It’s Friday, June 26th, and I’ve just learned that the recalcitrant growth on the retina will have to undergo a shaving. The “cellophane retinopathy,” an old medical term no longer used in the prestigious halls of UCLA Medical School, heretofore known as the “epi-retinal membrane," will have to be surgically peeled off.
Now, why I get these little hanger-oners, I have no idea, but I’m damn tired of it. First it’s the herniated disk that refuses to unherniate, even after the good doc does the surgery; then the thumb joint decides to do away with anything as helpful as some nice little cushioning between bones; next the cataract decides to obliterate my vision, while hiding the fact that stuff was piggybacking on the retina, so now I have to get that sucker peeled off before I go blind.
I asked the good doc how the procedure was carried out. He said to imagine trying to remove a piece of Scotch tape from a photo. If you go real slow and hold your mouth just right, it might come off completely clean, without taking any of the photo paper with it. However, and here’s the sad part, if some of the photo paper (e.g. the epi-retinal membrane) decides to come off with the Scotch tape,(e.g. the paring knife) then… he stopped right there, shrugged, and said not to worry. Anything could happen, he continued… “I could drop the knife in your eye, an earthquake could shake the building and then…. or the knife could get a little germ on it and it would be transferred to the eyeball…”
ENOUGH! I cried. If he wasn’t so dang good looking I would have run from the room, screaming, but alas I'm a sucker for a gorgeous face.
There is definitely something to be said about “The good old days.” Why didn’t we appreciate those days when we had them? I guess we… (“We” as in anyone over 50) just took those days as they came, always thinking of what the next day would bring and never realizing that the good days were slipping away as we pushed them aside and called on the next day. Oh, I want them back!
But I digress:
Here’s what the good doc told me when I queried, “Just tell me the risks because I already know the benefits.” He didn’t hold back…
For starters, how about: vitreous hemorrhage; infection; elevated eye pressure (glaucoma); non-healing corneal defects; double vision; eyelid droop; loss of circulation to vital tissues in eye, resulting in decrease or loss of vision; permanent blindness or diminished visual acuity; loss of eye; anesthetic complications, including death! Now, how could I refuse to undergo such a noninvasive surgery?
Actually, he said that the odds were 1 in 1000 that things could go wrong. I would have preferred a 1 in 100,000,000, but he didn’t offer that. So, I go, because I have no choice. No go…no license…no driving…no shopping…no freedom…a whole lot of “nos.”
Wish me luck!
Showing posts with label retinal surgery. Show all posts
Showing posts with label retinal surgery. Show all posts
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
THE HATEFUL EYE CHART
My high-risk surgery on 4/20/09, for removal of a despicable cataract in my left eye, went well.
My thoughtful best friend, Gail, took me to UCLA Jules Stein Eye Center, where Dr. Caprioli did the surgery. After a wonderful cocktail of magical potions, I drifted off to LA-LA land, and awoke, prone, watching the surgeon’s shadow while he was mid-suture with 9-0 nylon. I wanted to tell him to take an extra stitch to keep everything in place, but my mouth wouldn’t form the words and my voice was nowhere to be found.
After surgery, with very limited vision in the surgical eye (which was covered with a metal patch with tiny holes), and no vision in the other (due to amblyopia), Gail led me (steered me) to the car. As I’d had no food since 6 p.m. the night before, my intestines were doing the macarena. After a short nap at our hotel, Gail led (pushed) me across the street to Ralphs, where they had an incredible bakery, which I just knew would improve my vision after ingesting a gooey sweet and some coffee.
I only walked into two walls and three people, so I felt reasonably sure I could drive soon. But, while we stood in line to check out, I was having a very gut level talk with Gail about losing my eyesight. In the middle of my gut-wrenching tale, without my knowledge, she left me for a second to grab something from another aisle. Of course, I babbled on, talking very animatedly (I later learned) to a shelf of canned, pitted olives and artichokes canned in oil. Very embarrassing! I could hear passers-by comment on the poor homeless person talking to herself, and debating whether they should help me or report me to the manager.
The next day I removed the patch from my left eye and was delighted that the world around me looked a little brighter and much clearer than before surgery. Alright, I admit it, I’m a cockeyed optimist. After a hospital cafeteria breakfast of powdered eggs and very tired bacon, Gail packed the car and drove us back to her house in Orange County.
The next day, three days post-op, I was sure I was ready to drive back to my winter home in Palm Desert, CA., a trip of only 121 miles. Gail, ever the realist, suggested we go to Wal-Mart and see if they would give me a quick eye test.
