Day of Diagnosis

It's been hard to think about how to start these posts. In hindsight, I should have started it as I was going along, but that just reiterates the fact that I had no idea how involved and difficult this would all be. 

I sat there in the waiting room. I was the only person under 75 years old (aside from employees) in there. 

"Mrs. Dooley, you can come back now." 

Being newly married it was funny hearing me being called that, especially since this was the first time I had seen a doctor since getting married. My husband said, "for a second I thought I was at the eye doctor with my grandmother!" Thanks sweetie, you know how to cheer me up. 

When Dr. Grodin came into the room and looked in my eyes, he looked in the right one first. I didn't know any of the technical terms I've come to recognize now. Nothing sounded that bad though. Then he looked in my left eye. He pulled the equipment away after looking, said very little to the tech, Charlie, who you will get to know throughout these posts, and looked back at me. 

"I'm really glad you came in today. You have a retinal detachment in your left eye. You also have lattice in both eyes."

He went on to explain a little about lattice, but he asked, based off my reaction of immediate tears, if I knew what a retinal detachment was. I answered honestly- I looked up my symptoms on the Internet. BIG mistake. DON'T DO THIS! It's just dumb. Like the memes say, "Stomach ache? Must be cancer. Courtesy of web md!" In this case my inkling was confirmed, but nevertheless, the information and care you receive from a doctor far outweighs any sense of knowledge you get from the Internet. Dr. Grodin gave us a moment (whenever I say us I am referring to my husband and I. His name is Ryan. We just got married in May of 2012). Charlie, the technician, walked out with the doctor, but not before patting me on the shoulder and saying, "don't worry, it will be okay, you're in great hands" with a comforting smile. 

I don't think I truly digested what was happening. I couldn't really form cohesive thoughts. Images of being blind were swarming my thoughts. My mind was fogged with horrible insights into a future without vision. How would I continue to be a photographer if I couldn't see? How could I cook and bake if I couldn't see? How could I do anything if I couldn't see? 

The doctor came back in with Charlie. He reassured me it would all be okay. That he would do everything he could to make this all just become a distant memory-eventually. We discussed the surgeries in more detail, he answered questions, and we decided on the scleral buckle. Here's where more emotions flooded me. I had just started to calm down from the initial shock of something wrong in my eyes, which could cause blindness (scary) and here we go again- scheduling surgery. 

"Charlie- what does my Wednesday look like?"

Wednesday?! As in less than 48 hours from now? No. Too soon. I can't. 

"Um, I think we can do that."

Shoot. Not looking good. More fear is boiling inside. 

"Let me get Dr. Harlan to look in your eyes, because if I can't do this on Wednesday, you will need to have it done Monday."

Ok this sounds a little better. Or does it? Waiting a whole week? 

Dr. Harlan comes in, this is the other retina specialist at the office, takes a look and we have the surgical schedule finalized during the process. Wednesday would be the day. Ok, this is manageable...

"You'll need to go down to Doctors Express tonight to get the pre-surgical exam. You need clearance, so if you are cleared, surgery is Wednesday. If for some reason you aren't, surgery is Monday." Here's where I start to barter with the doctor. I said I think I need to go tomorrow, that tonight has already been bad enough. Nope. Not allowed. Oh well, I tried... But it's still not over. Now that we've addressed the detachment, let's go back to the little thing called lattice. I would now be told, "you have lattice in both eyes. We will treat the lattice in the left post operatively. However, we really want to prevent a detachment in your right eye. I really want to do some prophylactic laser treatment to help prevent a potential future detachment in that eye."

Come on! When will it stop? At this point I think my adrenaline was pumping so much that I just went with it. 

"Let's do this. Let's laser this eye."

So long story cut down- they take a large cone shaped contact, put a jelly like substance on one side to but place directly on my eye (all of this after some numbing drops) and one end for the doc to shoot laser beams through. He would be creating scar tissue to adhere the retina to the back of my eye in hopes it would not detach. It takes a week or so for the scar tissue to form. He moved circularly through my eye, hitting each perforation going 360 degrees around each. Some areas were small. Those areas did not hurt. It was mostly uncomfortable. There were other areas though. The bad areas. They hurt. It almost felt like someone was taking a dulled needle and just scratching in my eye. The whole thing took about 10 minutes, which at this point made me ecstatic considering he told me probably 15-20! Small miracles here. 

My eye is rinsed out and it's all over. I am escorted out to reception where I am give my handy folder of information to scare me more, and get a rundown of what happens next. 

Go get a physical. Go home. Rest. (Ha, like I can rest after all of this). No food or drink after 8pm Tuesday. Dr. Harlan happens to be walking by. He comes out. He then sits there for 10 minutes in the waiting room with Ryan and I and just talks to me. The office was closed. It was 7pm. He had no obligation to stay. I wasn't even his patient. That was one of the many moments that evening that made me feel like if I was going to have to deal with this, that this office was the place to be. 

So the physical happened, I was cleared. Tuesday was a blur. I spent a fair chunk of the day on the phone with family telling them what was happening. Surprisingly enough I fell asleep early. Woke up ready to go. Suspiciously confident actually. 

Until waiting in Dulaney Eye Institute for my name to be called. I was fine before that. Talking, joking around. 

"Mrs. Dooley, you can come back now."

Not these words again. Here come the tears. I hug Ryan and my mother and head back with the nurse. The tears are just pouring at this point. I think to myself, "have you lost your mind? You are out of control." But again, I'm greeted with compassion. The nurse stands there in the middle of the hall of the prep rooms, and just talks to me. Before I know it I'm wiping away the final tear and changing into an ever-so-stylish hospital gown. Should have used a little blush that morning- the white really washed me out. With my right eye red and irritated from the laser treatment on Monday, I prepare for what will make that eye look normal: a scleral buckle. 

Pre-surgery, November 28, 2012