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!
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| 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.
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