The first PRP session occurred on 2 November, 2009. I paid out of pocket for what was termed by Koch Eye Associates and their affiliate St. James Medical center as "global coverage" for ninety days. Aspects of that tern proved deceptive, if not outright lies.
"Global coverage" simply meant that they would shoot the laser into the eye an "unlimited number of times in that 90-day period.
Doctor Michael O’Brien performed the laser procedures and the exams in between procedures. The cataract surgery was performed by a different doctor with Koch but also at St. James. Understandably, thr cataract was not part of the "global coverage" and I did not expect it to be.
The exams given by Doctor O’Brien in his Koch Eye office were also not included in the "global coverage." Ultrasounds of the eye billed separate charges. Photography of the eye also raised the bill. Doctor O’Brien also set the dates for exams and PRP procedures alike. I was blind, physically and emotionally crippled. I went along with doctor’s orders like a good little patient.
Two lasers in two weeks, then an exam more than a week later. Laser Thanksgiving week, an exam the following week, more laser the week after that, bringing us to 7 December. 2009 rounded out with an exam on the 18th and laser on the 21st. By the doctor’s scheduling, the following exam delayed until the 4th of January. At that time, the Koch offices scheduled the cataract procedure for 24 January and the next laser for 2 February.
After the cataract procedure and exams, the Koch offices called. They had just wanted to give me a friendly reminder that since the scheduled appointment for the next PRP was outside the 90-day "global coverage" that payment for the next 90-day period would be due before the procedure. In their kindness, they would only charge me half.
2 February is more than 90 days past 2 November as both January and December have 31 days.
I pointed out that the doctor did all the scheduling, that I had another procedure done by them and that three major holidays that are two-day events for most people and two legal holidays had fallen in between the dates separated by 92 days.
They got back to me later that afternoon, claiming to have spoken with Doctor Koch himself. In the ultimate kindness they would include the 2 February procedure but that any extension of the global coverage would have to be at full price.
That Monday, when I sat down at "the rack" in front of Doctor O’Brien, I told him to make sure he got everything, because I could not afford any extension.
Neither at that time nor in that final subsequent exam did he indicate more was necessary.
Nor dud he offer any explanation as to why the flashers that had begun after the third session had never abated, or confirm my suspicion that the edges of my vision were darkening.
Monday, November 14, 2011
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Changed but no Different
By the end of January 2010, everything had changed, but nothing was really better.
After the third of five sessions of PRP laser treatment, I had flashers in the left eye, a sure sign of advanced eye problems from diabetes, the precise thing the PRP was supposed to have prevented.
Cataract surgery had cleared the ruddy fog from my outer eye, but had done nothing for the pool of blood that welled in my inner eye. Prior to the cataract surgery, I had not been aware of two separate pools of blood.
The cataract surgery had to be done, and going on two years later I still have no doubts about that. I wish I had been told about the potential risks and been given realistic expectations for my vision afterwards, but I would have gone ahead with the cataract procedure.
My vision at that point was frustrating for its inconsistency. I had been sleeping in a recliner because independent internet searches on the problem of the vitreous hemorrhage suggested not sleeping lying down. When I woke, my vision was clearer than it had been since earliest childhood. As I slept or was fully still, the blood in the center of my eye would settle and separate from the vitreous gel, the way oil and vinegar separate in an untouched carafe. Unfortunately, even minor motion mixed the fluids back up and took away hat clarity. A fifty foot walk from the living room to the bathroom proved enough to remix the fluids and reduce the eyesight.
I could not read. Glasses might improve the severe far sightedness that the cataract lense had caused, but I was not able to actually get to my optometrist with clear enough vision to test for the appropriate lense.
Most of the minor jobs I tried doing came out pretty badly. Other than sitting like a lump, the only thing I continued to do was bowl in my two leagues. Most of the teammates I had at the time were fully supportive. I’d throw the first ball straight and try to center to the marks. For spare shots, my teammates would tell me which pins still stood. My average had never been too high and I only lost some ten percent off of it. The major accomplishment was a perfectly straight throw that pickled up a 6-7-10 split.
