Christmas gratitude

I am so, so, so thankful to be baking on Christmas Eve!  I was "face down" over Thanksgiving, and while my family pinch hit for me in the kitchen, I really missed preparing the meals - especially making the pies.  I love cooking for my family, especially during the holidays, and I am just filled with gratitude that I am able to do it this Christmas.

While my surgery eye is still impaired, I am managing to work around it.  I don't know if my brain has adapted to relying on my good eye, or maybe my surgery eye is more useful than I think.  Either way, I have been able to complete a simple sewing project and a few other crafty Christmas gifts, and I am back in the kitchen.  It makes me so happy!

Yesterday, I took my first solo drive!  It was wonderful and empowering and a little scary.  Mostly, I just appreciate feeling capable and independent again.  In California, cars unlock the world, and my little piece of the world is expanding again.

Every day is getting better.  The gas bubble is shrinking, and my field of vision is increasing.  My vision outside the gas bubble is a bit cloudy (and will probably get more cloudy as my cataract develops) and still quite blurry, but it is good enough to have some basic peripheral vision.  It's harder to sneak up on me, and that helps me feel safer in public and capable of driving.  My vision is certainly not perfect, but I relish the progress.

I pray every day for continued healing, and I know many people have been praying for me all along.  I am filled with gratitude for answered prayers.  I feel extremely blessed on this Christmas for having such wonderful people in my life, and I am encouraged by the positive changes in my vision.  This is a very Merry Christmas in my life, and I hope it will be for you as well.

A driving milestone and philanthropy for vision causes

Today, I drove Ernie and myself to work.  It was nice for my confidence to have him as a passenger, just in case I needed help merging or whatever, but I managed just fine.  My gas bubble has shrunk enough to see the dashboard while I look straight ahead, and I have basic peripheral vision back in my left eye - or at least enough to see if a car is approaching on the left side.  While my vision is still pretty blurry in my left (surgery) eye, my vision is good enough in my right eye to safely be out on the road, and my doctor did officially clear me to drive at my appointment last week.  Though I still intend to limit my night driving, it feels good to regain some of my independence, and like a 16-year-old who just got her license, I find myself creating errands for which driving is necessary to accomplish.

These past five weeks have given me a glimpse of some of the challenges people with limited vision face, and I feel compelled to find a way to help them.  After doing some research online, I found the Sacramento Society for the Blind.  I plan to let myself heal a bit more, but soon, I would like to reach out to them and see if there are any volunteer opportunities that may be a match to my skills and availability.

I have also discovered that the Lions Club International has taken the prevention of blindness on as one its core missions.  Specifically, their SightFirst program's mission is "to build eye care systems in underserved communities to fight blindness and vision loss and assist blind and visually impaired persons."  I think this is absolutely wonderful, and I wonder why I did not know about this until now.  This is another cause for which I would like to become involved.

I have been reminded through comments on my previous blog posts about how blessed I am to live in a country with advanced health care systems and to have the means to afford access to this care.  It easy to take such things for granted when wallowing in self pity during a crisis, but now, while I am more confidently on the mend, I am extra thankful.  Even before my retina detachment, I have often wondered what my life would have been like even a hundred years ago with my extreme myopia and astigmatism.  My glasses would have been coke bottles, and any thoughts of vanity would have been futile.  Today, even my "thick" lenses are relatively thin, and they have done amazing things with gas permeable contact lenses that allowed me to see crisply without glasses at all.  I am thankful to live in a place and time where these technologies exist, not to mention retina specialists and hospitals to conduct such delicate surgeries.  The Lion's Clubs' SightFirst program envisions a world where such access is universal around the world.  To the extent that we can save people from blindness anywhere in the world, we should endeavor to try.

I so appreciate the vision I have now and the vision I still hope to regain, and driving to work today, I felt a lot of hope.  Independence is something most adults take for granted... until their own independence is compromised.  If there is a way I can help other people who have suffered vision loss feel more confident and independent, I want to take it on.

The will to be "normal"

It has taken me a while to realize that feeling "normal" after a retina detachment requires adjusting my own expectations of what "normal" is.  Sure, some things are harder to do now, but a lot of things are still manageable.  Sure, it can be scary at times, but it is better to be hopeful.  That is not to say that one should stifle one's fears, but one should not wallow in them, at least not for long.  Being alive is something for which to be grateful, and we should endeavor to life joyfully as much as possible.

