Waiting is part of the process in everything. Slapping together ingredients and creating a stir-fry takes time. You have to wait for the meat to be browned, for the vegetables to be fried, the rice to cook, and not to mention prep time. There are things to gather from an overflowing garden or the silent supermarket. The water has to be brought to a boil, the pan warmed. Only after each individual step in finished can you put them together and make a masterpiece. Only then can you taste the harsh seasoning of the food on your taste-buds.
Everything takes time. Nothing happens in in a split second. Even car crashes can take several minutes or seem even longer. Losing weight can take months. Writing a thesis can take a year, or more. Building self-esteem has the ability to last even longer.
I'm waiting for something that will never happen. I'm waiting for a change that will never be anything more than a figment of my imagination. Sure, there may be minor differences here and there, but it will not be anything major. I'll rejoice everytime it changes, but I will not wish for more. Not because I don't want it, I do, but because I don’t NEED it.
I'm speaking of my vision. In my left eye, I have 20/250 sight. By this standard, I am considered legally blind in my left eye. I can see shapes, colors, etcetera. But things are different. Everything is adjusted up and to the right. My depth perception is off in both eyes from this, meaning a flying object three feet away can see like six, or right about to hit me. The eye is nothing more than a peripheral, and not a very good one at that, for my forcibly dominant eye.
In the fall of 2010, I was playing a simple game of football at school. No tackle, no physical touch. Nothing more than a game. I adore sports, especially being active in them. During this game, nearly 1/2 or 3/4 of a football field, I had enough talent to catch a football with my face. I mean, come on, who else is just that awesome? Exactly. There was momentary pain as my glasses connected with my cheekbone and above my eye. No contact to my actual eye. Brushing it off, I rejoined the game.
You know when something is so slow you don't notice as it happens? This happened to me. Gradually, my vision left me. I paid no mind, didn't even realize until it was too late. In the spring, six months later, I had my annual exam for glasses. He left the room for what seemed like hours, but most likely only twenty minutes. His assistants returned with him and everyone wore a somber expression. Painstakingly, they told me I had something called a "Retinal Detachment". Without truly explaining, I was sent to a specialist the very next day.
Doctor Carmelina Gordon. A female Filipino who had patients coming from out of state to have her operate on them. She was a short woman at only five feet and I towered over her with my five foot seven height. Before I was allowed into her office, my eye had to be prepped. This included a quick vision test, eye pressure test, and the dilating of my pupil. Nearly an hour after arriving, my mother and I shuffled into the tiny room.
The retina is located at the back of the eye, on the inside. It is made of two separate layers so closely entangled you can barely tell the difference. A retinal detachment is when the retina detaches, obviously. This happens from pressure on the eye. In my case, it was pressure around the eye and only lasted a second. This was enough time, apparently. During this short time of pressure, the retina is forced away from the eye. Liquid can force the retina to bubble up, a movement akin to hair in the water. To truly sink home the thinness of the retina, think of a hard boiled egg. You have the shell, a thin film and then the egg white and yoke. The retina is like that tiny film. Retinal detachment is common in elderly patients and those with extreme nearsightedness. Being nearsighted causes the retina to be pulled tighter and become thinner.
 Without the retina attached, you cannot see. The world is black. To fix this problem, my doctor recommended a scleral buckle. A ring of plastic. The eye would be cut in four places, like the corners of a square. The scleral buckle would then be threaded underneath the skin and sewed to the eye. Contrary to popular belief, the eye is not removed from the socket. For this procedure, the patient is under general anesthesia, where you are completely out. A nitrogen bubble is placed inside the eyeball, which will be absorbed over the course of [generally] two weeks. Depending on where the retina is detached, the patient must lay in a specific position. In my case, it was nearly upside down.
My first surgery was difficult. It happened the first week of March. The 7th to be exact. The doctor had edged around how much pain would be involved, most likely to not scare me. The first surgery was at the Ingham Regional Medical Center in Michigan, the state where I live. The hospital was not used to such surgeries, where a surgeon would come in. I was at the medical center for nearly twelve hours. The surgery took three, the recovery three, and the prep six.
