Observations two weeks after a cornea transplant
My operated eye is doing well. Doc says her handiwork is perfect. It can see better than before. (Which is not really saying much.)
Unending gratitude for medical science, the surgeon’s skill, my family’s loving care, friends’ prayers and good vibes, the healing power of Spirit.
When I woke up from surgery, the unoperated eye was very blurry, and continues to be. Apparently my Fuchs’ Dystrophy has completed its destruction of my right cornea. The timing was impeccable. Doc seems unconcerned. My glasses are now useless.
Having blurry vision in both eyes makes everyday life difficult. I am trying to work a few hours a day, take care of my family and home, and do some of my volunteer work, but I can only do a few minutes at a time of eye focusing and that’s all that my eyes can take. Mostly I sit with my eyes closed and listen to music, audiobooks, radio, or TV (go Phillies).
The worst pain so far was my back, from lying on my back for over two days. (If there are problems, it will be even longer.)
I have to take 17 eyedrops each day. The names of the eyedrops like to evolve. Prolensa became Polenta. Bestivance turned into Best-at-dance. Durezol morphed into Duracell, and Cyclogyl changed into Psycho Jill or Cyclops, appropriately enough.
Take caution if your designated eyedrop administrator is a person with dyslexia.
Braid that long, thick hair, or face the consequences.
Recuperation is the perfect time to practice mindfulness.
It’s also a great time to figure out all the music you listen to by ear.
I go back in three weeks for a recheck, and if all is well, they will schedule the other eye.
Hoping to have it done and a little recuperation time before summer is over and our work schedules become much busier.
The swelling must go down and settle before I have an exam for new glasses. So I try to look at my phone with a very large magnifier, and zoom up huge on the computer, left eye squinted and right eye squeezed shut. Things like cooking are difficult. They say I’m legal to drive but I cannot imagine. I would endanger everyone on the road. I am also extremely light sensitive – even more than before. I’m using night vision yellow glasses to type this.
If all goes well, I might see better than before, and my glaucoma might even improve. But there are several types of complications that are possible. Hoping for no tissue rejection and no infections.
There is nothing quite like having stitches in your eye. Or having them removed.
Dogs know. And they care. Cats know, but they do not care. At least mine doesn’t.
Magical things: a shower, yoga, music, chocolate ice cream, walking in the woods, standup comedy, hugs.
“Don’t sweat the small stuff” takes on new meaning, since what you’re concerned about is microscopic.
Inner Voice 