6 Month Post-Op Surgery #2: Adaptations

July 25, 2013

My appointment today marked six months post-op since my second surgery. Six months since I was wheeled out of Dulaney Eye Institute with my face in my palms, a throbbing in my left eye, and an ache forming in my neck. 

In a short six months, I went from completely helpless, to where I am now. I have learned more about dealing with health insurance companies than I ever thought I would. I have a wealth of knowledge about my eye's anatomy, its function, and unfortunately, its dysfunction. But more importantly, I have learned so much about life, humanity, and healing. The love and care you can give and receive is breathtaking. I will never be able to fix my own eyes, or anything else that may go wrong, but I can give unto others what I was so lucky to receive: the faith in humanity and goodness of others.  

The appointment:

It was a good one. Everything is stable! Huge sigh of relief. Since it had been three months since I last saw the doctor, I was painfully nervous while in the waiting room. I have a feeling that nervousness will never go away each time I return after a long time between visits. The laser treatment in both eyes looks great, there is no fluid, and my retina(s) are completely flat. So far so good, and I'm not going back until October. 

Here is where I'm at:

Below is what my vision looks like in my left eye with glasses on...

It's hard functioning sometimes with limited vision in my left eye. I find myself turning my body or head with my right eye closer to whatever I'm looking at. I definitely favor my right side now because of the inability to see well on the left side. Women will be able to commiserate with this: I have a hard time putting make up on my right eye because I have to use my left eye to see (since my right eye is closed to put on the eye make up). This is impossible for me. So I have to keep my right eye slightly open to see what I'm doing, which usually ends with some sort of make up getting in my right eye and irritating it. But it's all a part of adapting and eventually I may have vision restored on that left side. The doctor believes that the dark spot in my vision is my cataract. A specific cataract that develops from the use of the gas and having eye surgery. He says its smack dab in the middle of my lens, which would explain why I see that dark spot in the middle of my vision. 

At this point I just need to call him if anything changes, but he is thrilled with my progress. It is hard to believe that six months ago I was starting my journey through this living hell and now I am back to living life. But I couldn't be happier. 

VisionWalk: Baltimore 2013

May 28, 2013

On Saturday, June 1, 2013, in Baltimore, Maryland, my wonderful husband and I will take part in the VisionWalk to help raise money to fund research to cure blindness. 

While I don't have a disease that is causing me progressive blindness, I was and still am facing the fear of losing my vision. My detachment is "fixed" for now, however I do have lattice degeneration, which does put me at a higher risk for a re-detachment or a detachment in my other eye. As you know from reading this blog, the thought of losing my vision was paralyzing. This foundation can contribute to finding a cure so that eventually that fear can be erased. No one should have to know what that feels like. 

At the start of the fundraiser, I set a goal to raise $1,000 as my donation to find a cure for blindness. As of today, I have raised (with the generous help of many others) a total of $690. With four days left, I can still raise the remaining $310 if YOU help! 

I know that I don't know many of you who have read this, or are continuing to read this. But I do know that chances are, you or someone you know, may be dealing with problems that this foundation could help to cure. Even if your eyes are healthy, you never know what may happen in the future. You or someone you love could ultimately benefit from medical advancements made by donations to the Foundation Fighting Blindness. 

Donations can be made anonymously, and if you can consider even donating $10, it will go a long way. 

If you would have asked me a year ago if my vision was important, I would have said, "of course." Ask me now. I cannot even begin to make anyone understand how grateful I am to have it. 

If you'd like to donate, please follow this link: 

http://www.fightblindness.org/site/TR?px=2451142&fr_id=4880&pg=personal

If you'd like to read more about FFB, follow this link:

http://www.blindness.org

Weeks 11 - 13 Post-Op: Third Time's a Charm

April 5 - 25, 2013

This was the longest span of time I had gone without visiting Dr. Grodin. It was strange. I felt like there was something missing out of my week. I also had to convince myself that it was OK that I wasn't going to have my eyes checked every week for this month. 

I knew what I had to look out for. Persistent changes. Dramatic increase in floaters or flashes. Knowing often doesn't ease your mind. It's definitely a mental mindset you have to adopt (or at least I did) to make myself stop being paranoid and terrified of something going wrong. 

Things have pretty much returned to normal (minus my vision). I'm working again, driving, being an active member of society again. It feels good. My dark spot is still hanging around, maybe getting better? It's hard to tell. I have to give it more time. 

My appointment on April 25th went great. Dr. G couldn't be more pleased. The inflammation is gone, my retina is flat and attached. 

What more could you ask for? At this point, nothing. I'm not scheduled to go back for another three months. That's July before I'll be visiting the office again (knock on wood- as long as there is no problem).

It's been over five months since this started. What a difference. 

Week 10 Post-Op: Pseudo Time Lapse Video

March 29 - April 4, 2013

I sorted through all of my photos that I took of my eye. There were quite a few. They showcase my beauty (not). Check out the time lapse video I made that sorts through the photos in about 45 seconds. Time heals. 

Time Lapse Video: Click Here

It is still hard not being able to see completely. But again, time heals. Driving is a little more difficult than it was prior to all of this. Reading up close and using a computer tires my eye (s) out faster than before. I'm using artificial tears a couple times a day in the recovering eye to keep it from becoming too irritated by the end of the day. 