All that was done during the prep time was the IV, dilating my pupils with drops, pressure tests, getting me into the hospital gown (only one size?) and hooking me up to machines. The whole thing should have taken less than an hour. Once the hospital finally did decide I was ready for surgery, six hours later, I was wheeled back to the surgery room. A pure white place filled with people wearing scrubs. Injecting the anesthesia into my IV, they had me count back from a hundred. I didn't make it to ninety-one before my eyes closed.
The next thing I remember hearing some old lady next to me ask, "What happened to her?" and a nurse replying, "This girl's been through a lot more than she should have been." Groggy, I blinked a couple of times and must have made a noise because the nurse turned to me and told me she was going to roll me over because of my eye. I remember being stubborn and doing it myself. Then I passed out.
The next time I came to, I was in my original room. My family was seated off to the side and I think my mother was crying. As I turned my head to look to the right, pain paralyzed me. My eye, it hurt, so bad. Tears welled to the surface and I cried out. My dad called for the nurse, who was already at my side. But she refused to give me pain killers. No, I would need to eat something first and THEN I would receive pain killers. The anesthesia in my stomach needed to be absorbed because, apparently, the anesthesiologist had given me nearly twice as much as he should have.
Sitting up was hard for me. I was light headed and nauseous, plus the world would not quit spinning. Try as I might, I could not eat the crackers she gave me. My mouth was too dry and they made me feel even worse. I was able to suck down a mouthful or two of water. In between tears and listening to my family tell me I needed to eat, I tried to explain how nauseated I felt and how the food only made me feel worse. Applesauce was retrieved and they forced me to eat. I could only cry and rock in a ball of pain. What little food I ate left my stomach in a hurry when they tried to have me stand.
Dressing was even more difficult. There was a patch over my left eye and I could barely stand. Walking out of the hospital, I remember leaning heavily on my mother. The helper at the door, who I had held a conversation with upon first entering, gave me a sympathetic look. Before the car had even left the parking lot, I was asleep in my cocoon of blankets.
The next day, I had a check-up at the doctors. My eyelashes had to be pried apart and my eye held open for the light. I didn't cry, but I tried to crack jokes that only ended up sounding pitiful and weak. My eye pressure, they said, was high. For this, I was given eye drops along with the eight (yes, eight!) to be given four times a day until the next appointment.
Every eye has pressure. Generally, they are around 13-17. Anything over or under can cause pain, headaches, nausea, etc. Extremely high and you can get glaucoma or become blind. After my first surgery, my eye pressure was twenty.
For the next two weeks, I was off of school. This time was spent upside down, literally. Every hour, I had ten minutes of free time. This was spent on bathroom breaks, eye drops, or eating. I even slept upside down.
The appearance of my eye was horrendous. The white part was red, not even bloodshot. Just red. Where they had cut around the lens was an off yellow. There was bruising and it looked like I had gotten into a fight at a bar; green, yellow and some pink.
Unfortunately, my retina still not reattach. To fix this, another surgery was necessary. This would thicken the scleral buckle which meant unstitching it, removing it, stitching the holes shut, and then doing the opposite within a centimeter away. Another nitrous oxide bubble would be placed inside my eye, to be absorbed and put pressure on the retina.
The second surgery was the worst and took place on the 17th of March. For humor, I wore green and asked the nurses not to pinch me "too hard". Unlike the first, it was at a surgery center. The IV took three tries to get it in and the prep time nearly an hour and a half. Like the first, I was under general anesthesia. The recovery time was shorter, only two hours. My eye had a patch. The nurses asked me on a scale one to ten, what the pain was (ten was dying). I told them thirteen. Unlike the medical center, I was given pain killers. When the pain was at a six, they released me. I was asleep before we left the parking lot.
