a job in the city
C. lost his sight completely
D. lay in bed sleeplessly
Answer: