The retina reattachment surgery of January 19:
The hospital did a prep session the previous Friday, including my first ever EKG. They determined, contrary to popular opinion on the street, that I do indeed have a heart. The surgery got green lighted with some reservation over a relatively new condition of elevated blood pressure.
The doctor was hesitant to go through with the surgery that morning, also due to the BP. The 10 mg Lisinopril had made only slight improvement. The decision to go on with it fell to me. My vision had decreased so much in the preceding months that I did not see much left to lose. The IV was already in place, pumping me with insulin and who knows what else. I was committed to do or die that day. They added a BP med to the IV cocktail
Because of the BP and the potential that this would be a longer procedure, they opted for total anesthesia rather than the "twilight" local.
I was surprised that they told me I could wear the johnny open in the front or the back, and that I could leave my shorts on. I had always thought there was supposed to be no outside clothing in the OR and that the johnny was always supposed to be open in the back.
Even when I could maintain any sleeping schedule, I Have never been a morning person, so I dozed while waiting, and I found myself annoyed that they woke me to tell me they were going to put me under. It seemed no different from the Moe Howard routine of slapping one of his sleeping partners and ordering, "wake up and go to sleep!"
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Friday, February 24, 2012
Eye Strain
This blog has not fallen by the wayside for lack of interest. I write volumes in my head these days, but post retina reattachment surgery, eyestrain comes easily and quickly and I must prioritize responsibilities.
I’m pretty useless these days, and the healing processes of both the eye surgery and Charcot foot seems to be leaving me susceptible to every trifling ailment that nears.
Post surgery, the eye is worse while the healing process makes it slow way. I have multiple eye problems, so this stuff gets difficult to put briefly. The vision is worse but different.
My color vision is better, and in spurts is almost vivid. This seems a natural benefit of having had the crud-filled vitreous gel replaced with clean saline solution.
The general haze is worse, but it is cleaner and whiter. It seems as though I am looking into a foggy morning through a heavily steamed window. I can see less detail even at closer distances. By visual cues, I cannot positively identify people even at three feet away. I am fairly good at guessing by voice and shape, but nowhere to the extent I had been. At greater distances I cannot even be sure if anyone is there at all. Continuing to talk to people who have walked away is becoming quite common.
There has been minor improvement since last month’s surgery, but the going is slow. Before the surgery, there was only increasing decline. I still have no guarantees now, but I do have promise and hope.
I’m pretty useless these days, and the healing processes of both the eye surgery and Charcot foot seems to be leaving me susceptible to every trifling ailment that nears.
Post surgery, the eye is worse while the healing process makes it slow way. I have multiple eye problems, so this stuff gets difficult to put briefly. The vision is worse but different.
My color vision is better, and in spurts is almost vivid. This seems a natural benefit of having had the crud-filled vitreous gel replaced with clean saline solution.
The general haze is worse, but it is cleaner and whiter. It seems as though I am looking into a foggy morning through a heavily steamed window. I can see less detail even at closer distances. By visual cues, I cannot positively identify people even at three feet away. I am fairly good at guessing by voice and shape, but nowhere to the extent I had been. At greater distances I cannot even be sure if anyone is there at all. Continuing to talk to people who have walked away is becoming quite common.
There has been minor improvement since last month’s surgery, but the going is slow. Before the surgery, there was only increasing decline. I still have no guarantees now, but I do have promise and hope.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
The Rhode Island Motto: Hope
The jury’s still out on the overall success of the 19 January retina reattachment surgery. The biggest risks are past, but judging from the doc’s renewal of the course of antibiotic drops, some threats still linger.
I am also seeing differently but not as well as I was before the surgery.
The effect I experience now is not dissimilar from the original vitreous hemorrhage. The surgery left a pool of dark, dirty blood in the eye. That glob shakes and mixes with the saline solution that is now in the center of the eye to fog over everything. As the globs slowly dissipated, it further clouds the central visual field. This takes time to improve but is leaving me blinder than normal until the healing process progresses.
There are improvements of other sorts. My color vision improves in inconstant spurts. The haze that I look through is a clean sheen rather than ruddy or gray fogs.
Since Autumn, I could do little but "watch" as my vision deteriorated. While the vision is currently worse, U know have hope of it getting better. That’s a lot more than I had just a month ago, and I will hold on to it and look forward, even if I cannot currently see what I am looking at.