This past weekend was my best weekend since my surgery.  This makes sense, of course, because it takes time to heal.  Still, I was able to do some "normal" things that made me feel like life is not closed to me.  My fiancé and I went to the movies on Friday night.  I wore my glasses, as I can see a bit over the shrinking gas bubble now.  The vision in my surgery eye is by no means sharp, but I can see shapes and faces on the giant movie screen.  I would struggle to keep up with a subtitled film, but thankfully, Hollywood blockbusters rarely ask for its audiences to read.  While I am a drama/chick flick kind of gal, I was surprised to enjoy The Fighter.  It was tricky to negotiate the theater stairs in low light, but that's what handrails are for.  In all, it was a good experience for me to be in public, enjoying a normal activity, and not feeling entirely impaired.  Would it have been better if I had crisp vision out of  both eyes?  Of course, but that isn't my normal.  My normal is going out into the world, having dinner at a restaurant, and enjoying a movie with fiancé.  I am lucky to be able to enjoy a little "date night" with the man I adore.

We finished our Christmas shopping over the weekend, too.  We split up for a few minutes in the store, and while I had some anxiety to shop alone, I felt my confidence rise a bit.  I feel vulnerable on my left side still, but I know to be careful when I turn around.  I didn't knock anything over.  I didn't run into anyone.  It is harder to read labels now, and I have trouble seeing the department signs over the aisles.  Those challenges did not keep me from getting my shopping done.  Would it have been easier if I had better vision?  Of course, but my normal includes asking for help.  It really isn't so hard to ask, "Where is your housewares department?"  I can still walk, "straight down this aisle and to the left."

I even worked on a sewing project this weekend.  I admit this was the most challenging endeavor I took on, and my impaired vision really did make things more difficult.  I stuck myself with the pins enough to bleed on quite a few occasions, but I got it done.  Threading the needle was hard, but I took my time.  My sewing machine was skipping stitches, but that no fault of my eyes.  I may not be able to complete a very intricate sewing project, but I can make progress on simple ones.  (I would tell you what my project it, but it is a Christmas present and still a surprise.)

In general, I had a very good weekend.  I napped a lot and rested my eyes when I needed to, but I got a lot of things done.  It was the first weekend I have had in a month where I felt capable.  This is an empowering feeling and one on which I hope to build as I recover.  Many people have assured me that things will get better, and indeed, they are improving.  I am so very thankful and encouraged.

1 month follow up

It has been a whole month since my surgery, and the recovery is in full swing.  I returned to see my surgeon for a follow up visit yesterday, and I am happy to report that my retinas are both still attached.  While I am not "out of the woods," as he put it, until the gas bubble completely dissolves, it is a very good sign that no scar tissue has formed "yet" (again, his word) and that my retinas seem to be holding in place.  This is excellent news!

Of course, these days, good news always seems to be dampened a bit by reality, and yesterday was no exception.  While my retinas are holding on, my doctor confirmed that a cataract is already forming on my surgery eye.  Cataracts can be removed surgically, so I know there is at least one more eye surgery in my fate, though I don't know when it will be.  First, we have to wait for the gas bubble to go away and make sure the retinas are still attached.  Then, I can see a cornea specialist to talk about how and when to deal with the cataract.

Yesterday, I was an emotional mess about it, but today I am feeling a lot more calm.  Worrying about things, especially those that are out of my control, certainly does not help me, so I am trying to just take things as they come.  We will figure out what to do about the cataract when it is time.  Meanwhile, I am going to try not to stress myself out.  (This is easier said than done for someone like me who wants to plan every detail, but I really am trying.)

Besides, cataract surgery is fairly routine, and the outcomes are usually very good.  In fact, when they remove a cataract, they remove the entire lens and replace it with a new one.  The new one usually has a prescription that actually improves your vision to better than it was before the cataract formed.  In the long run, I am hopeful this will be a very positive outcome.