All in all, my retina is attached so who am I to complain? 

Enjoy the video!

Week 9 Post-Op: Glasses Half Full

March 23 - 28, 2013

Four months ago, I walked through the same doors as I did yesterday. On that day, I had no clue what would be in store for me. No clue what I would face over the following four months and beyond. I didn't know any of the amazing people who I've come to adore, who have been instrumental in my recovery. I had no idea I would be sharing this with anyone willing to read about it.

To my surprise, I would battle two surgeries. I would end up face down for an entire month. There would be foreign matter in the form of a C3F8 gas bubble floating around in my eye for almost 9 weeks. Let's be real here, I didn't even know what a C3F8 gas bubble was, OR that it could end up in my eye. By the way, that gas is actually called Perfluoropropane. Just in case you were dying to know...



I had no concept of the severity of my condition, or the urgency. Being whisked away, less than two days after diagnosis, into an operating room was overwhelming to say the least. But, here we are.


Yesterday marked four long months of patiently (and impatiently) waiting to be able to see. Now, I still have a unique black spot in my vision that is totally different from what I was seeing with my detachment. That will take more patience, an NSAID eye drop, and time, to go away. However, I have had my eyes refracted and have been given back the gift of sight. I will have functional glasses!

Since the first surgery, I had been unable to see more than two inches past the front of my face. My right eye learned to compensate to an extent, but there is a reason you should have two functioning eyes- they are both very useful, and not so much as individuals, but as a pair.

Four months ago I walked out of those doors terrified and on my way to another doctor for a physical. I felt a fear I'd never known until then. A complete fear of the unknown and my vision's fate in someone else's hands. Yesterday, I walked out with the ability to see again. Without a detached retina. Without sub-retinal fluid.

I still have a conscious fear of the unknown. That fear did not present itself until that day when I was diagnosed, and unfortunately, I do believe it is here to stay. But it doesn't consume me. I can tolerate it and tell it to quiet down now. In so many ways, this whole experience has changed my life, my outlook, and my future.

When I pondered what to call this blog, I kept coming back to "two weeks."  It was supposed to be two weeks of being face down. But that changed. On the other hand, two weeks applied to so much throughout this process, even prior to creating the blog. Two weeks to prepare for my second surgery. Two weeks after my first surgery, pain really started setting in. Two weeks since my most recent visit. Two weeks of good news until bad news started setting in after the buckle surgery. Two weeks of trying to break the habit of always looking down.

No matter what it was during the past four months, two weeks was, without fail, 14 days; 336 hours; 20,160 minutes; 1,209,600 seconds. How those seconds, minutes, hours, and days were filled always changed, and it was just that. They always changed. No matter how fickle the world seemed to be, you could always count on the time passing consistently, constantly. And even when I wanted it to freeze, it kept going. Then when I wanted it to fast forward, it kept pace.

Here I am now, with a budding business, my one-year anniversary just around the corner, and a hell of a lot to be grateful for. I am still working on getting my life and body back to normal; my arthritic joints are slowly becoming less creaky and stiff. Simple things like driving are possible again. Though not being behind the wheel was rather enjoyable when I think about it.

In one month, I will return to the doc for another milestone appointment, to see if it is all still holding up as it should.

Special thank you time:

Dr Grodin, for his compassion, skill, and patience in fixing me and my bum eyeballs. He is the most caring, genuine doctor I have met. He gave me my vision back. I am forever indebted to him for that.

Charlie, Sandy, Jessica, Kendra, Heather, Christina, Nancy, and every single tech, receptionist and doctor I had the privilege of meeting at Katzen and Dulaney Eye Institute, for all of their compassion, care, and help to make this experience easier and more bearable. Charlie, in particular, for going beyond what I would have expected, to help in any way possible. All of the countless, worried emails and calls; the obsessive, over-analytical questions I asked him. There was never a single question that went unanswered, a worry left to fester. He and everyone else were so encouraging.

Ryan, for being the most supportive and loving hubby out there. He made my recovery and healing possible, I wouldn't be where I am now without his love and help.

My parents, for all of their love, support, and help. It was, after all, a team effort those first few days, post-second surgery.

My in-laws, for their love and support and delicious dinners.

My friends, family, for the thoughtful gifts, cards, food and encouragement. I value every single gesture.

Keiko, for being the sweetest, furriest companion to sit with me at home. There is something to be said for animals helping you to heal.

I will end this post with one piece of advice: if you must have a retinal detachment, try to do it in the winter- who wants to ruin summer with this crap??

From start to present.

Week 8 Post-Op: I Can See Clearly Now the Bubble is Gone

March 14 - 22, 2013

While the bubble is becoming smaller and smaller, its movement changes and it hides every now and then. The light bouncing off of it isn't as dramatic, and it's become more of a nuisance that anything else. At this point it's so small that it is doing nothing to help hold my retina in place. Meaning that it's holding on its own.

When the bubble was larger, it would move smoothly, and more like fluid. Since it has become very small, it moves more abruptly. The slightest eye movement causes a quick jump in its position, rather than a slow shift when it was larger. Rattling around quickly and frequently with every movement. Sometimes it would disappear for a couple minutes, and would fool me thinking it had gone away for good. Where it was is a mystery to me, but it kept coming back. The picture below is how it looks as a very small bubble. 

