Early Onset Cataracts and Me - Part 1
This is the first part of what I had hoped to make a running (and possibly separate) blog of my experiences with cataract surgery. I was motivated to write it as a result of being able to find next to no information about the subject for anyone under the age of 40 and over the age of 10. I still intend to hammer out the final two parts but to put the recent Facebook posts in context, here's what I had thrown together as part one. I originally wrote this back in August.
It was a typically brisk February morning in northern New England. As I reached down to my right to flick my car's defroster on, I was surprised to find that I had to turn my head dramatically to the right to identify the pictographs surrounding the dial. The exaggerated rotation served to allow my left eye, rather than my right, to make the determination as to which selection was which. Such was the start of my current journey to correct a fast developing, early-onset cataract.
At the time I shrugged off the minor inconvenience. I was getting older and had enjoyed 28 years of perfect vision. I assumed that I was simply falling victim to the deteriorating eyesight that my parents had dealt with for years, and made no significant note of the situation other than to change my work-sponsored health insurance to cover vision care upon the ensuing renewal period.
By late 2009 I made an appointment for a professional eye exam. It would be the first test of my vision of any kind since my regular physical exams for high-school sports. By this point it had become clear that something needed to be done. Closing my left eye I was only able to identify shapes and colors with my right. Reading text smaller than a quarter inch was impossible at any distance and glare had become a noticeable distraction when driving at night.
After checking in at the Optometrist's office, the Rose and I spent a few minutes browsing and trying on the office's selection of eye glasses. I assumed that I'd be leaving the office that day with a corrective prescription and a new appreciation for all the times my friends and family had complained about the annoyances of needing glasses.
After a few preliminary health questions, the exam went on as normal. Staring across the room with both eyes at the projected eye chart through the Optometrist's lens apparatus, I read off the letters down to the sixth or seventh row. After closing the shutter over my right eye the process was repeated with similar results. It was when the shutter was moved to cover my left eye that the reality of my vision's degradation set in. Directly contrasting the image of the chart led me to an uncomfortable laugh. I struggled to focus on the letters in only the second row of the chart and the letters below appeared only as rough rectangles and then only dots.
After dilating both my pupils, the doctor took a closer look at my right eye and discovered the "rather large" cataract. So large in fact that he had trouble shinning light around it and off of my retina to get a full view. His remark that it was "actually very pretty" did little to improve my deepening concern. We briefly discussed my options and he left the decision in my hands, with an overall message that cataract surgery is a matter of personal preference, especially at my age. When the effects of the cataract become too much of an annoyance, you have the surgery. He did agree that cataracts at my age were far from common, and even less so in the case of someone with none of the typical contributing factors to early onset cataracts like smoking, certain medications or eye trauma. I left the office that day with far more questions than answers and blinking like crazy as a result of my artificially dilated pupils.
It was a typically brisk February morning in northern New England. As I reached down to my right to flick my car's defroster on, I was surprised to find that I had to turn my head dramatically to the right to identify the pictographs surrounding the dial. The exaggerated rotation served to allow my left eye, rather than my right, to make the determination as to which selection was which. Such was the start of my current journey to correct a fast developing, early-onset cataract.
At the time I shrugged off the minor inconvenience. I was getting older and had enjoyed 28 years of perfect vision. I assumed that I was simply falling victim to the deteriorating eyesight that my parents had dealt with for years, and made no significant note of the situation other than to change my work-sponsored health insurance to cover vision care upon the ensuing renewal period.
By late 2009 I made an appointment for a professional eye exam. It would be the first test of my vision of any kind since my regular physical exams for high-school sports. By this point it had become clear that something needed to be done. Closing my left eye I was only able to identify shapes and colors with my right. Reading text smaller than a quarter inch was impossible at any distance and glare had become a noticeable distraction when driving at night.
After checking in at the Optometrist's office, the Rose and I spent a few minutes browsing and trying on the office's selection of eye glasses. I assumed that I'd be leaving the office that day with a corrective prescription and a new appreciation for all the times my friends and family had complained about the annoyances of needing glasses.
After a few preliminary health questions, the exam went on as normal. Staring across the room with both eyes at the projected eye chart through the Optometrist's lens apparatus, I read off the letters down to the sixth or seventh row. After closing the shutter over my right eye the process was repeated with similar results. It was when the shutter was moved to cover my left eye that the reality of my vision's degradation set in. Directly contrasting the image of the chart led me to an uncomfortable laugh. I struggled to focus on the letters in only the second row of the chart and the letters below appeared only as rough rectangles and then only dots.
After dilating both my pupils, the doctor took a closer look at my right eye and discovered the "rather large" cataract. So large in fact that he had trouble shinning light around it and off of my retina to get a full view. His remark that it was "actually very pretty" did little to improve my deepening concern. We briefly discussed my options and he left the decision in my hands, with an overall message that cataract surgery is a matter of personal preference, especially at my age. When the effects of the cataract become too much of an annoyance, you have the surgery. He did agree that cataracts at my age were far from common, and even less so in the case of someone with none of the typical contributing factors to early onset cataracts like smoking, certain medications or eye trauma. I left the office that day with far more questions than answers and blinking like crazy as a result of my artificially dilated pupils.