Look up and say “thank you” for being able to do that.Īnd also appreciate what you see when you look up. But before you start your car, pause for just a minute. So after you read this, you may get in your car to pick up the kids, go to work, or take the family to dinner. I have learned that having the freedom to go and do what you want – when you want – is something not to be taken for granted. Maybe he wanted me to know I am stronger – and more patient – than I thought.īut tests are also a way of learning. I believe God gave me this test of mental strength and patience for a reason. Mine are, hopefully, relatively temporary. I realize there are many people worse off than me. When you can’t see, the places you “must” go are very limited. Yes, I will be forever grateful to the few who took time from their work and family to drive me to doctor appointments and the grocery store. Four weeks of knowing I wasn’t going anywhere. I want you to feel sorry for those who wake up every day with little to look forward to, knowing they won’t be going anywhere unless someone comes and gets them. I want you to feel sorry for the many people – most of them much older than me – who can no longer see well enough to drive. The freedom to get in my car and go where I want when I want was gone.īut the purpose of this column is not to get your sympathy. That helped from getting headaches caused by seeing normally out of one eye and seeing half-blurry objects out of the other eye. For a couple of weeks, I wore a patch that would make a pirate proud. I’m a little nervous/jittery around crowds. It helps to hold on to a railing when walking or a chair when sitting down or standing up. But, hey, when you come from seeing 0 percent of what you see, the world never looked better! That means in my left eye, I only see about three-fourths of what you see. The bubble has decreased approximately 75 percent. Guess which group of people I’m in? As I write this, it’s been seven-and-a-half weeks since surgery. Some people absorb the bubble slower than others. The bubble also means you won’t be seeing out of that eye for several weeks, as the bubble covers your entire field of vision. The reason for the “head down” position is to float into place the gas bubble the surgeon puts in your eye. Ever try sleeping on your side all night? Don’t bother with that, either. The hours I wasn’t awake were spent trying to sleep face down.Įver try that? Don’t bother. Think about that: 45 minutes of every waking hour staring straight down. Approximately one in 10,000 people suffer a detached retina.įor the first week after surgery, I spent 45 minutes of every waking hour with my head in the “down” position – as in face down. The National Eye Institute defines a retinal detachment as when the light-sensitive layer of tissue that lines the inside of your eye lifts or pulls from its normal position. But as I soon found out, the recovery is an even bigger deal. Retinal detachment surgery is a big deal. “Wait a minute! Y’all know I’m not a heart patient, don’t you?” It doesn’t matter. Three days later, I was being wheeled through the bowels of the hospital and into an operating room. So I was not surprised when, later that night, the diagnosis was confirmed. I heard patients describe the exact same symptoms that I was experiencing. In a previous life, I was the administratorįor the medical practice of a retina specialist. Not as well as I used to, but well enough. Two months, one surgery, several sleepless nights and a lot of wasted eye drops later (it’s hard putting drops in an eye out of which you can’t see), I am functioning. A dark “curtain” dropped down over my vision. With no warning, cars became blurry and the yellow center-line became squiggly. Driving home from an out-of-town funeral. “Things can change in the blink of an eye.”
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