Otherwise, I stagnated at home, wishing I could be working, wishing I could be reading the books whose spines I could for the first time in my life read from across the room. TV bored me and I was running out of public libraries’ audio books that I had real interest in "reading."
I had one more PRP session scheduled. I had promises from internet research–not from doctors–that the blood in the center of the eye would dissipate over time.
I still had hope.
After the third of five sessions of PRP laser treatment, I had flashers in the left eye, a sure sign of advanced eye problems from diabetes, the precise thing the PRP was supposed to have prevented.
Cataract surgery had cleared the ruddy fog from my outer eye, but had done nothing for the pool of blood that welled in my inner eye. Prior to the cataract surgery, I had not been aware of two separate pools of blood.
The cataract surgery had to be done, and going on two years later I still have no doubts about that. I wish I had been told about the potential risks and been given realistic expectations for my vision afterwards, but I would have gone ahead with the cataract procedure.
My vision at that point was frustrating for its inconsistency. I had been sleeping in a recliner because independent internet searches on the problem of the vitreous hemorrhage suggested not sleeping lying down. When I woke, my vision was clearer than it had been since earliest childhood. As I slept or was fully still, the blood in the center of my eye would settle and separate from the vitreous gel, the way oil and vinegar separate in an untouched carafe. Unfortunately, even minor motion mixed the fluids back up and took away hat clarity. A fifty foot walk from the living room to the bathroom proved enough to remix the fluids and reduce the eyesight.
I could not read. Glasses might improve the severe far sightedness that the cataract lense had caused, but I was not able to actually get to my optometrist with clear enough vision to test for the appropriate lense.
Most of the minor jobs I tried doing came out pretty badly. Other than sitting like a lump, the only thing I continued to do was bowl in my two leagues. Most of the teammates I had at the time were fully supportive. I’d throw the first ball straight and try to center to the marks. For spare shots, my teammates would tell me which pins still stood. My average had never been too high and I only lost some ten percent off of it. The major accomplishment was a perfectly straight throw that pickled up a 6-7-10 split.
Otherwise, I stagnated at home, wishing I could be working, wishing I could be reading the books whose spines I could for the first time in my life read from across the room. TV bored me and I was running out of public libraries’ audio books that I had real interest in "reading."
I had one more PRP session scheduled. I had promises from internet research–not from doctors–that the blood in the center of the eye would dissipate over time.
I still had hope.
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Cataract Surprises, Part 2
By all reckoning, Dr. Michael Negrey of Koch Eye Associates has superb technical skill. His problem is arrogance that manifests as God Complex
"Doctor God" failed to tell me vital things about the cataract surgery in January 2010.
Doctor God had not told me that cataract surgery poses risk of diabetic retinapathy, or that the blood spilled by the Cialis-induced hemorrhage had filled the center of the eye in addition to the cataract.
Doctor God did not tell me that I had a choice in cataract lenses that could be put in my eye to replace the lense that would be surgically removed. Instead, Doctor God chose for me. Four doctors later I heard an explanation. Doctor God had put in the lense that best let doctors examine my eye, rather than the best lense for me to see out of.
The new lense provided great distance vision. I was not used to that. What had been distant fuzzy lights of houses through the tree out my bedroom window now became entire houses.
The new lense destroyed my close up vision. Even at 40 I had needed no correction for reading. Post hemorrhage, I could not read for the ruddy cloud. Now I could not read because the inflexible artificial lense did not allow focus at close distances.
I am a writer. I had been an avid reader. I have a bookcase full of volumes I just had not gotten to yet, that I now probably will never get to.
