
You may have noticed my vision is not what it used to be.
You may remember my long ago posts about eye health and the lovely treatments I have received at the hands of an expert ophthalmologist, a pioneer in treating exactly the condition I have suffered: macular edema (ME).
Well, in the words of his assistant, who saw me last Friday, “I have exceptional news for you!”
I did not need a treatment.
I am so excited.
The situation was a bit humorous at first. In my daze of happiness, I automatically exited the exam room and headed for the back hallway where those who need further treatment wait while trying to encourage each other. It is hard, even after two years, to allow someone to give us a shot in the eyeball. For some it is really hard. We have to psyche ourselves up and, some of us being old, we don’t always do a very good job of it.
Sometimes, as the day for an appointment approaches, my husband will catch me sighing or shivering and ask me what is wrong.
I usually tell him, “Oh, just trying not to think about it.”
I don’t have to tell him “what” I’m (not) thinking about anymore.
Anyway, as I headed for the “back row”, the doctor and nurses laughed and reminded me I did NOT need a shot and could leave.
Weird.
I got used to it very quickly, though.
Usually, after the shot, I would drive (I could still see, see?) to the nearest posh restaurant and treat myself to one of their marvelous salads, for being a good girl. Sometimes, if I’d done poorly and felt sorry for myself, I’d add one of their marvelous cheesecakes or a cloud of a tiramisu.
NO CHANGES, THERE, LAST FRIDAY!
The big change—and what seemed oddest—was not needing a Kleenex for my poor eyes, which would usually be irritated by the antiseptics used to prepare the area for this invasive procedure.
But hey! It has worked!
If, at the next monthly checkup, I still can read 20/50 and the ultrasound still looks great, I’ll be switched to every 3 months for my checkups. What a relief!
I am very, very thankful.
But I think I’ll miss my friends on the back row . . .