The hardest part, besides the poor vision, is the uncertainty, but this is my reality now.  Without even realizing it until today, I am somewhere in the middling of grieving the end, or at least the extended suspension, of my normal, pre-surgery life.  I have a new normal now, and it includes doctors and surgeons and lots of eye drops.  It takes me twice as long to do simple things, like writing a check or threading a needle or trimming my own fingernails.  I was really angry about this for a while, but I am starting to realize that the anger is really wasted energy.  It is much better for me to focus on adapting and learning how to do the things I used to do in new ways.  I feel like I have lost the last month of my life, waiting to be normal again, but it is time to start living again.  I am sure this is not the real end of my anger or frustration, but I hope I am turning a corner.  I am alive, and the best way to live is happily and hopefully.

Depression and meeting expectations

I went back to work on Monday, and I made it through my first three days back.  As Murphy's Law would have it, I developed a mild sore throat and the sniffles just in time for my return, so on top of the anxiety about my "weird eye" and how my limited vision would affect my ability to work, I was feeling the usual lethargy and grumpiness that most people I know experience when they have a cold.  It was a bad emotional combination, and I did not have much energy or will to hide it.

Many people asked me how I was doing, and probably most of them were even genuinely interested.  Still, I couldn't help but cringe every time I was asked.  I know what they want to hear.  They want to hear that I'm better and happy to be back, but the truth is I am only a little bit better and would rather be home where I can mope in peace with my dogs.

I can't seem to shake this depression.  Absolutely nothing is as good as it used to be.  Everything I do is harder now - or at least different.  Nothing looks the same.  Writing out Christmas cards was a challenge, but I sucked it up and got it done, despite my new, sloppier handwriting that accompanied this vision loss.  Grocery shopping is embarrassing because I either have to wear my eye patch or endure the headaches of the overhead fluorescent lights, but I have to do it because we need food.  I can't drive yet, so I am a constant passenger, beholden to the generosity (and I am sincerely appreciative of it!) and schedules of those who are willing to help me.  Of course I am thankful to have the help, but I can't shake the bitterness that I need the help.  I hate having to ask for a ride somewhere.  I haven't had to ask for a ride since I was 15, before I had a driver's license.  Now, I am dependent, and while no one wants to admit it, I am also a burden.  I hate these feelings most of all.

I feel like I owe it to people to try to be cheerful.  No one wants to be around someone who is down all the time.  I just really don't know how to shake the constant fear and anger and disappointment I am feeling.  I am still angry that all this is happening.  I know it is nobody's fault that my extremely myopic eye finally gave out, but that doesn't matter because it still makes me angry.  I am angry my optometrist did not catch any early warning signs in my fairly recent eye exam.  I am angry I chose the Kaiser plan with a deductible because now the medical bills are starting to pile up.  I am angry that my vision is still so impaired a whole month after my surgery.  I am angry I had to have surgery in the first place!  I just can't believe there was not a way to prevent this!  If I could have seen a retinal specialist sooner, maybe this whole ordeal could have been avoided, but how was I to know I should seek the attention of a retinal ophthalmologist?

While easier said than done, the anger is something I know I really need to let go, but the fear is what grips me the most.  I fear that my vision may never fully restore in my surgery eye.  I fear that my surgery was not fully successful or that I suffer another retina detachment because I fear going through another 10 days with my face down.  I fear my good eye will suffer the same retinal detachment.  I fear going blind and becoming a permanent burden.  These are not dramatic fears.  These are real fears.  Real people suffer in all these ways, and I know that I am fundamentally no better than they are.  No one deserves to live this way, but it happens. What makes me immune?  Sadly, nothing.

When I was younger, I never really understood suffering.  I remember going to church with my parents, and the elderly folks would talk about "leaving this body behind."  At the time, I could not imagine why one would want to, but now I understand how your body can become a burden.  I am trying to remember that I am more than my body.  I am more than my limitations.  I want to be myself again - happy, funny, hopeful, and maybe just a bit naive.  I want to not have to worry about something so simple as my sight, but I think I may never again have that luxury.

I have a follow up appointment with my surgeon tomorrow.  I hope and pray for good news.  I need to hear good news.  Really, some good news is all I want for Christmas.  I don't need fancy electronics or shiny things.  I just need some reassurance that maybe things really will be OK again.  I need some news that will calm some of my fears and extinguish this anger.  As much as I need this, my family needs this because my family needs me to be me again.  As emotional as this is and has been for me, I know it continues to take its toll on them.  They share my fears, and I know they miss the less touchy, less mopey version of myself that I used to be before all this happened.  For their sake, as much as mine, I am praying tonight for a good outcome.