I had not been able to read the anthology that included my first publication in book form when it premiered a few weeks after the hemorrhage. Now, I could not read it because the cloud was not gone as expected, and my eyes were unable to focus at short range. That bookcase of esoteric science fiction novels that will probably never see audio format remained out of reach even as I was mostly homebound and bored. The lifelong collection of comics were rendered worthlessly unreadable.
The blood cloud in the center of the eye behaved differently that when a second obstruction had existed in the cataract. The obstruction in the cataract had always been there. The blood within the vitreous gel mixed with the eye’s natural fluids. When I remained perfectly at rest for prolonged periods, the blood and the vitreous gel would separate like oil and water. I had perfect clarity when I woke. Unfortunately, any motion mixed the fluids back together, rendering me blind again. A walk some fifty feet and back from the recliner to the bathroom mixed the blood enough to blind.
I questioned Doctor God about these things on the first follow up to the cataract procedure. God doesn’t like being questioned. I didn’t get any answers, and my second appointment had been chanced to a different doctor.
In theory, the eye should clear up over time. Once it cleared up enough for me to be able to get to Dr. Krosschell’s office with clear vision, glasses might restore the close range vision.
I clung to that hope.
"Doctor God" failed to tell me vital things about the cataract surgery in January 2010.
Doctor God had not told me that cataract surgery poses risk of diabetic retinapathy, or that the blood spilled by the Cialis-induced hemorrhage had filled the center of the eye in addition to the cataract.
Doctor God did not tell me that I had a choice in cataract lenses that could be put in my eye to replace the lense that would be surgically removed. Instead, Doctor God chose for me. Four doctors later I heard an explanation. Doctor God had put in the lense that best let doctors examine my eye, rather than the best lense for me to see out of.
The new lense provided great distance vision. I was not used to that. What had been distant fuzzy lights of houses through the tree out my bedroom window now became entire houses.
The new lense destroyed my close up vision. Even at 40 I had needed no correction for reading. Post hemorrhage, I could not read for the ruddy cloud. Now I could not read because the inflexible artificial lense did not allow focus at close distances.
I am a writer. I had been an avid reader. I have a bookcase full of volumes I just had not gotten to yet, that I now probably will never get to.
I had not been able to read the anthology that included my first publication in book form when it premiered a few weeks after the hemorrhage. Now, I could not read it because the cloud was not gone as expected, and my eyes were unable to focus at short range. That bookcase of esoteric science fiction novels that will probably never see audio format remained out of reach even as I was mostly homebound and bored. The lifelong collection of comics were rendered worthlessly unreadable.
The blood cloud in the center of the eye behaved differently that when a second obstruction had existed in the cataract. The obstruction in the cataract had always been there. The blood within the vitreous gel mixed with the eye’s natural fluids. When I remained perfectly at rest for prolonged periods, the blood and the vitreous gel would separate like oil and water. I had perfect clarity when I woke. Unfortunately, any motion mixed the fluids back together, rendering me blind again. A walk some fifty feet and back from the recliner to the bathroom mixed the blood enough to blind.
I questioned Doctor God about these things on the first follow up to the cataract procedure. God doesn’t like being questioned. I didn’t get any answers, and my second appointment had been chanced to a different doctor.
In theory, the eye should clear up over time. Once it cleared up enough for me to be able to get to Dr. Krosschell’s office with clear vision, glasses might restore the close range vision.
I clung to that hope.
Friday, November 11, 2011
Cataract Surprises, Part 1
I’ll start this one with a good thing to say so I don’t come across bitter or unbalanced, too much.
Other doctors, not associated with Koch Eye Associates, have asked me who did the cataract surgery because they were greatly impressed with the technical expertise on the job.
From my first visit to Doctor Michael Negrey, I had mixed feelings. His bedside manner sucked. He wanted to tell and talk and had no patience for patient questions. He had, in that visit, noted something that could be critical, a potential thyroid problem. I paid for the MRI that proved no thyroid concern out of pocket, but I was happy to have a potential problem diagnosed and eliminated. It all goes to informed consent about my own medical care, and I do not begrudge mere money when I am, getting some kind of bang for my buck.
