I did get a whole lot of sleep, anyway.
Tuesday, 13 May 2014 02:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
carose59In Short, It Is Exhausting Being Me. Pretending To Be Normal Is Draining And Requires An Amazing Amount Of Energy And Xanax.*
-:- -:- -:-
On April ninth, I went to the eye doctor, to see how far along my cataracts were, and whether or not I could have the surgery. Both the doctor and the technician were very helpful, encouraging me not to guess on the eye chart, but to just say what I actually saw.
What I actually saw was not very much at all.
I was scheduled for a pre-op appointment the following Wednesday. At that appointment, the technician asked me about wearing contacts. I thought she was asking if I would be wanting to wear them again, but what she wanted to know was why I'd stopped. I told her it was because my eyes were too dry for me to see very well with them.
"That's the answer I was looking for," she said, typing it in. "Your right eye is definitely ready to go, but your left eye's not as bad, and the insurance company might say that you could just get a contact lens to wear until it's ready. But now we have documentation that you can't do that." Again, lovely and very helpful. I was shown a little film about eyes and cataracts, and I was a very good girl and did not talk about Pat, or how I've done this before, only on the outside. She had six eye surgeries—I think it was six—altogether. Cataract surgeries, then surgeries to remove the membranes that grew around the residue of the cataracts, then, later, implants so she could just wear reading glasses. It made me shiver, watching the little film. I wanted Pat to be there with me, to laugh about it with.
It normally takes about a month to get the surgery after the pre-op appointment, but because there had been a cancellation, I was scheduled to go in the next Wednesday to get my right eye done.
I was also given paperwork to fill out, because I had to decide whether to have my eyes made farsighted, nearsighted, or to wear glasses all the time.
I chose being farsighted. My reasoning was that that way I could drive without prescription glasses, which would be good because I'd need to wear sunglasses more conscientiously after the surgery. Reading glasses would be fine.
I was also given contact information for a mail-in drug company to get the eye drops I'd need to start the Sunday before the surgery. The doctors' office has an arrangement with them, and the prices are supposed to be good. I say 'supposed to be' because I don't know. Between the quick turnaround time and a missed call, I ended up getting my eye drops from my regular drug store. And I don't think three bottles of drops for a little over fifty dollars is a bad price.
(I had a bit of a panic over that—the missed call that meant I wouldn't be able to get the drops from the mail-in place. I went to the drug store and asked if they had these drops in stock, and they did. But I had no prescription. So I called the office—this was on a Saturday—and left a message for the doctor on call. When he called me back, I explained it all to him, and he sent prescriptions to the drug store, so I had my drops in time. Except for the initial panic, I think I handled things pretty well. I just decided that if I had to postpone the surgery, well, I was the only one that really mattered to, and getting upset about it wouldn't make me feel any better.)
Patrick drove me to the surgeries, and afterwards I treated him to lunch, partly to be nice and partly because I was starving. I was awake for the whole thing, but very calm from the drugs. For the first one, they had to put the IV in at my wrist, but for the second one they got a vein in my arm, so it didn't hurt as much. I don't really remember much about the first one, but the second one felt like being in a science fiction movie. I could see what was going on, but I couldn't focus on it (what with having no lens in my eye). I just saw colors and textures. And there was some kind of disembodied woman's voice saying something in the background—some kind of technical information—that made it all rather surreal.
After the first surgery, my eyes didn't work together at all, and I had to use them independently. I could wear my glasses, but I had to cover the right lens.
After the second surgery, I had no near vision at all. I mean, I literally cannot open a book and start reading unless I put on my dollar store reading glasses. Bringing things closer to my face makes them fuzzier.
I cannot explain how hard this is. I've been nearsighted close to fifty years. My default for seeing something is, close my right eye and bring the thing up to my nose. Having this not work—having it be the opposite of helpful—is like gravity suddenly going sideways. It feels unnatural. It doesn't feel like me. I know it was the right decision, but I've changed a part of who I am.
I see my eye doctor again on the thirtieth, at which time I'll most likely get my prescription so I can get good reading glasses. The ones from the dollar store are a lifesaver, but they're also like wearing magnifying glasses on my face.
People keep telling me how wonderful this all is, and it is. But I have mourning to do. I don't handle change well, and pretending I'm happy when I'm not is hard. I should be happy; I'm just not yet.
