My birthday is right around the corner. Come mid-January and I will be turning 55. Fifty-five. What in the world? How did THAT happen? Some days I swear I believe in time travel. When I focus on a particular memory I am transported to that time, and there I am, mourning the loss of my parents, feeling orphaned. I am 29.
In another blink of an eye, I am meeting Randi, a dear friend to this day. I am again 36 for just a moment.
And then I blink – here I sit at 54 and 11/12ths. Next stop on the birthday train – 55.
Funny conversations come up at this age between Frank and me. Our neighbors across the street (who we adore, btw) are selling their house in the spring. They are moving to an “active” community. A 55+ community. Frank asks if it’s something we should consider?
At first, I’m confused. How old do you think we are? And then my breath catches. Oh, that’s right, we are about to qualify for entrance into their new neighborhood. I don’t feel like I should. I still think I’m 45. And to answer the question that may now be hanging…no, we will not be joining our friends in their new adventure.
Monday was one of those confirmations that I am no longer in my younger phase of life, physically at least.
Monday, I woke up excited — I am off of work this week. My project was to be repainting, at least the downstairs, of our house. We’re moving from coastal greens to coastal blues. I had already knocked out the mudroom and started on the dining area of the kitchen. I just needed to finish that room. I made pretty good progress and then hopped online for a minute. My sister was coming in from Chicago and I needed to work a bit before I was to pick her up. Just a few loose ends I needed to tie off at the office.
As soon as I was done with that, I hopped in the shower. That was about 11:00 a.m.
As I stepped out of the shower and into my warm, plush towel I noticed my right eye was blurry. Like there was a spotted film of clouds in my vision. Maybe I still had some unresolved morning gunk in it. I tried to clean it, rinse it, rub it. Nothing was making the film go away. It was weird. Like an instant spotted cataract that I couldn’t shake.
I returned to my desk once I was dressed and after about an hour it began to clear. As soon as it did, I called Mel. I shared with her what had just happened, describing it as the “weirdest thing”…and no sooner did I finish my story than she began to scare the crap out of me. This was no joke she said. Don’t mess with your eyes. Her father and brother had had similar experiences. And come to think of it. My brother is about to repair a detached retina…for the second time.
I disconnected the call and dialed our local ophthalmologist. I described the incident and they asked me to come in at 4:00 p.m.
Frank and I divided to conquer. He would pick up my sister from the airport and Melanie’s husband, who is also off work this week, would kindly Uber me to the eye doctor. Who knew we would be there for nearly two hours.
I met with the head doctor’s son, who is newer to the practice. Nice “kid”. He put me through the paces for sure. Standard exam, digital picture of my eye. He even dilated my eye the old-fashioned way. He tilted my chair back all the way to horizontal. Did you know an eye doctor could do such a thing? I always felt like the exam chair was modeled after the throne of English royalty as stiff and sharply angled as it is.
He leaned me back and the next thing I knew, he was dripping numbing drops in my eye. Then he was poking my eye with an instrument, only I couldn’t feel it beyond some pressure. I was completely freaked out. But then he exclaimed, “There it is! I can see it. You have a small tear in your Retina!”
I couldn’t tell if he was happy about this, or just proud of himself for finding it. “When did you say you graduated eye doctor school again?” I thought to myself. He sat me up and began to explain that as we age…
And there it was. The age thing. Boy, I don’t like the age thing at all…
As we age, the liquid gel in our eye can sometimes become a little thicker and as it splashes around inside our eye, it can somehow grab a small chunk of the retina and tear it, or worse yet, once torn, the fluid can get under the tear and cause the Retina to detach altogether.
“So, what you’re telling me is that I didn’t necessarily cause the problem? I didn’t have an eye injury, a head injury, jump rope, lift something incredibly heavy, or cause the tear in any way by doing something specific? I simply got older and my eye goop thickened and it tore my retina? The part of my eye that reflects the images I process so I can SEE?”
Pretty much.
And to top it off, it was now after 500 p.m., and though the doctor was assuring me my situation was urgent, not emergent, he sure was getting fidgety that he couldn’t find a surgeon to see me before the holiday to fix the problem.
At that point, they sent me home and asked me to stay by the phone while they began to text associates in the field of eye surgery until they could land me an appointment for sometime this week.
About half an hour after arriving home, I received a call from the gal at the front desk. I was to be at the surgeon’s office in Rock Hill (a town about 25 minutes south of my house) at 8:30a on Friday. I was given an address and told to be “careful” over the next few days. No leaning forward, no straining, no lifting heavy objects. Have you ever tried to put on your shoes without bending forward and straining a bit? Focus next time you do it. The little things we take for granted.