Informed consent is exactly what Dr. Negrey a.k.a. Doctor God, denied me in most every other way.
As I judge by his demeanor, Negrey is God. He is an angry and envious God whose divine judgment is not to be questioned. His patients should bow to him and make sacrifice and worship his power of light and dark.
Doctor God did not tell me the extent of the blood in my eye. He told me that removing the cataract would remove the blood that had filled the cataract and would restore my distance vision like new. Those things were true.
Doctor God did not tell me that cataract surgery in and of itself is a risk of triggering diabetic retinapathy. The doctor doing the PRP surgery also did not tell me that both the cataract and the PRP surgery itself risk diabetic retinapathy.
Doctor God also did not tell me that the center of they eye was also filled with blood. As much as I have freely talked about vitreous hemorrhages on this blog, I had no knowledge of them when the Cialis triggered mine.
I had expected to be restored after the cataract surgery. I was not. The vitreous fluid was as blood filled as the cataract had been. The red cloud remained, different but just as bad.
Other doctors, not associated with Koch Eye Associates, have asked me who did the cataract surgery because they were greatly impressed with the technical expertise on the job.
From my first visit to Doctor Michael Negrey, I had mixed feelings. His bedside manner sucked. He wanted to tell and talk and had no patience for patient questions. He had, in that visit, noted something that could be critical, a potential thyroid problem. I paid for the MRI that proved no thyroid concern out of pocket, but I was happy to have a potential problem diagnosed and eliminated. It all goes to informed consent about my own medical care, and I do not begrudge mere money when I am, getting some kind of bang for my buck.
Informed consent is exactly what Dr. Negrey a.k.a. Doctor God, denied me in most every other way.
As I judge by his demeanor, Negrey is God. He is an angry and envious God whose divine judgment is not to be questioned. His patients should bow to him and make sacrifice and worship his power of light and dark.
Doctor God did not tell me the extent of the blood in my eye. He told me that removing the cataract would remove the blood that had filled the cataract and would restore my distance vision like new. Those things were true.
Doctor God did not tell me that cataract surgery in and of itself is a risk of triggering diabetic retinapathy. The doctor doing the PRP surgery also did not tell me that both the cataract and the PRP surgery itself risk diabetic retinapathy.
Doctor God also did not tell me that the center of they eye was also filled with blood. As much as I have freely talked about vitreous hemorrhages on this blog, I had no knowledge of them when the Cialis triggered mine.
I had expected to be restored after the cataract surgery. I was not. The vitreous fluid was as blood filled as the cataract had been. The red cloud remained, different but just as bad.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Sticking it to patients...and taxpayers
Nurses prepped me for the cataract surgery. This remains the most memorable part of the procedure for me, probably because the pre-op routine struck a cord with me.
They clamped an oxygen monitor on my finger. This device provides a constant reading on the blood’s oxygen levels to ensure the anaesthesiologists don’t overdo the happy gas. Then the nurses started a rather problematic test of my blood sugar by the standard lancet- and strip-using meter.
My question as to why they did not use a scanning device such as the oxygen monitor confused them.
The oxygen monitor in no was breaks the skin to read the oxygen levels in the blood beneath the skin. Perhaps if I had asked "if there was such a blood sugar testing device" they would not have been confused. But I was specific in asking why they weren’t using one.
You see, I know the technology exists. I read in a newspaper in the 1990’s about the development. I’ve seen information about such devices on the US patent website. Yet healthcare professionals who do healthcare as means of making money, have no vested interested in seeing or remembering information about what is in this technological age, an absolute viability.
y tested my blood sugar. That didn’t go so well as they were having problems with the meter itself, then with finding lancets. They went to a different meter. If I wasn’t afraid of payback inflicted while I was under anaesthesia, I would have howled in pain when they jabbed my finger and carried on with the performance for a while. I have been known to entertain myself like that before, but didn’t want to wake up to find my penis dyed with iodine or something.
