Many thanks to all who prayed for me, to Guy for notifying Jim and for calling me twice, to Jim for posting it and for all the work he does on the blog, to Dave and Kathy Recupero for so kindly sending me a Get Well note, and to Sally Hoyt Jones for regularly checking in on me by phone.
The surgery was to remove a big fat thick membrane that had gratuitously grown over the macula of the retina of the right eye, blocking central vision, so I could not read with it nor see facial details as soon as I'd look at them. (FYI, this is an "epiretinal membrane" or "macular pucker", and you can see some wonderful operations on you-tube if you have the stomach for them!) The retina underneath was very thin, so it tore just as the doctor had about half the membrane removed.
So he had to insert a gas bubble to hold the retinal tear against the back wall of the eye, and I had to go 8 weeks with my face down so the bubble would properly press against the tear. The stakes were that, if scar tissue developed under the tear, it would pull the retina away from the wall and the eyesight would go altogether. The bubble gradually dissolves as the body replaces the vitreous liquid.
The doctor was very relieved that the retina healed perfectly.
However, the macula is still more than semi-covered with the membrane, making it only a trifle more clear than it was before. I.e., the peripheral vision has descended a little closer to the center, so there's almost enough to think you are just about almost able to read, but aren't. But I do think it is just slightly enough to have the right eye help the good left eye better in seeing road signs and reducing the uncertainty.
By the way, "face down" literally means holding the head face-down, night and day. At night, you sleep with your head face-down off the foot of the bed, head suspended by a rental contraption that has a cushioned headbrace and an armrest. During the day, face-down suspended by a brace attached to an "ergonomic" chair (I don't know who figures out these medieval torture systems) with an armrest. The face becomes completely puffy and deformed. No reading for the first five weeks. But the chair came with a double-mirror you can look down into to see the reflection of a monitor if you're up to loading a video or DVD into your own equipment without looking up while you're trying to figure out the instructions again. At the end of the first week, I proudly told the doctor how many floors I had vaccumed and washed, loads of machine laundry and hand-wash I had caught up with. He hit the roof. So then a terrified and duly disciplined me was given a strict regime of two hours down and two hours still facedown but allowed to walk gently around, such as to fix and eat a meal. After 5 weeks, I was allowed to read a little. But after the first week, he did allow me to (face-down) board the bus in front of my building, ride down to M Street, walk very gently (face-down) 2.5 blocks to St Matthew Cathedral for noon Mass and Holy Communion. At the corner lamp-posts I'd wait (face-down) for a pair of feet to stop before crossing, and ask their owner to kindly see that I get safely across the street. Everyone was very kind. I always wore the eye patch which makes everyone spring away, as a good defensive preventive measure. After 8 weeks, you're either very serene or going nuts. I tried for the serene. Fortunately, there was almost never any pain, only a couple of times, for a few moments as the stitches were dissolving.
After the doctor released me last Thursday, and I still went to the Mass at the Cathedral for those remaining 3 days, I was surprised at the number of total strangers in all parts who were congratulating me.
In these weeks, there were two couples who alternated picking me up to carry me Sundays to the Italian Church we love, and two women friends who did a lot of service in small, wonderful, indispensable ways. I listened to lots of CD talks from InstituteOfCatholicCulture.org/audio. Many of you would enjoy these talks--they're fun and intelligent--check them out.
So, that's the story!
Margaret