The bubble bounced around all the time.
The dark spot has become smaller but is still there.

The dark spot has become smaller since the day after surgery when I first saw it. I have been having OCT scans done, and that helps the doctor monitor the swelling, which he believes is the culprit for the spot in my vision. I am on an NSAID drop that is helping to reduce swelling and make it smaller. Eventually it should disappear and return to normal! I just have to be patient.

On Friday, March 22, 2013, after eight weeks and two days, my bubble was gone. I waited to see if it was just hiding, but no- it was officially gone! 

Week 7 Post-Op: To Dye For, Part 2

March 8 - 13, 2013

The results: 

Everything looks great. PHEW. It was amazing to hear that. Now the results of the FA test were immediate, so I had them last week. But I did not have a copy of the photos from it. Here they are below (you will probably want to click on them to enlarge the image and see the areas the arrows point to):

In the photo above, the pink arrow points towards the optic nerve. That is where the nerve that leads to the brain, that takes what your eyes see and allows you to form an image of the world around you. The white arrow points towards the macula, responsible for your ability to see faces, read books, drive, and well, basically do anything. It looks like a darker gray/black area. The blue arrows point towards the areas that were lasered. They appear as dark gray and black markings. I received laser around all of the lattice that was towards the perimeter of my retina. I also received a "peppering" of laser on the detached area. This leads me to the green arrows. You can see my demarkation line where the fluid was filling in a pocket underneath of the retina. This is the point to which the detachment reached. Lucky for me it did not hit the macula. That would have been a very bad situation. It is often harder to restore vision or attach a retina once it detaches from the macula. Here it is zoomed in below:

Here it is in black and white. Again, you can see the lasering on the perimeter as well as the macula, optic nerve, and demarkation line. The other veins stemming from the optic nerve feed blood to the retina to allow it to function. This test usually reveals if there is a blood-flow issue. Luckily for me this time, I had no issue. 

So there's the end of last week's appointment. A clear test and was told to come back again in a week. That leads us into today, March 13. 

Nothing but good news! Dr. Grodin says it looks great, everything is flat and fluid-free, no tears, no problems! I have started getting "fish eggs" and they are disappearing quickly. Now that this has started, the bubble will start dissipating very quickly. Here is a rendition of my first fish egg (the bottom would be normal vision, and the top obviously the bubble vision):

The first fish egg bubble came about Sunday, and disappeared in two and a half days. I then got another one this morning, and that one has since gone away as well. They typically stayed right around the large bubble, but often bounced around on their own. Very strange but actually pretty cool. 

Dr. Grodin anticipates that the bubble will go away by the end of the weekend. That would be amazing. I can then snip my warning label off and be free of the bubble. I was also told, for the first time in 4 months, that I don't need to come in for an appointment for TWO WEEKS. That will be the longest stretch of time that I have gone without going in to see the doctor. Pending that next appointment goes well, I will then not have to be seen for a month. Then three months, then only every six....

We'll see how it goes, don't want to get ahead of myself. I will also have a refraction appointment in two weeks (right before my appointment with Dr. Grodin) to see how well we can do correcting my vision. That *could* end in getting glasses. Again, we'll see what happens. 

But here we are. I am the closest I've been in months to being back to normal. Just a little while longer...

Week 6 Post-Op: To Dye For, Part 1

March 1 - 7, 2013

The trepidation of every lingering complication or new problem makes itself known every morning before a doctor's appointment. It doesn't care if I am almost certain nothing is wrong. It doesn't care if I'd like for just one of my appointment days to allow me to eat more than part of a granola bar. Nope. That fear does not care at all.

I have been in a routine since the beginning of this in November. Each week I have an appointment (most of the time on Thursdays), and each week was the same drill. Either a fluid level check or a bubble size check. I have a dark spot in my vision that has been there only since after this second surgery. Dr. Grodin never suspected anything physiologically wrong with my eye, but had mentioned once the bubble was gone, we could do photos (like last week) and a dye test. I had not expected to be doing these things yet, since my bubble, as of March 7th, was still less than 10% but had yet to fish egg and is surprisingly still a nice size. 

March 7th. I thought it would be another appointment just like those before. Come in, get my eye dilated/examined and then sent on my way. They wanted to do photos again. That was fine, I had that experience last week, not a big deal. But then Sandy said that I would be getting an FA Test. Hmmm....

Fluorescein angiography. An organic dye would be injected into my arm and would make its way to all of the tiny capillaries and blood vessels in my eye, allowing Dr. Grodin to examine the blood flow to my retina. This was being done to rule out any physiological reason as to why there was a dark blob in my vision. 

Poor Kendra. I met her for the first time that day. Her job there is to stick people all day long and then execute the photographs. Sandy told me she was great at what she does, and gets most people on the first stick. All that was running through my mind? She's going to have met her match with me....

If you can recall, when I had my second pre-op physical, the nurse stuck me twice and still almost didn't get enough blood. And I left with a bruise the size of Texas and the color of tar. My veins are deep, they roll, and they're small. A nightmare for anyone trying to draw blood, honestly. 