I am also seeing differently but not as well as I was before the surgery.
The effect I experience now is not dissimilar from the original vitreous hemorrhage. The surgery left a pool of dark, dirty blood in the eye. That glob shakes and mixes with the saline solution that is now in the center of the eye to fog over everything. As the globs slowly dissipated, it further clouds the central visual field. This takes time to improve but is leaving me blinder than normal until the healing process progresses.
There are improvements of other sorts. My color vision improves in inconstant spurts. The haze that I look through is a clean sheen rather than ruddy or gray fogs.
Since Autumn, I could do little but "watch" as my vision deteriorated. While the vision is currently worse, U know have hope of it getting better. That’s a lot more than I had just a month ago, and I will hold on to it and look forward, even if I cannot currently see what I am looking at.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Running Risks
In hindsight (about all I have left) I stand by my decision to hide the impending surgery from almost everyone. The risks in retina reattachment surgery are well beyond the fate of the doctor suddenly needing to sneeze while a knife or laser is in my eye.
Four risks dominated the list of potential problems:
1. Death on the table
2. Physical loss of the eye
3. Going from "visually impaired" to blind in the dark sense most people think of when they think "blind."
4. Infection
The risk of death increased by suddenly elevated blood pressure. My theory is that the Charcot foot increased the BP, but I haven’t found documented support of that. Where I had resisted Lisinopril despite its positive kidney effects because my BP had never been out of the normal range, I started it the week before the surgery. I quickly learned that the started dose wasn’t enough.
The doctor was hesitant to do the surgery, but went ahead with my encouragement. The increased BP also increases bleeding risks.
I woke up from the surgery, so the ultimate risk was past.
The possibility that I would wake up with fewer than two eyes physically in my head also did not happen.
I sweated most over the chance of being fully blinded by the surgery. When I got home and my roommate lifted the patch and shield and bandage to give eye drops, I held my breath. The eye could see light. I had not been rendered dark blind.
The fourth of the big risks is danger of infection. I am on a course of eye drops to prevent that. I am not sure how fully beyond that risk I now stand as the doc extended the prescription of the drops; that had not been necessary following the cataract surgery. I can discern no signs of problems, but I am following the recommendation diligently.
The actual success of the surgery remains to be seen, or not seen as the case my be.
Four risks dominated the list of potential problems:
1. Death on the table
2. Physical loss of the eye
3. Going from "visually impaired" to blind in the dark sense most people think of when they think "blind."
4. Infection
The risk of death increased by suddenly elevated blood pressure. My theory is that the Charcot foot increased the BP, but I haven’t found documented support of that. Where I had resisted Lisinopril despite its positive kidney effects because my BP had never been out of the normal range, I started it the week before the surgery. I quickly learned that the started dose wasn’t enough.
The doctor was hesitant to do the surgery, but went ahead with my encouragement. The increased BP also increases bleeding risks.
I woke up from the surgery, so the ultimate risk was past.
The possibility that I would wake up with fewer than two eyes physically in my head also did not happen.
I sweated most over the chance of being fully blinded by the surgery. When I got home and my roommate lifted the patch and shield and bandage to give eye drops, I held my breath. The eye could see light. I had not been rendered dark blind.
The fourth of the big risks is danger of infection. I am on a course of eye drops to prevent that. I am not sure how fully beyond that risk I now stand as the doc extended the prescription of the drops; that had not been necessary following the cataract surgery. I can discern no signs of problems, but I am following the recommendation diligently.
The actual success of the surgery remains to be seen, or not seen as the case my be.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
With Nothing Left to Lose
Process and paperwork with the hospital helped delay the time between the December 14 setback and the reattachment surgery. As was or will be confessed elsewhere, I also lied about the surgery date or that I was having surgery at all.
The friend who raised the question of timing quoted his independent research that says retina reattachment surgery should be done within 24 hour after sudden retina separation. That is true, but doesn’t hold the same for diabetic retinapathy, which is a gradual rather than a sudden release of the retina from the back of the eye and/pr from the brain.
The diabetic malady is gradual. By Fall 2011 I knew things were going fast, even if I could not know for certain how much of the loss was retinapathy and how much rooted from all the other problems in my beleaguered eyes.
