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.