I was patient with the nurses, who were having considerable difficulty with this procedure that is so basic that senile elderly people are encouraged to do it at home.
The technology exists that anyone should be able to home test their blood sugar with a device that can read the blood sugar through the skin without breaking or puncturing the skin. The technology exists.
So why isn’t it available? Economics.
The meter companies give away meters readily. They’re not making money on the meter They make money hand over fist by selling the chemical test strips that read the sugar level and the lancets used to make the hole in the finger from which diabetic blood flows. A device that needs no test strip and needs no needle to poke the skin would put the strip and lancet manufacturers out of business. These companies with economic interests directly at odds with the benefit of the patients they sell to buy and bury the technologies that would vastly improve the lives of diabetics in physical and financial comfort.
You pay for that with every tax dollar that goes to medicaid..
They clamped an oxygen monitor on my finger. This device provides a constant reading on the blood’s oxygen levels to ensure the anaesthesiologists don’t overdo the happy gas. Then the nurses started a rather problematic test of my blood sugar by the standard lancet- and strip-using meter.
My question as to why they did not use a scanning device such as the oxygen monitor confused them.
The oxygen monitor in no was breaks the skin to read the oxygen levels in the blood beneath the skin. Perhaps if I had asked "if there was such a blood sugar testing device" they would not have been confused. But I was specific in asking why they weren’t using one.
You see, I know the technology exists. I read in a newspaper in the 1990’s about the development. I’ve seen information about such devices on the US patent website. Yet healthcare professionals who do healthcare as means of making money, have no vested interested in seeing or remembering information about what is in this technological age, an absolute viability.
y tested my blood sugar. That didn’t go so well as they were having problems with the meter itself, then with finding lancets. They went to a different meter. If I wasn’t afraid of payback inflicted while I was under anaesthesia, I would have howled in pain when they jabbed my finger and carried on with the performance for a while. I have been known to entertain myself like that before, but didn’t want to wake up to find my penis dyed with iodine or something.
I was patient with the nurses, who were having considerable difficulty with this procedure that is so basic that senile elderly people are encouraged to do it at home.
The technology exists that anyone should be able to home test their blood sugar with a device that can read the blood sugar through the skin without breaking or puncturing the skin. The technology exists.
So why isn’t it available? Economics.
The meter companies give away meters readily. They’re not making money on the meter They make money hand over fist by selling the chemical test strips that read the sugar level and the lancets used to make the hole in the finger from which diabetic blood flows. A device that needs no test strip and needs no needle to poke the skin would put the strip and lancet manufacturers out of business. These companies with economic interests directly at odds with the benefit of the patients they sell to buy and bury the technologies that would vastly improve the lives of diabetics in physical and financial comfort.
You pay for that with every tax dollar that goes to medicaid..
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
The Cataract Procedure
After five rounds of PRP laser surgery by Dr. O’Brien, Dr. Negrey performed the cataract surgery on 25 January, 2010. The date of the procedure was already greatly delayed beyond my expectations. I wanted the blood filled cataract removed so that I could begin to reclaim the life taken from me by the Cialis induced hemorrhage the prior October. Here’s my experience of the procedure.
40 years old at the time, I know of no one younger to have undergone the procedure. The cataract had been treatable with glasses until the vitreous hemorrhage had filled the cataract with blood.
I went in a couple days before the surgery for the prep. Dr. Negrey did not participate. I found that OK because his God Complex was getting on my nerves by then anyway. An assistant gave me standard forms to sign and instructions on how to use the eye drops necessary after the surgery to prevent infection.
Nurses set me up for the surgery. They clamped a monitor on my finger. This helps anaesthesiologists know how much happy gas is too much. Then they tested my blood sugar. That didn’t go so well as they were having problems with the meter, then with finding lancets. They went to a different meter. They raised some concern about the feedback number in the 200’s, which is actually low for me. I convinced them not to worry about that. What would be a big digression here will wait for future posts.