The virtues of an eye patch

I finally broke down and bought an eye patch tonight. It's black, like a classic pirate patch, because that is apparently the only option available at any major drugstore. You can buy fashion designs online, but I refuse to make such an investment because I hope the patch will be a temporary accessory for me.  Besides, if I get a crafty urge, I could adorn the black one.

In terms of vision, the patch is an amazing help.  It seems ironic that covering one eye would improve one's overall vision, but when your patch eye distorts light and shapes, sometimes it is best to just eliminate the distraction.  For vanity's sake, I prefer to be patchless most of the time, but car travel at night gives me headaches.  I guess it is the stark contrast between the darkness of night and the distorted glare of the street lights and car head lights that gives me trouble, but I know for sure that the moment I put the patch on, my headache eased and my good eye was able to focus.  Of course, it was not as good as having two good eyes because my patched eye provided no peripheral vision, but it was a bit liberating to be able to travel without a constant headache.

When we left the house this evening, our only goal was to take the dogs for a drive, pick up a drive-thru dinner (really healthy, I know), and look at some Christmas lights.  For these activities, wearing an eye patch was not terribly embarrassing.  I caught a few people double taking at stop lights, but it did not bother me too much.  I can tell you, though, I will do everything I can to avoid wearing that patch in an actual social setting.

The elastic strap that holds the patch in place did not agree with my forehead.  When the strap began digging in, which was almost immediately, I fiddled with it.  I tried guiding it up, down, over my ear, behind my ear, etc.  No matter what I did, that strap was going to dig into my forehead.  After a while, I gave up and just let it be.  That was probably the best strategy for our driving (well, my "passengering," if I may use this made up term) activities, but if we had a social event at which to arrive, I probably would have been as embarrassed by the indentations left behind the patch and its strap as I would have been by wearing the patch itself.

The eye patch is not a perfect solution, but it is a reasonable way to cope with the glare that the gas bubble in my eye seems to embellish.  I hope that this glare will subside once the gas bubble shrinks completely.  I will add it to the list of "we'll see" outcomes.

Rekindled fear of the dark

In my late teens, I think, I took a women's self defense class with my mom and older sister.  The number one thing I learned in that class was: always be aware of your surroundings.  That means: look around, search shadows, look over your shoulder if you hear a noise, etc.  This has become second nature to me.  Generally, I have been a pretty independent woman.  Though I do not anymore, I have lived alone for many years.  I have taken care of a lot of business under the cover of darkness, and while I have probably been more fearless in some circumstances than I should have, I have prided myself on my ability to take care of myself without much help.

These days, post surgery, I am afraid to take the trash out by myself - even in broad daylight, but especially after dark.  It's not terribly rational because I live in a house in a relatively safe suburban neighborhood.  My trash cans are behind a fence, and the likelihood of a stranger being in my side yard is extremely low.  Still, I can literally feel my pulse race when I go outside by myself.  My lack of peripheral vision has crippled my sense of independence, which is so much worse than the simple loss of vision itself, especially to a person who has worked so hard to become so independent.

It is amazing how fear inhibits us.  Whether the fear is rational or not, the grips of fear can be very limiting.  I am blessed to still have good vision with one eye, and I do have hope that my left eye will heal to give me some kind of competent vision, even if it is never as good as it once was.  As I remind myself of these blessings, I imagine what it must be like for someone to lose vision in both eyes, and I just cannot fathom it.  I pray I never find myself in such in a circumstance.

Recently, the news ran a story about a blind man who is completely independent, with the help of his guide dog, and he travels the world for work.  Can you imagine?  I am scared to take my trash out, behind a fence, with one good eye, but this blind man navigates airports and new cities, seemingly without fear.  I like to reflect on this to give myself perspective on the challenges I am facing.  Certainly, I am limited by my condition, but there are many people who do more with less than I have.  I think this is a lesson anyone can appreciate.  Perspective matters so much!

Anxiety about returning to work

I just called my doctor's office to request a work release letter.  Since this is my third week after surgery, I think I should be able to return to work on Monday, but of course, I will wait to hear back from my doctor to confirm this.