I warned Kendra that I'm a hard stick, and told her all about the various ways people have used to try to draw blood and insert IVs. She evaluated my arms and decided to go into the left first, on a vein that seemed it would have been a good one. Unfortunately, the vein was small and as we tried to push the dye in, the stupid little thing blew out. It did not surprise me in the least. There wasn't enough dye in me to do the test, so we would need to try again. While we sat there holding the injection site, my arm starts to turn yellow. It's as if someone was slowly taking a yellow highlighter and coloring gently on my arm. Creating layer after layer of yellow markings. The photo below was taken after my appointment. I did not alter anything in Photoshop in this picture other than cropping. That yellow is real!

One hour post blood draw. 

So the first arm was a pain, yes. The dye had leaked under my skin and for about five minutes, I had this burning and stinging sensation in my entire forearm (a completely normal reaction to the dye). Kendra felt so bad, but like I said, this didn't surprise me, it wasn't her fault. We swapped arms, giving the right one a shot (pun intended). No go. Couldn't even get in the vein. 

At this point Kendra felt so terrible about sticking me so much, despite me telling her that it is my veins' fault, not hers. She says she's going to try once more, and then Dr. Grodin will be brought in. She aims for the vein in my hand that seems like it would be a good shot. Unfortunately that one won't bleed for her either. She tells me I'm the first patient all day that she has not stuck on her first try. Leave it to me to be the anomaly! 

"He's going to come in here, and watch him get it on the first try," Kendra jokes. 

Dr. Grodin comes in.

"I'm going to wrap this really tight," as the tourniquet constricts around my upper arm. 

"Wow, you weren't kidding," I blurt out. 


"But I'm only going to try once, so if we don't get it we'll do the test another day."


After pumping my fist and the doctor tapping on my hand for a minute, he tells me to be very, very still. In case you didn't know, a needle going into the back of your hand feels much different than your forearm. Your hand skin hurts much more. 

He hits the vein (on the first try, like Kendra said he would) and tells me not to move a muscle. 

With four bandaids scattered between my right arm and left arm and hand, I'm all ready for the photos. This special machine photographs inside of my eye, and to me, seemed almost like a regular camera flash. I sat my chin on a rest and looked in whichever direction I was told. Every time a photo was snapped, a flash went off, which resonated slightly in my vision, but aside from that, was not a big deal. 

If you ever wondered what it would be like to have your vision turn colors, have this test. 

After it was over, my vision was dark, I could hardly see out of that eye. A few minutes later it was a vibrant, fire-engine red. Minutes after that it was a calm cyan blue. Then it began to turn yellow after that. By the time I left and had my exam, the color was back to normal though. 

We would find out through these photographs, if there was any issue with my retina and its blood flow. 

Week 5 Post-Op: The Other Side of the Lens

February 21 - 28, 2013

Slowly hoisting myself out of bed each morning, I creak and hobble into the kitchen for water. Four weeks in the position I was in takes its toll. My body feels like a shell of its former self. Sitting for too long, or frankly not moving for too long, makes my joints tense and sore. I have been given the ability to understand what arthritis feels like at the ripe age of 25! Lucky me. It has been slowly getting better, but just like it took four weeks to cause this wreck, it will probably take just as long to restore it to as close to normal as I can get. My knees sound like sandpaper if they stay locked for too long. Shoulders, ankles, hips, elbows, wrists (and basically any other joint) pop and crack all day long. BUT they are doing so in a vertical position, so it's hard to complain.

It's strange that only one week had passed since that amazing day when I was given my life back. 

I definitely underestimated the level of frustration I could reach with this bubble. It is only in one eye but may as well be in both. The distortion of light and shadows off of the bubble make doing things like reading painstakingly obnoxious. Grocery stores, with that horrendous overhead, fluorescent lighting, cause dizziness like you wouldn't believe. And now bending over (this one is the kicker) makes a wave of dizzy nausea wash over me like a tsunami. Never would have guessed that one; not after being face down for so long would I think that returning to that position, even if briefly, would make me feel like I was barrel-rolling on a roller coaster. 

If the light hits in just the correct way, what look like branches of a tree seem to dance in my eye.

Thursday, February 28: Another appointment down. No tears, fluid, detachment. I'm passing with flying colors. And this time I was able to experience having photographs taken of the inside of my eye.

Every time Dr. Grodin does something new to my eyes, I'm always amazed at the technology. At the medicine. And there I sat. With my chin on another rest, staring at another light. Except this one was different. It was more like a television than a bright white strobe being blasted into your eye, that generally renders me unable to see anything for a few minutes. This was a red screen with an "X" in the center. All I had to do was look at it. Watch it change with some bits of green, then a new pattern of red lines. Boom, done. Photos complete. Pretty fascinating.

Everything checked out and I was sent on my merry way. Another week of waiting for the bubble to go down. I was at about 10%. No fish eggs yet. I even asked about that.

"Does everyone get to experience the fish eggs??"

"Yes, that happens to everyone."

"Oh good, I really want to know what that looks like."

Just wait. There'll be another photoshop generated image of this roe that will be floating around, don't you worry.