I was put under.
I woke. I stayed looped, even though I think the anaesthesia was more of a local and/or cognitive than
a total body knock out. I don’t remember the vision right after the procedure, or the ride home. I stayed groggy. Never one with a regular sleeping pattern, I slept when I got dropped off at home.
I never had better vision in my life than when I woke up that night. I stayed in bed and just looked out the fourth floor windows . The panoramic view had never reached out to me with such clarity. I could see Crazy Nancy’s house through the concealment of overgrowth. I could see the individual clapboards and roofing shingles of the houses across the street. Distant lights beyond the treetops shone with definition I could not have previously imagined. Even in the city, I could see the brighter stars in the winter sky.
I was seen for follow ups twice following the surgery. Had questions for Dr. Negrey, and I fired those away in the first follow up. I was not satisfied with the answers. In fact, I was so dissatisfied that I called the Koch Eye Associate offices to ensure that my next follow up would be with a different doctor. I didn’t have to do that. Obviously questioning Doctor God had been such an affront that he had already dropped me and my second appointment was with a different doctor.
My roommate was diligent with they eye drops. I developed no infection. I had no complications from the cataract surgery, and other doctors since have complimented the technical quality of Negrey’s work.
"No complications," however, does not mean no adverse effects....
40 years old at the time, I know of no one younger to have undergone the procedure. The cataract had been treatable with glasses until the vitreous hemorrhage had filled the cataract with blood.
I went in a couple days before the surgery for the prep. Dr. Negrey did not participate. I found that OK because his God Complex was getting on my nerves by then anyway. An assistant gave me standard forms to sign and instructions on how to use the eye drops necessary after the surgery to prevent infection.
Nurses set me up for the surgery. They clamped a monitor on my finger. This helps anaesthesiologists know how much happy gas is too much. Then they tested my blood sugar. That didn’t go so well as they were having problems with the meter, then with finding lancets. They went to a different meter. They raised some concern about the feedback number in the 200’s, which is actually low for me. I convinced them not to worry about that. What would be a big digression here will wait for future posts.
I was put under.
I woke. I stayed looped, even though I think the anaesthesia was more of a local and/or cognitive than
a total body knock out. I don’t remember the vision right after the procedure, or the ride home. I stayed groggy. Never one with a regular sleeping pattern, I slept when I got dropped off at home.
I never had better vision in my life than when I woke up that night. I stayed in bed and just looked out the fourth floor windows . The panoramic view had never reached out to me with such clarity. I could see Crazy Nancy’s house through the concealment of overgrowth. I could see the individual clapboards and roofing shingles of the houses across the street. Distant lights beyond the treetops shone with definition I could not have previously imagined. Even in the city, I could see the brighter stars in the winter sky.
I was seen for follow ups twice following the surgery. Had questions for Dr. Negrey, and I fired those away in the first follow up. I was not satisfied with the answers. In fact, I was so dissatisfied that I called the Koch Eye Associate offices to ensure that my next follow up would be with a different doctor. I didn’t have to do that. Obviously questioning Doctor God had been such an affront that he had already dropped me and my second appointment was with a different doctor.
My roommate was diligent with they eye drops. I developed no infection. I had no complications from the cataract surgery, and other doctors since have complimented the technical quality of Negrey’s work.
"No complications," however, does not mean no adverse effects....
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Dancing in the Dark
I had wanted all the procedures done by Christmas 2009. The vitreous hemorrhage had not just taken most of the sight of my only functioning eye. I’d worked too hard since my teen years to build a self sufficient life. Blindness was taking that as well.
What had started as a bright blood red sheen that filtered my vision had quickly become a reddish brown haze, a perpetual fog that could not be seen through. For a week or so, I could still read books with larger print, but when the blood mixed with the natural eye fluids, I lost even that simple pleasure.
