Normally I am not apprehensive, anxious, or nervous as I
head to my annual eye appointment.
On the contrary, I typically get excited to choose another cool pair of
glasses. However, after my
appointment yesterday, I may never walk into an eye doctor feeling excited
again!
All was well as I sat through and passed the eye puff test,
read my “E’s” on the 20/20 line, and clicked the clicker every time the line
moved in my peripheral vision. I
tolerated the dilation, chose a cool green pair of new glasses and sat waiting
for the doc to use her little light to look in the back of my eyes.
Sitting in the chair, she questioned if I had ever been told
I had any ‘signs of concern’ with my eyes. I quickly responded, “Other than poking my eye with a pipe
cleaner as a four year old and getting an infection which required surgery –
nope.”
“Let’s have a look,” she said. “Hmmm – oh dear, you may need to go to a specialist”, she
says, rolling on her chair back to her paperwork. I got a little worried – eye stuff kind of freaks me
out. Admittedly, it makes no sense
considering all the gross wounds and bodily fluids I have worked with as an
occupational therapist, not to mention the nasty things that come out of the
orifices of children! But, eyes, they
just gross me out!
So the doc starts telling me that my eyes have lattice
disintegration and therefore, I have a risk of retinal detachment , which could
result in my retina coming off the eyeball – or something like that. At this point, I am feeling
myself get a little warm and woozy.
I tell her, maybe not to give me so much information and basically start
tuning her out so I won’t pass out.
I am serious - I am thinking I may do just that. I begin some discreet deep breathing
(smell the flowers, blow out the candles) – don’t want her to think I’m a
cuckoo. She keeps droning on with
the information. I can’t hear it –
literally can’t hear her. The room
starts spinning; her voice is an echo in my head. I am mentally trying to NOT fall out of the chair and onto
the ground. I put my head in
between my knees in hopes to get the blood flowing and hoping the doc is busy
writing in her chart so she won’t notice.
Somehow, I make it out of the office and into the fresh air
without assistance.
A couple days later, I have the courage to skim some stuff
on the internet – making sure I am seated in a soft chair in case I get woozy
again. I am trying to be positive
in thinking that I did not get sent to a specialist (yet) and that the
percentage of those with lattice disintegration whose eyeballs actually detach
is relatively small. But, I’ve got
to say, I have been on eye alert these past few days wondering if I’ll need to
call the emergency line and say, “Hey – Eye’ve Lost It!” HELP!