My eye was so light sensitive. The nurses couldn't shine lights in my eyes and, in the office itself, I sat in the dark curled into a ball. This was the second time I cried. Doctor Gordon had to have the nurse hold my eye open so she could see the retina. My eye pressure was 26. I should have been in excruciating pain just from that, but the pressure had no effect on my eye.
My eye earned me several dirty looks from elderly people. I looked like I had been in a fight, obviously.
The next appointment was scheduled for three weeks. During this time, I didn't leave the house. I was excused from school, again. Sixteen to eighteen hours a day, I slept and would have more if it wasn't necessary to have eye drops. The house had to be pitch black, because even the slightest light caused enormous pain. The Tylenol 3 they gave me was gone before my next appointment. When I'm in pain, I can't bring myself to eat. I was force-fed applesauce for a week because I was in so much pain. Between the second surgery date and the next appointment (a mere three weeks), I lost ten pounds. Gradually, things began to get better. There wasn't as much pain and I could withstand some light.
At the appointment, it was discovered that my retina was attached. Everyone was ecstatic! Finally! Only two surgeries later, one more than most people have. To be certain, my mother and I would return in a week.
My retina detached again. My doctor was running out of options. What else could we do if we had already done it and failed? In a last ditched effort, we agreed on another surgery. This one would be simply to place a gas bubble in my eye. The anesthesia would be regional, meaning I would be awake.
By now, I was so used to the prep. I was dehydrated, so my veins were smaller and the IV took three tries. They gave up after the first time in my arm, tried the back of my hand and THEN slid it in on the inside of my wrist, directly in line with my thumb.
The surgery itself was interesting and on the 9th of April. They knocked me for about five minutes or so, enough to actually prep prep me. I woke up to a plastic sheet over my head and people talking. I remember my doctor speaking with the nurses about Lady Gaga. There was pain and I asked for more medicine. The laser, the doctor said, was the most painful part. Most of the medicine did not kick in until after I was wheeled out.
I still don't understand why people like the feeling of the world spinning.
Without the use of general anesthesia, my body bounced back a lot faster. I was up and moving the next day. Felt almost zero pain and even managed to laugh with the nurses. They said I should have been screaming in agony because my eye pressure was thirty-two. Thirty six is generally when glaucoma starts. My retina was reattached, but we were careful anyways.
During all of my surgeries, I had a weight limit of fifteen pounds. I was not able to bend over or move my head too fast. After recovery, I was able to go back to school in time for exams. All in all, I was out of school since the end of February into the third week of April.
A year later, March 2012, the doctor discovered a cataract growing inside my eye.
A cataract is the forming of a "cloud" over the lens of the eye. Mine was formed from the scar tissue of my retina. A cataract is dealt with by a surgery where the lens is removed and replaced with a fake one. This lens is generally opposite the other eye. Example, if you have a nearsighted eye and a cataract, they will give you a farsighted lens. This is so the individual does not have double vision. The lens has a set number on the vision scale. Once the cataract is removed, is does not return.
The surgery was easy. I was awake for it and no anesthesia was used. Instead, the surgery center gave my eye a shot. An IV was necessary for emergencies. There was zero pain during the surgery. After, the nurses couldn't explain why I had pain. I WALKED out of the surgery center. The same day, I was up and moving. The recovery was swift. I only had to wear a patch for four hours.
There was still some left over clouding. "gook" for the lack of a better word. This will be taken care of on the 27th of this month, merely three days away. The surgery will be in the office and with a laser. Something that should not take more than fifteen minutes. They are uncertain how this will effect my vision, given I remained legally blind even though they gave me a non-blind lens.
I don't know if I'm scared, apprehensive, or excited.
I'm waiting on my vision to be as it once was. It will never be any better, except for maybe minor changes. I don't want perfect vision. I don't even want my vision to be as it once was. It's just that sometimes, learning new things can be difficult. I have to learn how to adjust, that is all. It's just that... sometimes, if I'm not paying attention, I'll have to look twice at something to be sure how it really looks.
I'm waiting. But not expecting.
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by Lixue on April 9th, 2012, 9:02 pm 