Oh and when your surgical warning label breaks, zip ties fix that. But they can also scratch you during showers or sleeping. WATCH OUT. 

Swelling still decreasing. Redness decreasing.
Eyes are almost the same size.
Still wearing my warning label...

Week 4 Post-Op: Habits and Fish Eggs

February 13 - 20, 2013

Learning to err on the side of caution has been my motto throughout my doctor visits. I'd rather be pleasantly surprised than sorely disappointed. 

For the first time, I woke up and could lay there, slowly deciding when I wanted to get out of bed. 

For the first time, I walked out and poured MYSELF some orange juice in a glass that I got out of a cabinet alone. 

In four weeks. I haven't done anything for myself in four weeks.

But today I did. 

For four weeks, the toilet paper was on the ground, our medicine cabinet was on our coffee table, my drawers of clothes were in stacks on the floor, and I had such a thorough mental map of every detail of our floor it would make your head spin. Breaking all of these habits that have developed over the past four weeks is going to be hard. But they are habits I'm more than willing to break.

Dr. Grodin told me at my appointment, at 3:30pm on February 20, 2013, that I could have my head up all the time. It came out of his mouth so quickly that I almost didn't catch it. Put me into a state of shock, frankly. 

Adjusting back to normal will be harder than I would have thought, but then again it doesn't surprise me, considering everything with this surgery and recovery has been harder than I thought it would be. The soreness from the position I have been in for four weeks is inversely translated now. My instinctual habit to put my head down is going to be hard to break, but again, I couldn't be happier than to have to break it. 

My gas bubble is at 30%. I'm at the cusp of where the bubble will start breaking into smaller bubbles, creating what is described as fish eggs. Can't wait for that..... (insert sarcasm). Believe me, once I have an idea what that looks like, I will create another photoshop depiction. It will be at least 3-4 weeks before I can get glasses, and I have a dark spot in my vision (you can see that area in the previous posts) that we will have to watch. If it isn't from the bubble and is still there when the bubble is 100% gone, we'll move into diagnostic testing to see what it is. But one step at a time. 

Sitting across from Ryan at the dinner table last night, it felt like I was seeing him for the first time. Looking out of the living room window as I type this, it is such a shame that I never appreciated that until now. Better late than never, right?

Packing up the last of my
recovery equipment. Finally!

It's funny how my two weeks turned into three, and then four. Medicine and healing can be so fickle. But if it works in the end, you can't complain. I'm still not out of the woods, and still have a lot to work towards, but I hit that miraculous milestone. It's still hard to see; I have no depth perception (already cut my finger with a knife because I didn't notice how close it was, oops), and my body is having to readjust. 

More patience. I'm willing to buy it if anyone is offering!

Days 17 - 20 Post-Op: Bubble Vision Liberation

February 9 - 12, 2013

I have yet to get used to writing 2013. That's my biggest error when I proofread my posts. Takes me back to school papers and assignments...

"Put your name, date and subject in the upper corner of your paper!"

I have been dating these posts myself. Yes, I am aware that in the Internet world things are dated whether you ask for it or not. So it seems redundant, yes. But it reminds me, as I write it out, just how much time has passed.

Nearly at the three week mark since my second surgery. Nearly at the eleven week mark since my first surgery.

But most importantly, I am having one of the most crucial appointments yet.

In the brief moments I have been able to lift my head up take to administer eye drops and make a feeble attempt at stretching my neck out, the person I see in the mirror generally makes me shudder. Swollen eyelids. Red dents and creases from the face pads. A lovely line of acne that decided to set up camp reflecting the shape of that very face pad. Puffy upper lip. Lines of red, irritation work their way towards the iris of my left eye. Eyelashes point in unnatural directions from the swelling. A lonely, resilient stitch still protrudes a little on the outside edge, bothering the delicate and gentle inside of my eyelid. A large, black hole resembles my pupil.

"Am I still pretty?"

"Of course, more than ever," Ryan answers sweetly.

For about four days now, it seems the bubble has been filling about half of my eye. I've been patiently waiting for my "ah-ha" moment where my vision breaches the line of the bubble and I can see into the cluttered, disassembled living room I've been spending my days in.

As of Monday afternoon, it had yet to happen. Glimpses of the world are exposed if I tilt my eye just so, but nothing of any clarity has come through. The past few nights, my mind has been fraught with the idea that when I have my "ah-ha" moment, what if I can't see? What if the vision is damaged? What if in an instant my retina comes off? I never said it was rational thinking.

"This next week will be very revealing. We will see if as the bubble decreases so dramatically in size, if your retina will remain flat on its own. It is very important for you to remain face down for this next week to give the bubble the chance to keep it flat as long as it can."

I have followed Dr. Grodin's directions to an obsessive degree. If this bubble needed to stay against my retina, I was going to keep it there as long as humanly possible. My drops had been decreased to twice a day, so I will give you one guess at how many times I would lift my head.

Twice a day. Well, sometimes three or four times but never more, and usually only twice.

I was going to keep that retina flat and keep the potential for a cataract away if it was the last thing I did.

Three weeks ago, all I thought was, "just get me through two weeks."