Meanwhile, I am sorting through the anxiety of returning to my normal work life.  I expect everyone will be very welcoming, and I am looking forward to seeing my work friends again. I even miss the actual work.  It's hard to feel very productive at home, especially as I respect the doctor's orders to "take it easy."  I miss feeling accomplished.  I miss feeling "normal."

I am a city planner, which is mostly a desk job.  I read a lot, especially the zoning code and other such regulatory documents.  I review site plans and building plans.  I spend a lot of time on my computer writing reports.  I feel fairly confident that I will be able to resume these duties.  I worry a bit about headaches and the trouble I may have seeing well with only one eye.  As my surgery eye improves and the gas bubble shrinks, I am gaining sight in my left eye, which sounds like it would be a good thing.  Of course, in the long run, it is, but in the short term, I can tell it will cause headaches.  I am not a doctor, but I know that having a wide difference between visual acuity in the eyes can cause strain.

Even over the past few days, I have noticed that television watching is causing mild headaches, and I am becoming sensitive to light.  That is not to say that I prefer a perfectly dark or perfectly bright room, but depending on where the lamp or other light source is located, it can cause strange reflections off the gas bubble and give objects a strange halo.  Actually, I am not sure I am describing this experience well, but suffice it to say that the gas bubble continues to trouble me and I worry how I will do adjusting to my work environment.

However, my anxiety about what I look like is probably at least as high as my anxiety about visual performance and headaches.  Perhaps I should be embarrassed to be so vain, but I am a 30-year-old woman.  While I am no pageant queen, beauty is important to me.  I miss wearing makeup, and the idea of going back to work without mascara just feeds my insecurity.

Then again, would I really want to wear eye makeup and draw attention to my mismatched eyes?  I wonder how long it will take for my pupils to match again, or worse, maybe they never will!?  My surgery eye is dilated almost triple the size of my non-surgery eye.  At least the the white part of my surgery eye is turning white again.  The extreme redness was totally disgusting!

I am so insecure about what my eye looks like that I avoid eye contact.  This is a problem at work because I also meet with the public a lot.  Before my surgery, I prided myself on my communication style.  I like to think my sincere eye contact has helped people feel more comfortable when talking to me about how zoning, etc. affects their livelihoods.  This anxiety compromises that for me.  I have thought of wearing an eye patch or sunglasses, but like the makeup, that only draws attention.

I'm not really sure what to do about this vanity anxiety.  I guess I just have to put one foot in front of the other, go back to work, and let people react.  It doesn't seem like there is much else I can do.  I certainly can't afford to stay home from work for six months or something to fully heal.  It is time to try to restore some normalcy in my life.

Dreams: Waking Sight < Sleeping Sight

I have always been a person who dreams in vivid, life-like color.  Often, my dreams are bizarre and disjointed, but I wake up and try to recount them to my fiancé anyway, which usually yields a few of his hearty chuckles.  My post-surgery dreams have not changed.  I still "see" everything in bright color, but the difference now is that I wake up more disappointed than entertained.

When I wake up, I can only see well with one eye because my left eye still has this obnoxious gas bubble.  I sit up in my bed again and realize that my waking sight is far inferior to the "sleeping sight" in my dreams.  In my dreams, I can still drive a car.  Recently, I had a dream that I was riding a Vespa, something I have never actually done in real life and something I may never be able to try if my vision does not improve significantly.  Most mornings begin this way, with the harsh jolt of reality and at least a small dose of depression.

Then, I have to coax myself into the will to shower and start my day.  I manually remind myself of all the things for which and people for whom I can be thankful.  To be sure, I have many blessings, and when I recount them, I feel guilty for my daily pity parties.  I long for the morning when I wake up more appreciative than disappointed, almost as much as I long to have my pre-surgery vision back in my left eye.

Information about retinal reattachment surgery - with graphics!

In my last post, I identified the scleral buckle and vitrectomy with gas bubble procedures my surgeon employed to reattach my retina.  Since then, I found this excellent resource with graphics that better explains the procedures.  If you are interested in more information, have a look:
http://retinaeyedoctor.com/detached-retina-signs-symptoms-and-overview/eye-surgery-for-retinal-detachment/

Don't worry.  There are no gory photographs, but there are helpful illustrations.