And let’s be real: my retina started separation after the third PRP session in January 2010, judging by the flashers. Can I blame this doctor for a one-month delay when those at Joslin let my condition further deteriorate for over a year while they strung me along with other "preparation fir the worst surgeries" that they had no real intention of doing?
I blame Joslin on an emotional level, but not on my cold logical rational patterns of thinking. No one wanted to do surgery on someone’s only functioning eye until there was absolutely nothing else to lose.
When my current doctor agreed to the surgery, she and I were in perfect agreement that I had reached that point. To her credit, she still made me seek a second opinion.
The rush to retinapathy reattachment is that once separated, the retina begins to harden. Once this happens, it no longer has the flexibility to be reattached as completely, or at all.
This is being written on 21 December 2011, a month before the surgery that could restore me to passable functionality or take it all away. If this is being read on the blog, either all went well enough for me to still navigate the computer, someone is helping me settle the affairs of this blog, or someone found and posted it posthumously. (Note 2/4/12: I am just barely able to do this myself.) Yeah, I’m fatalistic like that. While the doctor was realistic about the risks, I sensed true optimism from her. Chances are, all went well.
The friend who raised the question of timing quoted his independent research that says retina reattachment surgery should be done within 24 hour after sudden retina separation. That is true, but doesn’t hold the same for diabetic retinapathy, which is a gradual rather than a sudden release of the retina from the back of the eye and/pr from the brain.
The diabetic malady is gradual. By Fall 2011 I knew things were going fast, even if I could not know for certain how much of the loss was retinapathy and how much rooted from all the other problems in my beleaguered eyes.
And let’s be real: my retina started separation after the third PRP session in January 2010, judging by the flashers. Can I blame this doctor for a one-month delay when those at Joslin let my condition further deteriorate for over a year while they strung me along with other "preparation fir the worst surgeries" that they had no real intention of doing?
I blame Joslin on an emotional level, but not on my cold logical rational patterns of thinking. No one wanted to do surgery on someone’s only functioning eye until there was absolutely nothing else to lose.
When my current doctor agreed to the surgery, she and I were in perfect agreement that I had reached that point. To her credit, she still made me seek a second opinion.
The rush to retinapathy reattachment is that once separated, the retina begins to harden. Once this happens, it no longer has the flexibility to be reattached as completely, or at all.
This is being written on 21 December 2011, a month before the surgery that could restore me to passable functionality or take it all away. If this is being read on the blog, either all went well enough for me to still navigate the computer, someone is helping me settle the affairs of this blog, or someone found and posted it posthumously. (Note 2/4/12: I am just barely able to do this myself.) Yeah, I’m fatalistic like that. While the doctor was realistic about the risks, I sensed true optimism from her. Chances are, all went well.
Friday, February 3, 2012
Here I Go Again
A friend questioned why my doctor planned the reattachment surgery so long after the last floater release that had me running to the doctor’s office.
I was (am) nervous about this surgery to begin with. It is not without risk. I could go blind, totally if it does not go well. Really not going well could be fatal or necessitate removal of the eye, and I assure you I am funny looking enough without having a gaping crater of an eye socket.
(I should explain at this point that while you are reading this after the January 19 surgery, it is being written on 21 December.)
Part of the delay was that I lied to this friend, among other people, when and if the surgery was. Yes, heroic stoicism of not wanting people to worry factored into this. But just as important is my currently (December) frame of mind. The surgery is necessary and is my last hope of staving what has been a downward spiral of increasing speed. It is the final all-or nothing gambit of my life. I have self sufficiency and self control issues that cannot survive the prospect of being totally and helplessly blind. I can only apologize for the lies and anything other misdeeds from now until then. I run that cost-benefit analysis on every misdeed, will this particular thing or action be worth the spanking I’ll be due if caught?
For me this one is. The deception is/was/will be worth the self control of my own decision and protecting those I care about who care for me. That’s the exact type of thing I always did before going blind. Don’t need to share the burden. I’m tough. I can handle it.
And I do not particularly want to be sharing this burden. Maybe that will have changed in the week leading up to the surgery, but right now, this is how I feel.
I was (am) nervous about this surgery to begin with. It is not without risk. I could go blind, totally if it does not go well. Really not going well could be fatal or necessitate removal of the eye, and I assure you I am funny looking enough without having a gaping crater of an eye socket.