Last week, two weeks turned to three. If you would have told me at the start of my two weeks, "hang in there, but its actually going to be three weeks, not two," I would be dictating this to a therapist as I sit in a padded room. But that didn't happen, I went crazy but not crazy enough to get me admitted.

Tuesday came and went. Small decreases in size. That's all I still see. I was told it is probably because I am so I tune to what I see and I analyze it so much. That hits the nail right on its head.

Top view: normal
Bottom view: looking face down through
the bubble

Wednesday morning.

"Where are we?"

"Mile marker 72.6."

I was asking every mile or two where we were. What am I supposed to do when I can't look out the window for myself? Twenty minutes later and repeating that question five times, we pull up to the doctor's office.

"Decrease to 50% time face down."

I was being released from my captivity! It finally happened. I could have 12 hours up, but still needed to do 12 hours face down. But hey, I will take anything I can get at this point. No infection, good eye pressure, no sub retinal fluid, NO DETACHMENT.

One more week. One more week until I may get all of my time back. But for the next week, every minute of my 12 hours of free time up is like gold.

Does it shock you that I have a stop watch to time my 12 hours to the second? It shouldn't at this point.

Three weeks to the day since surgery number two. What a whirlwind it has been.

Day 19 Post-Op: Gas Bubble, Caught on Video!

February 11, 2013

I created this video so that you all could see how amazing this whole procedure is. Check it out below:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xvo_M0us24U

More posting to come tomorrow...

Day 16 Post-Op: Recovery Collateral

February 8, 2013

Crawling around on the floor like a barbaric cave woman has certainly given my arms, shoulders and upper back some nice definition. Unfortunately, I can't say the same for the rest of my body, but at least for the moment I can find solace in the vanity of that. Especially since I have a not-so-attractive swollen face thing going on right now. Constantly hoisting myself up off the ground and sleeping wedge is basically forcing me to do push-ups (of which I painstakingly would attempt when I could actually exercise 3 months ago). I'd say that is pretty nice collateral for having to do another week of face down activities.

Of the elite group of people that are so fortunate to go through this sort of recovery process (sarcasm), you start to think about all of the things you could do in two weeks; you think about all that happens in a two week time frame. I did some research and math, this is some of what I came up with:

• You can ship a package from the United States and it will arrive in Australia (standard shipping rates of course, ha)
• You can listen to over 6,700 songs consecutively with the songs averaging 3 minutes in length
• An average person could walk 504 miles in two weeks if they walked 3 miles per hour for 12 hours a day
• Your body will build up enough antibodies to be effective after receiving the influenza vaccine
• You can make your own homemade wine
• A football team can win the AFC championship game AND the Super Bowl
• Your eyes will blink about 5,600 times if you blink an average of 25 times per hour, and account for eight hours of sleep each day
• You could type about 336,000 words if typing an average of 50 words per minute for eight hours each day
• Your heart will have pumped approximately 27,000 gallons of blood at the end of a two week time frame
• The American opossum's gestation period is approximately 12-14 days, so you could have a baby opossum!

At this point, I am close to seeing over the bubble in my eye. I am hardly sitting in the chair because of the pain it caused in my knees. Just one more week....

Here is a wedding photo, because I have no idea what else to put here.

Photo by Nicholas Griner Photographer 2012

Day 15 Post-Op: Reality, My Blessed Struggle

February 7, 2013

Reality.

It can be dream-like. It can be hard. It can be easy. It can be mean. It can take you from ecstasy to hell in an instant.

It can show you the good in people. In things. In events. It can show you the horror and tragedy.

It can make your life better. It can make it worse.

The one thing it can absolutely guarantee is that it will always change. Nothing stays the exact same way forever. Really think about that. There is probably not one single thing that you can say will forever remain the same. The seasons change. Technology. Relationships. Health. Wealth. The list can go on and on.

Perspective. That can always change, too.

If you would have asked me 10 weeks ago, when I first embarked on this journey, what I thought about what was happening, I would have told you it was unfair. That it shouldn't be happening. And that I would give anything for it to go away.

Ask me now? I don't think I would change a thing. As illogical as that may sound, it is true. Charlie said the best phrase I could think of to describe this illogical feeling.

"Blessed by struggle."

Those two terms wouldn't ordinarily be paired together. But again, it's true. I reiterate: I know this was never life-threatening and still isn't, but it did and does threaten my vision. And those who are lucky enough to still have their vision can only imagine what it would be like be so close to having it stripped away.

I used to drive past The Maryland School for the Blind everyday on my way to and from my now former job. I would always see kids, yes KIDS, learning to adapt to a world meant for those who could see. They would be using a guiding pole to determine edges of sidewalks and curbs. I would sit at red lights and watch in awe of the courage that must take. It's one thing to look at something making a loud noise, and know what it is. It's another to simply hear it, and not know what it looks like. The sound of whizzing cars and honking horns but the inability to see them. Unimaginable.

But here I sit, having hardly even driven at all in the past 3 months, being let go from a job, being face down for the now third week in a row, having had two surgeries, watching bill after bill show up in the mail, and having the knowledge that I will be dealing with this issue for the rest of my life. I do not know what the kids who are learning to cope with the lack of vision must be feeling. I know that they have more courage than half of the adults I know though. And with any luck, I will not have to face the choice to either have the courage to keep living life without vision, or to let the fear consume me.

