Flashy Floaty (Silly) Owie

I've had ocassion in the last few weeks to run into people who have not seen me in a while and inquire as to how my eyes are doing. It's interesting primarily because I have finally gotten to the point where I do not think about my eyes all the time every day. I have kind of forgotten - at least in small to largish spurts throughout the day - that anything ever happened, that I could have gone blind, that there is still the possibility my left retina could detach some time in the future, that this is the reason (though not the sole reason) Andy and I feel another pregnancy would be a bad idea.

Yet, those worries are not entirely erased due to an increase in severe headaches for the last 2-3 weeks. I'm not sure if it's my new contacts or something to be worried about with my eyes... or maybe just spending too much time in front of the computer. Hard to say.

What I can say is that I've noticed something in the wake of this event, which is my own ego and vanity. Despite the headaches and a sneaking suspicion my new lens is too overcorrected for astigmatism (the optometrist said it shouldn't matter), I have continued to wear them somewhat stubbornly because I feel more like myself with them in.

I'm not sure I can explain what that means, exactly. Just that the self I imagine... the self I am used to... the pre-pregnancy and pre-retinal-detachment self... the 20 pounds thinner, strong, sexy, independent, unafraid self... she has contacts. She can wear sunglasses and does not feel hidden behind thick, heavy lenses that smack of middle school and years long forgotten.

So... here I am somewhere between legitimate practicality and downright vanity. My eyes are bad, my glasses are heavy, and they give me headaches to wear them. But so do the contacts at this moment, and the only reason I persist in wearing them in spite of a gut-based sense they are slightly "off" is ego, ego, ego.

I wish I had a wise lesson or enlightened insight to share as a result of all this thinking. But perhaps my awareness of frailty and imperfection is enough. Maybe there's purpose in recognition and solidarity as we acknowledge our faults - or collective strength in saying them aloud - whatever the context might be.

W.T.F.

This week I've had very bad headaches again - very similar to the ones I had the week my retina detached in my right eye. I've been writing them off, thinking it has to do with my wonky prescription (I'm still waiting for my new glasses), but yesterday I saw a ring on the white floor of our bathroom when I looked down. I thought, "Well, that's odd."

Tried to figure out if it was coming from my right eye or my left, tried to figure out if it was related to something I had just been looking at, etc. Then decided to write it off because it was a dark ring, rather than a light ring. And hey... they just looked around recently and said: Everything is fine. You could wait until August for the second surgery if you wanted to.

Today I keep thinking there is a smudge on my glasses (there is not), and I can see floaters in the left eye. So we've moved from coincidental to worrisome, and I've got an appointment at 5:15pm. Andy has had jury duty this week and is in deliberations this afternoon and is therefore unreachable. His arrival time home is unknowable. This is not helping, seeing as how he's my anchor and best friend and husband and our 2 year-old will be up soon and needing to eat... right around 5:15pm.

I hope history is not repeated wherein I am forced to drop everything and drive to St. Louis (or rather be chauffeured by an amazing and selfless friend) to have emergency surgery. But at this point, honestly - I'm not really holding my breath. It's been a rough year or two and every time we think we're out from under the little black raincloud of bad luck, something new pops up and we are left shaking our heads in disbelief.

Mind you, I tend to believe everything happens for a reason, and I try very hard to stay positive. But in this moment, I am feeling upset, panicked, and angry.

So be it. Sometimes, that's how I am feeling. May as well embrace it and keep moving forward.

Three Things You Don't Really Want to Hear Following Surgery for a Detached Retina

#1
Of course, it's unlikely you'll get back to 20/20. But at least we caught it in time to prevent total loss.

I suppose this one should not have suprised me so much. I mean... before my follow up appointment with the surgeon, I was convinced I was going to be severely visually impaired in my right eye. So really, I shouldn't complain that my sight cannot be perfect again with corrective lenses. After all, I'm so nearsighted, some optometrists were amazed I could get to 20/20 with contacts.

But... it was a bit of a blow. Emotionally I suppose. I think to hear again that I was not out of the woods, that my life could still be very strongly impacted by this event, that I might not be able to see any better than I do one week post-surgery - it took me by surprise.

That said, I am still eternally grateful they caught the detached retina in time to prevent damage to the macula, that they were able to fit me in with a surgeon who is one of the best retina specialists in the area, that my friend Becky was able to drive me up and let me crash at her family's house... and they were so sweet and took such good care of me, and that my eye has healed as well as it has. I can see so much more now than I could just a few days ago... and if they can get me close to 20/20, then I will hopefully be able to still drive. I have no idea what the rules are where that's concerned.

#2
It looks like you've got a frayed suture.

Ah ha! So that's why it feels like something is jabbing into my eye... because IT IS!!! Truly, the bad news was more that they could not fit me in to see a surgeon on staff until tomorrow afternoon - which means 24 more hours of jabby, stabby, twingy, stingy, itchy pain. Ugh.

The bright side? See the last paragraph of #1. I should not complain.

#3
Hospital OPS $13,520.61
Insurance Adjustment $0.00
Amount Owed by Patient $13,520.61

I think this one probably took the cake today. We got the bill for the surgery; luckily, I was able to speak to someone in billing who said no claim had been sent to the insurance company yet and that, based on what type we have (thank you AllKids), we aren't likely to owe anything.