*Jenny Lawson
Posted simultaneously on LiveJournal and Dreamwidth.
-:- -:- -:-
On April ninth, I went to the eye doctor, to see how far along my cataracts were, and whether or not I could have the surgery. Both the doctor and the technician were very helpful, encouraging me not to guess on the eye chart, but to just say what I actually saw.
What I actually saw was not very much at all.
I was scheduled for a pre-op appointment the following Wednesday. At that appointment, the technician asked me about wearing contacts. I thought she was asking if I would be wanting to wear them again, but what she wanted to know was why I'd stopped. I told her it was because my eyes were too dry for me to see very well with them.
"That's the answer I was looking for," she said, typing it in. "Your right eye is definitely ready to go, but your left eye's not as bad, and the insurance company might say that you could just get a contact lens to wear until it's ready. But now we have documentation that you can't do that." Again, lovely and very helpful. I was shown a little film about eyes and cataracts, and I was a very good girl and did not talk about Pat, or how I've done this before, only on the outside. She had six eye surgeries—I think it was six—altogether. Cataract surgeries, then surgeries to remove the membranes that grew around the residue of the cataracts, then, later, implants so she could just wear reading glasses. It made me shiver, watching the little film. I wanted Pat to be there with me, to laugh about it with.
It normally takes about a month to get the surgery after the pre-op appointment, but because there had been a cancellation, I was scheduled to go in the next Wednesday to get my right eye done.
I was also given paperwork to fill out, because I had to decide whether to have my eyes made farsighted, nearsighted, or to wear glasses all the time.
I chose being farsighted. My reasoning was that that way I could drive without prescription glasses, which would be good because I'd need to wear sunglasses more conscientiously after the surgery. Reading glasses would be fine.
I was also given contact information for a mail-in drug company to get the eye drops I'd need to start the Sunday before the surgery. The doctors' office has an arrangement with them, and the prices are supposed to be good. I say 'supposed to be' because I don't know. Between the quick turnaround time and a missed call, I ended up getting my eye drops from my regular drug store. And I don't think three bottles of drops for a little over fifty dollars is a bad price.
(I had a bit of a panic over that—the missed call that meant I wouldn't be able to get the drops from the mail-in place. I went to the drug store and asked if they had these drops in stock, and they did. But I had no prescription. So I called the office—this was on a Saturday—and left a message for the doctor on call. When he called me back, I explained it all to him, and he sent prescriptions to the drug store, so I had my drops in time. Except for the initial panic, I think I handled things pretty well. I just decided that if I had to postpone the surgery, well, I was the only one that really mattered to, and getting upset about it wouldn't make me feel any better.)
Patrick drove me to the surgeries, and afterwards I treated him to lunch, partly to be nice and partly because I was starving. I was awake for the whole thing, but very calm from the drugs. For the first one, they had to put the IV in at my wrist, but for the second one they got a vein in my arm, so it didn't hurt as much. I don't really remember much about the first one, but the second one felt like being in a science fiction movie. I could see what was going on, but I couldn't focus on it (what with having no lens in my eye). I just saw colors and textures. And there was some kind of disembodied woman's voice saying something in the background—some kind of technical information—that made it all rather surreal.
After the first surgery, my eyes didn't work together at all, and I had to use them independently. I could wear my glasses, but I had to cover the right lens.
After the second surgery, I had no near vision at all. I mean, I literally cannot open a book and start reading unless I put on my dollar store reading glasses. Bringing things closer to my face makes them fuzzier.
I cannot explain how hard this is. I've been nearsighted close to fifty years. My default for seeing something is, close my right eye and bring the thing up to my nose. Having this not work—having it be the opposite of helpful—is like gravity suddenly going sideways. It feels unnatural. It doesn't feel like me. I know it was the right decision, but I've changed a part of who I am.
I see my eye doctor again on the thirtieth, at which time I'll most likely get my prescription so I can get good reading glasses. The ones from the dollar store are a lifesaver, but they're also like wearing magnifying glasses on my face.
People keep telling me how wonderful this all is, and it is. But I have mourning to do. I don't handle change well, and pretending I'm happy when I'm not is hard. I should be happy; I'm just not yet.
*Jenny Lawson
Posted simultaneously on LiveJournal and Dreamwidth.