(I should explain at this point that while you are reading this after the January 19 surgery, it is being written on 21 December.)
Part of the delay was that I lied to this friend, among other people, when and if the surgery was. Yes, heroic stoicism of not wanting people to worry factored into this. But just as important is my currently (December) frame of mind. The surgery is necessary and is my last hope of staving what has been a downward spiral of increasing speed. It is the final all-or nothing gambit of my life. I have self sufficiency and self control issues that cannot survive the prospect of being totally and helplessly blind. I can only apologize for the lies and anything other misdeeds from now until then. I run that cost-benefit analysis on every misdeed, will this particular thing or action be worth the spanking I’ll be due if caught?
For me this one is. The deception is/was/will be worth the self control of my own decision and protecting those I care about who care for me. That’s the exact type of thing I always did before going blind. Don’t need to share the burden. I’m tough. I can handle it.
And I do not particularly want to be sharing this burden. Maybe that will have changed in the week leading up to the surgery, but right now, this is how I feel.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Off the Grid and off the Leash
I’m back!
The absence here and in other parts of my life for the past while was to cover the fact that I had surgery for retina reattachment and vitreous gel replacement and possibly more on January 19. I can’t tell you how it went right now because this blog post, along with two others, are being written on 21 December.
I shared details of the impending surgery with very few people. Many of those who knew of the surgery heard lies about when it was. My intention at this point is to tell as few people as possible that I will even be having it. Look back on those mid-December posts and you’ll know I was not in a good frame of mind. Too many life events colluded to make my self control and self sufficiency issues explode. Perhaps my intention to conceal the surgery contained some level of spite towards people who really stressed me out about control issues; sometimes my subconscious does work that way, unfortunately. But on the conscious levels, I didn’t want to hear the input of people who care and/or control. There’s risk to the surgery. It’s all or nothing: it will/did either improve things, provide hope for "permanent" stabilization of how things are now, or make things go totally black.
To share information in advance on the surgery seems like it would foster concern and worry for those who do truly care for me. None of them will be able to control a thing about the surgery, so why foster needless worry?
I do not need to share this burden. Part of my reaction to December’s overload of stresses was that I was facing what could be my final stand. I had been strong and self sufficient my adult life and choose to face this high risk in that mode of operation. I am a tough little bastard who can and dud face this on my own.
The time of my planed absence from the blog and other areas has given me time to reflect on the experiences and time to prepare further posts. I’ll start revealing the experience after a few days, when a few further pre-op posts have been published.
In the meantime, if you are one of those who wants to be planting a boot in my ass for the "sudden disappearance," take a number and get in line.
The absence here and in other parts of my life for the past while was to cover the fact that I had surgery for retina reattachment and vitreous gel replacement and possibly more on January 19. I can’t tell you how it went right now because this blog post, along with two others, are being written on 21 December.
I shared details of the impending surgery with very few people. Many of those who knew of the surgery heard lies about when it was. My intention at this point is to tell as few people as possible that I will even be having it. Look back on those mid-December posts and you’ll know I was not in a good frame of mind. Too many life events colluded to make my self control and self sufficiency issues explode. Perhaps my intention to conceal the surgery contained some level of spite towards people who really stressed me out about control issues; sometimes my subconscious does work that way, unfortunately. But on the conscious levels, I didn’t want to hear the input of people who care and/or control. There’s risk to the surgery. It’s all or nothing: it will/did either improve things, provide hope for "permanent" stabilization of how things are now, or make things go totally black.
To share information in advance on the surgery seems like it would foster concern and worry for those who do truly care for me. None of them will be able to control a thing about the surgery, so why foster needless worry?
I do not need to share this burden. Part of my reaction to December’s overload of stresses was that I was facing what could be my final stand. I had been strong and self sufficient my adult life and choose to face this high risk in that mode of operation. I am a tough little bastard who can and dud face this on my own.
The time of my planed absence from the blog and other areas has given me time to reflect on the experiences and time to prepare further posts. I’ll start revealing the experience after a few days, when a few further pre-op posts have been published.
In the meantime, if you are one of those who wants to be planting a boot in my ass for the "sudden disappearance," take a number and get in line.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)