Attachment
By the time I managed to see a doctor in ess eff, my vision was noticeably worse. The dark spot was blotting out about 30% of my vision and the remainder of my visual field was beginning to warp and blur, which is a sign that the detachment had started to reach my macula, the central part of the retina which is responsible for visual acuity. A technician took photos of the inside of my eye, which I saw on the computer screen. Normally the eye has a warm orange glow, but in the photos about a third of my eye was cloudy and dark, like someone had turned the lights off.
Given that the opthamologist in Toronto had been in such a hurry to get me into surgery, I assumed that I would have my operation on the same day that I came into the retina clinic. But the detachment had progressed so much in the intervening days that the opthamologist decided that I needed some procedures that could not be done at the clinic and scheduled me for surgery at a nearby hospital two days later. My co-workers gifted me with a nice card and a gift certificate for a weeks' worth of delivery food and a number of jaunty decorative eye-patches.
There are several techniques that can be used to reattach the retina when it starts to peel off the back of the eye. There's vitrectomy, in which the surgeon removed the vitreous gel from the inside of the eye to stop it from pulling on the detached retina and in order to get better access to the site of the detachment. There's pneumatic retinoplexy, in which the surgeon uses lasers or a freezing probe to tack the retina back into place and then injects a gas bubble which pushes the newly-sealed retina up against the sclera while it heals. The gas bubble procedure requires the patient to position their head so that the gas bubble pushes up against the healing tear for as much time as possible. This usually means lying face-down for 22 hours a day for a week. And there's the scleral buckle, in which the surgeon sews a silicone buckle around the circumference of the eye to relieve push the sclera up against the newly-repaired retina from the outside. My surgery included all three procedures, mercifully performed under general anesthesia.
You discover strange things about yourself when you're under pressure. I discovered that I joke a lot with hospital staff to cover up my nervousness. I discovered that I am the sort of person who will put on makeup and nice underwear before going into surgery. I discovered that the hospital staff would not make me remove all of my piercings before surgery, provided that the piercings were sufficiently far away from my eyeball. I discovered that unlike my impoverished non-profit employers, J's corporate masters have paid for the finest medical insurance money can obtain and I was glad that we had taken the time to actually marry one another.
I discovered that I have an adverse reaction to whatever the hospital used as my general anesthetic. I spent my first eight hours post-surgery with my head positioned downwards (as required for the next seven days) and throwing up.
Let it be known that people are kind. J picked up my prescriptions and patiently took me to my appointments. My father found me a giant, ultra-firm neck pillow that I could use for my endless hours of "positioning." My mother loaded an mp3 player with audio books--Terry Pratchett and George R. R. Martin, because she knew that I would not want to think too hard. S brought over her massage table. People sent flowers and offered to visit.
I am a cranky patient. Lying face down, I could not read or use my laptop or watch television. My neck and back would ache. The air bubble in my eye meant that even after the patch was removed, I could not see out of my injured eye. I could detect motion, but I couldn't see how many fingers I was holding up in front of my face. Trying to read with my one good eye made my head ache. I would listen to books about witches, periodically applying eye drops, and hoping for sleep. When my red and swollen eye calmed down enough for me to get a decent look at it, I could see the stitches.
Do you know that it is possible to be terrified and bored at the same time? Lesson learned.
Given that the opthamologist in Toronto had been in such a hurry to get me into surgery, I assumed that I would have my operation on the same day that I came into the retina clinic. But the detachment had progressed so much in the intervening days that the opthamologist decided that I needed some procedures that could not be done at the clinic and scheduled me for surgery at a nearby hospital two days later. My co-workers gifted me with a nice card and a gift certificate for a weeks' worth of delivery food and a number of jaunty decorative eye-patches.
There are several techniques that can be used to reattach the retina when it starts to peel off the back of the eye. There's vitrectomy, in which the surgeon removed the vitreous gel from the inside of the eye to stop it from pulling on the detached retina and in order to get better access to the site of the detachment. There's pneumatic retinoplexy, in which the surgeon uses lasers or a freezing probe to tack the retina back into place and then injects a gas bubble which pushes the newly-sealed retina up against the sclera while it heals. The gas bubble procedure requires the patient to position their head so that the gas bubble pushes up against the healing tear for as much time as possible. This usually means lying face-down for 22 hours a day for a week. And there's the scleral buckle, in which the surgeon sews a silicone buckle around the circumference of the eye to relieve push the sclera up against the newly-repaired retina from the outside. My surgery included all three procedures, mercifully performed under general anesthesia.
You discover strange things about yourself when you're under pressure. I discovered that I joke a lot with hospital staff to cover up my nervousness. I discovered that I am the sort of person who will put on makeup and nice underwear before going into surgery. I discovered that the hospital staff would not make me remove all of my piercings before surgery, provided that the piercings were sufficiently far away from my eyeball. I discovered that unlike my impoverished non-profit employers, J's corporate masters have paid for the finest medical insurance money can obtain and I was glad that we had taken the time to actually marry one another.
I discovered that I have an adverse reaction to whatever the hospital used as my general anesthetic. I spent my first eight hours post-surgery with my head positioned downwards (as required for the next seven days) and throwing up.
Let it be known that people are kind. J picked up my prescriptions and patiently took me to my appointments. My father found me a giant, ultra-firm neck pillow that I could use for my endless hours of "positioning." My mother loaded an mp3 player with audio books--Terry Pratchett and George R. R. Martin, because she knew that I would not want to think too hard. S brought over her massage table. People sent flowers and offered to visit.
I am a cranky patient. Lying face down, I could not read or use my laptop or watch television. My neck and back would ache. The air bubble in my eye meant that even after the patch was removed, I could not see out of my injured eye. I could detect motion, but I couldn't see how many fingers I was holding up in front of my face. Trying to read with my one good eye made my head ache. I would listen to books about witches, periodically applying eye drops, and hoping for sleep. When my red and swollen eye calmed down enough for me to get a decent look at it, I could see the stitches.
Do you know that it is possible to be terrified and bored at the same time? Lesson learned.