Stay with me, I promise you I am going to tie this all together.

Ten weeks ago I was angry, scared, frustrated and without hope. I thought this was the beginning of the end of my vision. And I was 25. How was it fair?

We have no way of knowing how our futures will unfold. Every day driving past the school for the blind, I never imagined one day I would look at that completely different. I never saw one eye doctor appointment completely changing my life. But it has.

I could sit here and say that I'm discouraged because I made it two weeks face down and now have to do another week. I could do that, yes. But what good is it?

It's not.

Eventually, reality changes. It changes whether you want it to or not. It does it on its own. Without assistance, without concern for those living in it. But it can be affected. YOU can affect it.

My reality is this: I am still face down. My gas bubble is at 65% and things are progressing exactly how the doctor wants. My neck hurts. Every day. I am seeing flashes from the bubble decreasing, the same flashes that would ordinarily be concerning. I am walking the fine line of knowing that I will see strange things and being cautiously aware of negative changes. I have two dear friends going through a terrifying time. I have a new friend who finally got to experience something he waited months for. I have a doctor who cares. I have a group of people at Katzen who I have grown close to that were mere strangers 10 weeks ago. I have family and friends who care. People I haven't spoken to in years and strangers I don't even know are reading this and are affected by it. The expression of interest and concern since I have started this blog is mind-blowing.

When people hear me say, "I still have one more week of being face down," they immediately think it is bad. I guess it is. To them. But to me, it isn't. It's one more week in my blessed struggle. That has pushed my new marriage to limits most wouldn't experience in the first six months of marriage. That has shown me new levels of humanity I didn't know existed. That has shown me that even when reality seems like it just isn't fair, and life is passing you by while you try to patiently wait for good news, it can still be good. That you have a choice to let things change on their own, or change them yourself.

At the conclusion of my original two weeks, I start another countdown. This next week will be crucial as the bubble gets smaller. It will reveal whether my retina stays flat on its own, or detaches again.

No matter the outcome, I have an impact on it. On my reality.

Thank you to family, friends, doctor, nurses, technicians, receptionists, and readers: both strangers and familiar faces.

What do you get with a photographer, reflexive mirror,
and an iPhone? This.

Days 13 - 14 Post-Op: Reflection

February 5 - 6, 2013

Two weeks.

It has been two weeks, to the hour almost, since I was wheeled out of surgery. 

My time will more than likely be extended, we will find out tomorrow. 

Everything pretty much remains the same. I see all sorts of weird things in my eye that are almost inexplicable. Blurry swirls of blue. Rocking edges of the bubble. 

I tried to do my best to show you what it looks like. You can see the bottom of the bubble when I stand up and put my eye in light. The bottom of it (because it obviously floats up when I stand up) is right at the bottom area of my hugely dilated pupil. If I shake my head a little you can see it wiggling around. 

To you, my left eye is the one you see here on the right side.

If you look at my right eye (the one on the left in the photo) you can see the reflection of the bathroom lights in the upper part of my eye and they look white. Look at my left eye (the one on the right in the photo). You see that same white reflection in the top. Then you'll also notice the reflection looking yellow in the bottom area of my pupil. That's reflection off the bubble, not my eye itself like the white reflection. I have been trying all morning to photograph this bubble by myself, and this was the best I could get. You can click on the photo to enlarge it.

Maybe another shot at it when Ryan gets home!

Days 10 - 12 Post-Op: The Red Zone

February 2 - 4, 2013

Thursday's appointment went well, for the most part. My retina was still attached, no infection, and I'm on the right path: right where the doctor wants me to be. The downside? I couldn't have any more face-up time. Still had to be down 95%+ of each day. I was hoping to hear I could have a few more hours of up time.

Oh well.

Gas bubble size: 85%. So as the doctor says, it's still very large and I need to maintain as much face down time as possible.

My vision has been changing every day. I can see the bubble shrinking each morning when I open my eyes. I've been making note how it looks each day, and I'm hoping to make a time-lapse video of what my vision was like from surgery day through the disappearance of the bubble. That will be a fun part of this whole ordeal, for me at least!

Sleeping is still hard, I'm exhausted but it feels like the norm now.

My equilibrium is so adjusted to being face down now that when I am vertical, I stumble around like I'm drunk. The room spins and I teeter back and forth. Fortunately I am only up for a total of 30-40 minutes a day.

Neck and back pain isn't as bad, Advil keeps it pretty dull.

My eye is still swollen, my eyelid in particular. That's mostly fluid though.

Just to prove that no two people, and therefore recoveries, are the same: I did not and still have not had any issues with my eye draining and oozing. Trust me, I'm not complaining, but just because I am experiencing things, doesn't mean you will too. Keep in mind this is just my account and everyone will be different.

There are still moments where I'm frustrated and irritated. When Ryan suddenly says, "oh wow check that out!" while the TV is on, and I don't have my mirror on my tray to see it, I am reminded of the frustration that comes along with this recovery. But again, all minor inconveniences for the sake of vision. Right?

Right.

Keiko likes to play on the chair...

So does Ryan...

Now Keiko bats at Colin Kaepernick.