Friday presented another conflict. it was the morning my sister was to fly back to Chicago. As I have mentioned before, Cathy is special needs so one of us has to accompany her to the gate. Frank usually brings her to the gate on the return trip because it’s less emotional for her than when I send her off. But that leaves a problem; a) I probably shouldn’t drive myself to the eye surgeon on the off chance they would actually repair my eye on the spot; and b) we are a one-car family. have been since 2021.
Melanie once again to the rescue. This time, she drove me.
We arrived and learned I didn’t have an official appointment — they had only just received the referral. I insisted my doc had talked to their doc on Monday and I was told to show up at their office at 8:30 a.m. They must have confirmed it because after about 20 minutes I was called back to the exam room.
I shared the story of how I wound up in their chair, more pictures and poking ensued. Next, the doctor entered the room, and I got to repeat the story once again. More poking and chat time. He confirmed the tear and showed it to me on the screen (a small horseshoe-looking blemish in what looked like the center of my eye.
The next thing I knew he was walking me to a waiting room and handing me a tablet encouraging me to watch a video on how they repair the tear through laser surgery while he was going to have the front desk call my insurance company to get approval for the surgery. I figured at some point they’d bring me an appointment card and I’d be on my way, returning at some future date to fix the problem. Until that time, Frank would just put my shoes on my feet every day.
I watched the video (very informative, by the way), and about 10 minutes later I heard my name being called. I’m escorted into yet another exam-looking room and I’m asked to lean my head back at which time, Michael, the sweet tech assistant, adds more numbing drops to my already heavy-droopy eye.
“Now what are we doing?” I asked.
“They didn’t tell you? Honey, we’re about to fix that tear.” Michael replied.
Panic sets in. I’m terrified that I’m about to look like the cover of Clockwork Orange. I’m also terrified at the thought they might put a needle in my eye. To my great relief, neither of the two things occurred.
Michael continued to add more numbing drops about every five minutes or so, and finally Dr. Farr came into the room. He pulled up a chair opposite the table from me. He instructed me to put my chin in the chin rest of the apparatus between us. Next, he shoved a giant, gel-filled lens into my eye. Not a contact lens, mind you, but think an add-on lens for the back of your phone/camera. He literally stuck it in my eye. The gel caused a suction-like reaction.
Just when I was starting to freak out at that, I started seeing green flashes accompanied by an uncomfortable pulsation in the back of my eye. He twists the lens clockwise and then counter-clockwise again, and then more green pulsing flashes of light. Four or five minutes of that total and he unsuctions the lens, removing it from my eye and a moment later he announces we’re all good and Michael appears again to remove the leftover gook left behind from the lens in my eye.
That’s it. All fixed.
I headed to the front desk, a little stymied at the whirlwind of the last few minutes, got my follow-up appointment card, and out I came to the waiting room to collect Melanie.
I was warned I might experience some discomfort teetering on pain over the nxt 24 hours. At the moment, my eye felt heavy and even a little warm, but I have an incredibly high pain threshold so I figured I was going to be fine.
By the time we arrived at my house, twenty short minutes later, the numbing drops had worn off and the fire began. I started feeling like they left a staple in my eye, under my lid, and every time I blinked it was scraping across my eyeball. The pain. OMG.
We didn’t bother pulling into my driveway. Melanie made a U-turn in the culdesac near my house and we headed up the road to Walgreens to grab some gel-based eyedrops to help the pain.
I have a dry-eye condition. Not with the tear duct, but with the oil glands of my eye. I’ve been told that though I’m a good candidate for Lasic, I probably shouldn’t have it because it makes your eyes dry, especially the first year, and if you are prone to dry eye already, you might want to scratch your eyes out after going through the procedure. And now I know I will never have Lasic. Glasses it is.
It is nearly 5:30 a.m. the day after. My eye is swollen, and the skin around it irritated from me dabbing it continuously with a tissue after each time I used the eye drops, but the burning and stabbing pain has subsided, and for that I am thankful.
I am to “take it easy” this week, and I can resume normal activity (but no running, jumping jacks, or lifting heavy weights for two weeks) next week. Otherwise, I am reminded there’s not much else I can do if my “age” decides to show up in my retina again down the line. Great.
So far, on this aging thing, I can say with confidence, I am NOT a fan.
Shrinking Shay 