I’m not a TV person in general. I found dateline murder mysteries could be enjoyed even without sight; most everything else relied on visual cues that reminded me of everything I was missing.
My first anthology publication saw print in October 2009. I found myself unable to proofread even my own story, never mind enjoy the ones that were new to me.
I had gotten pretty bored with audio books after I’d borrowed the last of the Kate Wilhelm mysteries available throughout Rhode Island’s library network and was still feeling disappointed that none of her science fiction–and few of any science fiction titles that sat on my unread bookshelf–were available.
I continued to bowl; teammates would tell me what pins remained after the first ball and I would aim my straight ball proportionately from the dark contrast of the gutters. Amazingly enough I lost only about ten pins off my admittedly low average.
I had prepared two holiday meals unassisted. I recovered some ability to use the computer with a 32-inch TV as a monitor and a magnifying mouse.
I had found it necessary to hire someone to plow snow around my plow equipped jeep. I was not able to work, and the delay of two years ago still has an avalanche of things never caught up to my satisfaction.
I lived as fully as I could, but it was not enough for me. I wanted the cataract surgery with its implied promise of clearing the ruddy cloud out from under the bubbled lense.
I had grown bored
I could not find balance in my relationships. I felt like a useless burden. Those helping me the most inadvertently took away another piece of my self with every favor, all of which were and are still appreciated. I was always the caretaker, the one who banked favors with no intention of ever needing to cash out. Those who were there for me have my eternal gratitude, no matter what twists and turns change the relationships. Others disappointed with their inability to adjust to their stoic friend possibly needing something every now and then.
Perhaps I had been too successful in my lifelong fight for independence.
Even blind, I could see myself losing that.
I had to wait three weeks between the fifth PRP session and the cataract surgery that I expected to clear my eye.
It couldn’t happen soon enough.
What had started as a bright blood red sheen that filtered my vision had quickly become a reddish brown haze, a perpetual fog that could not be seen through. For a week or so, I could still read books with larger print, but when the blood mixed with the natural eye fluids, I lost even that simple pleasure.
I’m not a TV person in general. I found dateline murder mysteries could be enjoyed even without sight; most everything else relied on visual cues that reminded me of everything I was missing.
My first anthology publication saw print in October 2009. I found myself unable to proofread even my own story, never mind enjoy the ones that were new to me.
I had gotten pretty bored with audio books after I’d borrowed the last of the Kate Wilhelm mysteries available throughout Rhode Island’s library network and was still feeling disappointed that none of her science fiction–and few of any science fiction titles that sat on my unread bookshelf–were available.
I continued to bowl; teammates would tell me what pins remained after the first ball and I would aim my straight ball proportionately from the dark contrast of the gutters. Amazingly enough I lost only about ten pins off my admittedly low average.
I had prepared two holiday meals unassisted. I recovered some ability to use the computer with a 32-inch TV as a monitor and a magnifying mouse.
I had found it necessary to hire someone to plow snow around my plow equipped jeep. I was not able to work, and the delay of two years ago still has an avalanche of things never caught up to my satisfaction.
I lived as fully as I could, but it was not enough for me. I wanted the cataract surgery with its implied promise of clearing the ruddy cloud out from under the bubbled lense.
I had grown bored
I could not find balance in my relationships. I felt like a useless burden. Those helping me the most inadvertently took away another piece of my self with every favor, all of which were and are still appreciated. I was always the caretaker, the one who banked favors with no intention of ever needing to cash out. Those who were there for me have my eternal gratitude, no matter what twists and turns change the relationships. Others disappointed with their inability to adjust to their stoic friend possibly needing something every now and then.
Perhaps I had been too successful in my lifelong fight for independence.
Even blind, I could see myself losing that.
I had to wait three weeks between the fifth PRP session and the cataract surgery that I expected to clear my eye.
It couldn’t happen soon enough.
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