Now, according to the State of Washington DMV, I can only get my license renewed if I can read 20/40. Last September, after trying desperately to read 20/40, I was told I would have to take another eye test before my birthday in September of this year. If I couldn't pass the test, they'd yank my license. So you can see why I was desperate for 20/40 vision.
When the Wal-Mart optometrist put up the lighted chart and told me to put my hand over my right eye, I could read so many lines I expected her to cheer. However, I later learned they most assuredly were lines extemporaneously placed there by the guy who made the chart to fool people into believing they had good vision, or else proof that they knew the alphabet.
But then the optometrist scrolled down a line and asked, “Good, okay, now what do you see?” I faltered.
“Ummm, I can’t read that line.” And so it went for three more lines. Okay, but hey, I did read four lines, isn’t anyone excited about that besides me? “What’s the vision line that I read without a hitch?” I asked the optometrist.
“You were just below 20/40,” she replied, “but you were close on a couple of the letters.”
I was devastated. How could that be? I had my cataract removed; I was ready to take on the DMV. Then she asked when my surgery had taken place. When told it had only been three days, she giggled with her hand over her mouth, as if not to offend the idiot sitting in her chair.
I was disappointed that my distance vision had not changed after the surgery. But, she said it would take a month to really see if it was a success. If it was not, then I will have to undergo another surgery to remove a retinal growth; that's where the danger of swelling comes in. So, in three more weeks I’ll know whether I’ll be home free or back to UCLA.
Wish me luck!
My thoughtful best friend, Gail, took me to UCLA Jules Stein Eye Center, where Dr. Caprioli did the surgery. After a wonderful cocktail of magical potions, I drifted off to LA-LA land, and awoke, prone, watching the surgeon’s shadow while he was mid-suture with 9-0 nylon. I wanted to tell him to take an extra stitch to keep everything in place, but my mouth wouldn’t form the words and my voice was nowhere to be found.
After surgery, with very limited vision in the surgical eye (which was covered with a metal patch with tiny holes), and no vision in the other (due to amblyopia), Gail led me (steered me) to the car. As I’d had no food since 6 p.m. the night before, my intestines were doing the macarena. After a short nap at our hotel, Gail led (pushed) me across the street to Ralphs, where they had an incredible bakery, which I just knew would improve my vision after ingesting a gooey sweet and some coffee.
I only walked into two walls and three people, so I felt reasonably sure I could drive soon. But, while we stood in line to check out, I was having a very gut level talk with Gail about losing my eyesight. In the middle of my gut-wrenching tale, without my knowledge, she left me for a second to grab something from another aisle. Of course, I babbled on, talking very animatedly (I later learned) to a shelf of canned, pitted olives and artichokes canned in oil. Very embarrassing! I could hear passers-by comment on the poor homeless person talking to herself, and debating whether they should help me or report me to the manager.
The next day I removed the patch from my left eye and was delighted that the world around me looked a little brighter and much clearer than before surgery. Alright, I admit it, I’m a cockeyed optimist. After a hospital cafeteria breakfast of powdered eggs and very tired bacon, Gail packed the car and drove us back to her house in Orange County.
The next day, three days post-op, I was sure I was ready to drive back to my winter home in Palm Desert, CA., a trip of only 121 miles. Gail, ever the realist, suggested we go to Wal-Mart and see if they would give me a quick eye test.
Now, according to the State of Washington DMV, I can only get my license renewed if I can read 20/40. Last September, after trying desperately to read 20/40, I was told I would have to take another eye test before my birthday in September of this year. If I couldn't pass the test, they'd yank my license. So you can see why I was desperate for 20/40 vision.
When the Wal-Mart optometrist put up the lighted chart and told me to put my hand over my right eye, I could read so many lines I expected her to cheer. However, I later learned they most assuredly were lines extemporaneously placed there by the guy who made the chart to fool people into believing they had good vision, or else proof that they knew the alphabet.
But then the optometrist scrolled down a line and asked, “Good, okay, now what do you see?” I faltered.
“Ummm, I can’t read that line.” And so it went for three more lines. Okay, but hey, I did read four lines, isn’t anyone excited about that besides me? “What’s the vision line that I read without a hitch?” I asked the optometrist.
“You were just below 20/40,” she replied, “but you were close on a couple of the letters.”
I was devastated. How could that be? I had my cataract removed; I was ready to take on the DMV. Then she asked when my surgery had taken place. When told it had only been three days, she giggled with her hand over her mouth, as if not to offend the idiot sitting in her chair.
I was disappointed that my distance vision had not changed after the surgery. But, she said it would take a month to really see if it was a success. If it was not, then I will have to undergo another surgery to remove a retinal growth; that's where the danger of swelling comes in. So, in three more weeks I’ll know whether I’ll be home free or back to UCLA.
Wish me luck!
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