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.