(Of course, based on our past insurance insanity, I kept records of the time, the name of the person I spoke to, and the gist of the conversation. You can never be too careful!)

As in many instances in the past where large hospital bills have arrived in the mail, I cannot help but wonder and worry after all those without insurance. There are undoubtedly people out there who find themselves in the exact same situation I was in (you need emergency surgery in the next few hours or you will go blind), and they know doing what they must for their health will result in bankruptcy, hardship, and/or severe distress for their families.

That's no kind of choice.

Reframing the Unfortunate

I read Andy's post from yesterday, which made me tear up because it was so beautifully written and perfect, and sounded just like him. He's amazing.

To catch everyone up post-surgery (and muddle through some resulting ruminations):

I am home today, having spent the night at Becky's parents' house, and having had a follow-up visit with my eye doctor at the Marion Eye Center. A few facts for anyone who likes to have them:

• Apparently having a detached retina is a pretty darn serious condition. If they don't catch it in time, it can lead to blindness. And, as with any surgery, there's no guarantee they can fix the problem and make it like new again.
• I went into the surgery with very little information as to the procedure itself, possible risks involved, or what to expect upon waking.
• I left Marion Eye Center to come home around 4:30, got into the car with Becky to head to St. Joseph Hospital in Kirkwood, MO a bit after 5pm, and got prepped for surgery around 7pm. Then we waited. Becky has a lovely picture of me with my eyes taped shut and the word "YES" written above my right eye. If we can figure out how to get it from her phone to this blog, I'll eventually share it with you.
• I entered the actual surgery around 9:30, finished around midnight, and left the hospital to go back to the Tadlock's (where I stayed the night) around a 12:45am.

So here is the bad news. Apparently, the retina in my other eye is nearly detached as well. So they want to operate on it too, but they want to wait until the right eye has healed to do it. They've said about 4 weeks from now, but if there is a problem with my right eye (which, as of right now, there is), then they'll probably just do it anyway and I'll do my best with little to no vision in either eye... and pray everything heals up over time.

I'm not yet sure what this means with regard to my summer classes, my ASCA conference trip, my hope to help the Neo-Futurists with Coyote Ugly choreography, or other random summery-type vacation plans.

Here's what I do know: I've spent a lot of time thinking about what I would rather lose: my sight or my hearing. I always went with hearing. For a number of reasons. I'm an observer... sight is how I take in my world and make sense of it. It's how I process and the main means through which I gather information. If I lost my hearing, I figured I'd miss music and talking and sounds, etc. - but I could still interact with my world. I could learn ASL and work with hearing impaired clients or work in a school for non-hearing students. Loss of eyesight kind of means loss of the ability to be a counselor, to my mind, because you lose the ability to take in one of the fundamental pieces of information you need when working with clients: nonverbals. It's what we're noticing when we look for incongruencies or want to see the physical impact of a certain topic. I don't know how I would do the job without sight.

Also... to be totally honest... I am prideful about my eyes. Not in an overtly "sinful" way (if you go for such terminology... which I don't... I guess I see it more as ego or attachment), but it's the one part of my body I've always liked... been proud of and really considered special. So, the irony of all this is not lost on me.

But here's what else I know: This seems to be a gift... an opportunity of sorts, because I realized a few things during the several hours between finding out I was in danger of going blind in one eye to finding out I was in danger of going blind in both.

I have always been able-bodied. My whole life, I've been pretty disease-free and relatively healthy. I had no knowledge of what it was like to have a disability, often felt I didn't know what to say or how to act when I met people who did (which is not very helpful as a counselor, btw), and had no idea what it was like to walk into a room and have everyone staring-but-not-trying-to-stare-too-hard because you have a huge patch with tons of tape over your eye with your glasses smooshed over everything and precariously resting on your nose.

It's an incredible opportunity to broaden my understanding of and empathy for one of the many ways our human experiences can vary. If I do get better and can work in a school setting, I will be even more ready and able to help special needs students or children, even parents, with disabilities. I'll have a better sense of what they or their family members are going through, and I'll feel more comfortable talking about it because it no longer feels completely foreign to me.

If I do lose my sight in one or both eyes, or end up severely visually impaired (which, I'm obviously hoping I do not, but the realist in me does not want to be caught totally off guard by bad news), then I can go back and earn my Ph.D. or use my skills to write books geared toward school counselors to use as bibliotherapy, or pursue the ministry, or a whole host of other things. And maybe some of those paths will not ultimately be open to me, and maybe others I've not even thought of will.

For whatever reason, my whole family (e.g., mother, fathers, brother, sister, cousins, etc.) all believe that nothing happens without a reason and everything has purpose. All those folks might give the power behind such things a different name, or label, but the overriding idea is that God (be it the you-God, an other-God, or something that is simply more powerful and more knowing than the "little-I" you) does not give you anything you cannot handle. Nor do things come without a greater lesson, opportunity, or purpose. I do believe that.

So, despite still feeling pretty scared right now, and somewhat disoriented both mentally and physically, I also feel there is a reason. Though I might not see it right now, I will in time. Perhaps more metaphorically than literally... but we shall see. (Ha! There's another one. Hard to get away from that pun potential!) Despite this sorrow, I look for - and believe in - the possibility of joy.