April 2014
I have never heard my doctor say these words. Ever. The flood of relief that rushed through my body was overwhelming.
"I can't say it won't happen, because we cannot be 100% sure, but you're past the point of major concern. If something was going to re-detach, it most likely would have happened by now. You're pretty much out of the woods."
Unbelievable. He pushed my appointment out four months. That's the longest I've will have gone without seeing him!
Between January and now, I did have an emergency appointment for some weird flashes and flickers I was seeing. He said it was from the small amount of the leftover vitreous gel tugging on my retina and separating. However he also said that it was not a concern and that as long as it didn't change or become worse, that it would be fine and would go away. PHEW.
On the cataract scale, I have a "dense" one. Which is the thickest portion on the scale. It's hard to see in the bright light because my pupil closes down so much that the only area of my lens receiving light has a thick cataract on it. In the dark it's a little easier to see, but still is not normal. We'll be revisiting this issue at a later date, since it's still a little early for a cataract surgery.
All in all, good news though! I've really acclimated to my vision being different, and it's worked because my right eye was unaffected. But it has been a work in progress.
I'm on the other side of this, for the time being at least, which makes me feel like I'm on top of the world.
Thursday, April 24, 2014
Thursday, January 23, 2014
One Year Anniversaries
January 2014
Anniversaries mark so many things. Events, changes (good and bad). Birthdays, graduations, marriages, new jobs. Buying a house, meeting a new friend, starting fresh.
They mark times, both happy and sad, in our lives that shape who we become. They create a sequence of events through which we can replay everything. When you recall your life, you are bringing all of these anniversaries to the surface. We spend our days looking forward to reaching new milestones, but still remembering the ones we've already met.
Thanksgiving 2013 marked one year since my diagnosis and first surgery. It was the one year anniversary of a massive wrench being thrown into my life's gears, causing every bit of it to come the a screeching halt, never to be repairable, only able to have its course changed.
I can still feel the cold breeze that was blowing as I stood outside on the phone with Katzen Eye, making that appointment. The shake in my hands. The sound of the elevator as it took me to a floor of a building where my life would change. The burn of the eye drops. The bright lights illuminating what I didn't know I had. The sound of the doctor's voice. And at the end, the silence. The silence of the entire floor as my mind went numb with fear. Every needle stick, every eye drop, every pill. It's still so fresh. But with every bitter memory, there is a sweet one. A gentle voice of a nurse, a reassuring hug, a get well card, genuine care.
And now, one year later, I've shared a year of my life with anyone who wanted to listen. Why do we share our lives? With strangers? Is it inherent in all of us to share life, to propagate it to others? Everyone has a story. A beginning, an end. And all that time in between. Your "anniversaries;" they create your unique story. The people you meet along the way, they all become characters in your story.
The time since my diagnosis is full of firsts. Firsts that have now become anniversaries. Good and bad, they've happened. Holiday memories riddled with doctor's appointments, pain, medicine, and the inability to enjoy things. So this year we were determined to make it yet another year of firsts. The first holiday since my surgeries. The best holiday since my surgeries. It was scary to think that it had already been a year since everything changed. But here's to it being better.
And now we're well into the new year; and while this week last year was spent receiving the recovery equipment that has now given me PTSD every time I see a massage chair, I'm happy to say that this one year anniversary of my second surgery is being spent in a far better state. It will never fade, the memory of what happened and how, well, traumatic, it was; that will always be there.
My retina is still attached, but my cataract is really bad. It's much worse in daylight and bright light. Cataract surgery will be some time down the road, but inevitable. Although at this point, cataract surgery seems like a walk in the park compared to anything else I have had done to my eyes.
Thanks again for everyone's support over the past year and few months. Let's hope the only updates I post to this blog are positive ones!
And now here's a skateboarding cat, because who doesn't want to see that?! Click here!
Anniversaries mark so many things. Events, changes (good and bad). Birthdays, graduations, marriages, new jobs. Buying a house, meeting a new friend, starting fresh.
They mark times, both happy and sad, in our lives that shape who we become. They create a sequence of events through which we can replay everything. When you recall your life, you are bringing all of these anniversaries to the surface. We spend our days looking forward to reaching new milestones, but still remembering the ones we've already met.
Thanksgiving 2013 marked one year since my diagnosis and first surgery. It was the one year anniversary of a massive wrench being thrown into my life's gears, causing every bit of it to come the a screeching halt, never to be repairable, only able to have its course changed.
I can still feel the cold breeze that was blowing as I stood outside on the phone with Katzen Eye, making that appointment. The shake in my hands. The sound of the elevator as it took me to a floor of a building where my life would change. The burn of the eye drops. The bright lights illuminating what I didn't know I had. The sound of the doctor's voice. And at the end, the silence. The silence of the entire floor as my mind went numb with fear. Every needle stick, every eye drop, every pill. It's still so fresh. But with every bitter memory, there is a sweet one. A gentle voice of a nurse, a reassuring hug, a get well card, genuine care.
And now, one year later, I've shared a year of my life with anyone who wanted to listen. Why do we share our lives? With strangers? Is it inherent in all of us to share life, to propagate it to others? Everyone has a story. A beginning, an end. And all that time in between. Your "anniversaries;" they create your unique story. The people you meet along the way, they all become characters in your story.
The time since my diagnosis is full of firsts. Firsts that have now become anniversaries. Good and bad, they've happened. Holiday memories riddled with doctor's appointments, pain, medicine, and the inability to enjoy things. So this year we were determined to make it yet another year of firsts. The first holiday since my surgeries. The best holiday since my surgeries. It was scary to think that it had already been a year since everything changed. But here's to it being better.
And now we're well into the new year; and while this week last year was spent receiving the recovery equipment that has now given me PTSD every time I see a massage chair, I'm happy to say that this one year anniversary of my second surgery is being spent in a far better state. It will never fade, the memory of what happened and how, well, traumatic, it was; that will always be there.
My retina is still attached, but my cataract is really bad. It's much worse in daylight and bright light. Cataract surgery will be some time down the road, but inevitable. Although at this point, cataract surgery seems like a walk in the park compared to anything else I have had done to my eyes.
Thanks again for everyone's support over the past year and few months. Let's hope the only updates I post to this blog are positive ones!
And now here's a skateboarding cat, because who doesn't want to see that?! Click here!
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