As I type this out, one of my best girlfriends is sitting in the hospital in labor. She and her husband will be welcoming their son, who will be arriving a little early, but we all know he and mom will do great! Things like being able to visit her, and easily watching the football game (instead of hunched over a small TV, see below), and enjoying the Super Bowl parade tomorrow do spark a little bit of frustration. I can't drive myself to see her and the baby, I couldn't go to a local bar or sit on the couch to watch the game, and I can't go to the parade. Well, I guess I could, but I would only be looking at people's feet. Not too appealing. My mind just has to keep reminding me, "only a little while longer."

Just a few more days. Thursday is another appointment. We will see if my two weeks of face down life will be ending or continuing.

Let's hope I get some time back up in the clouds and off of the ground. It's like I'm in the red zone, and I just have to break the plane.

Ryan rigged a TV for me- my own private viewing screen! He's such a fantastic husband. He deserves a trophy. But I swear, he wasn't the reason the Lombardi went missing briefly! I'll get him his own one day...

My private view!

Days 8 & 9 Post-Op: "The only disability in life is a bad attitude."

January 31, 2013 and February 1, 2013

Another rough, sleepless night. My next follow up visit is set for today, Super Purple Friday. I got a message from Ryan with a photo of him with purple hair- their ravens rally at work ended with purple spray paint. As I panned through the posts on Facebook about the upcoming football game, one struck me in particular.

A friend posted a video that aired on ESPN. I have plenty of free time, so I watched it. It's five minutes of your life, you should watch it, too. Let's be honest, most of you aren't working that much today anyway.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wd89IydtXyk

This student definitely put things in perspective. I complained last night about being sick and tired of staring at the ground, and that I was tired of my neck aching. Sick of the eye drops. All the other complaints that were pouring out of my mouth, they don't even measure up to what other people are dealing with. And I'm not saying that you should compare one person's struggle or issue to anyone else's, but what he said should resonate in everyone's mind.

"The only disability in life is a bad attitude." -Matthew Jeffers

He is a senior at my alma mater. And good for him for having his outlook on life. He has endured more in his short 21 years than most will in their entire life. And that is the same for many. Some will coast through life with minimal problems, and others will be confronted around every turn with some other obstacle.

Sleeping, eating, doing anything is frustrating in my position right now. I have been honest- it has been hard. But I can say that by the time this is all said and done, it will have been worth it.

This experience has been proof that what Matthew said is true. If Ryan hadn't kept his positive attitude, I would have pitied myself to no end. People like Matthew remind the world that even though your hand might not be in your favor right now, the game won't get any better with a poor attitude.

My appointment is at 3 PM today. I'll see if my retina is still attached and healing properly. Until I hear otherwise, I'm telling myself that it is.

Day 6 & 7 Post-Op: How far is halfway there?

January 29 and January 30, 2013

Today marks the halfway point: it has been one week since my surgery. On Friday afternoon I will go to a doctor appointment that will hopefully bring strictly good news.

Every morning I wake up with sore teeth, a swollen upper lip, and an ache in my knees. Dizziness ensues ten minutes later during my eye drops. Lunchtime brings some increased soreness as the Advil wears off. Every time I get up to stretch out, my joints creak and crack like I've been mummified for centuries. Another dose of Advil and I have a new, invigorated energy, for a few hours at least. Every movement of my eyes causes the bubble to jiggle. Imagine looking through a jello jiggler- it looks like that. The horizon line (I'm referring to the edge of the bubble) is really starting to come in clear. It is bringing me closer and closer to the end point.

Day 7 Post-Op

Oh and my eyes aren't crossed- they just look like this in the picture because of the angle I was holding the camera at! My face is in the headrest so pardon how stretched and weird I look- the photo is more to show how much better my eye looks this time around than the first time with the buckle.

Tuesday was hard- I was getting frustrated at everything. Every ache and pain was just beating me up emotionally, too. The lack of sleep was just catching up to me and I was tired of the eye drops, the pain, the facedown life. It had already been almost a week since surgery, but my mind was thinking, "it has ONLY been a week since surgery." I couldn't find my little escape to get me out of that pessimistic attitude. I couldn't nap, it was interrupted by timers for eye drops going off or just by pain. One of those two was always the culprit.

Wednesday was a little easier. I started my day with the same routine. Drops, pudding, Advil, teeth brushing, face wash, change clothes. And after 30 minutes of all of this stuff, my neck is usually ready to just try to relax, so I melt into the chair and headrest. Ryan packs my picnic, readjusts everything, puts on a movie and off to work he goes. About an hour into the movie, I'm just so tired and decide I'm going to turn down my phone and try to take advantage of this opportunity.

Three hours. Consecutively. I slept. That was the most sleep since the Monday before surgery.

There isn't too much to report here other than I am at the halfway point. But what is halfway? How far is it? Because I'm halfway to the end of the two week mark, but certainly not halfway to being back to "normal." So I honestly don't know how far halfway is.

How far can you walk into the woods?

Halfway. Then you're walking out.

Silver lining, days 6 & 7 post-op: I was able to sit outside both days on our balcony. And the sun even warmed me up on Tuesday. Never did going outside feel as good as it did these past two days. Even if I was looking primarily at the ground.

My view.