My Eye Exam

Optometrist: Is this clearer, or blurrier?

Me: It's still blurry.

Optometrist: What about this?

Me: It's blurry. Maybe there's some condensation on the lens?

Optometrist: Oh, let me wipe it off. Here you go. Now, how's this?

Me, laughing nervously: Well, that's blurry too.

Optometrist. Okay...one, or two?

Me, pulling back to blink a few times: They're both fuzzy.

Optometrist: Let's wipe that off again. Okay, let's try this again. One, or two?

Me, wiping my eyes: I can't focus. I don't...I don't know. They both still look fuzzy to me. I've never had this happen before.

Optometrist: Okay, come on out here.

I blindly follow. I have always had terrible nearsightedness. I have an astigmatism in my right eye. I found out during a retinal scan at another eye exam two years ago that I had undiagnosed, and therefore untreated, amblyopia as a child. It wasn't apparent, since I didn't have the characteristic "lazy eye" look, but it's made my vision much worse. 

Optometrist: We're going to take a picture of your eye. Have a seat here.

Optician: Ok, just look at the blinking light. You'll see the flash when I take the picture.

I'm blinded even further by the dazzling flash aimed at my eyes. I get pictures of both eyes taken, then sit back, rubbing my eyes again. I put my glasses back on, and blink at the image of my eye, blown up to show the detail. I stare at it on the screen, about 20 inches tall, and even though my vision is still blurred, somehow I know something is wrong. 

Optician, pointing with her pen to the area around the image of my macula on the screen: Dr., is this...

Optometrist: Well, let me take a closer look.

He looks at the screen, then turns to me slowly. My heart starts beating a little faster. 

Optometrist: Does anyone in your family have macular degeneration?

Me: Yes, my grandma had it.

My heart is in my throat as he points to the area on the screen that the optician had indicated. 

Optometrist: Well, this is drusen. They're deposits around the retina. It's early stage macular degeneration.

Me: I...what?

Optometrist: You're much too young for this to be happening.

Me: What am I supposed to do?

I'm in a half-state of shock. One of my greatest fears is going blind. I once accidentally put in my husband's contacts (he has much better vision than me, so everything appeared very blurry) and I called him, my mom, and my best friend crying, thinking that I was going blind. It was funny at the time, but now...

Optometrist: It can't be reversed. You need to take daily vitamins, fish oil supplements, and eat a diet low in bad fats and high in good ones. Frequent cardiovascular exercise and staying in good shape are imperative.

I tell him I eat pretty well and exercise already, but he tells me I have to do more. He starts discussing atherosclerosis and the evils of the American diet, but I'm still having a hard time wrapping my mind around this. All I can think of is what a hard time Grandma had with her macular degeneration...and how she didn't develop it until later in life...so what the hell was going on with me? 

Optometrist: We need to continue to take pictures to track what's going on. You're just really, really too young for this.

He looks at me sympathetically. He tells me if there's anything they can do for me, to let them know. I just look at him. What am I supposed to say? How the hell do I know what I need? He picks up my chart and makes a notation on it.

Optometrist, looking at my chart: Well, this certainly changes things.

I look at the optician. She's silent. I think she suspected some issues when she did the initial examination. I can tell she feels bad for me. The atmosphere has changed. There's a heaviness in the silence. I manage make my follow up appointment and make it out to the car before I start to cry. I call my mom, and drive the couple of minutes home to my husband. I cry to both of them. I tell my husband that thing that scares me most is not being able to see my children's faces, or someday, my grandkids'. He holds me and lets me get the tears out. We look up more information, including the foods I need to eat for optimal eye health. I tell him I'm afraid of the heredity factor, because I don't want any of our kids to have it. There's obviously nothing I can do, but I feel terrible. 

How someone with advanced macular degeneration sees: 

As macular degeneration develops, clear, normal vision (shown. left) becomes impaired by a general haziness. With advanced macular degeneration, a blind spot forms at the center of your visual field (shown right)

The main things affected by macular degeneration are reading (horrible, I love to read), driving (self-explanatory), and my biggest fear: recognition of faces. While I'm not going to go blind next week, we really don't know what the outcome is going to be. I have such bad vision and so many other issues already. To top it off, my nearsightedness has drastically changed for the worse since my last exam. Even though it can't be reversed, I'm hoping I can improve my odds of diminished central visual acuity for as long as possible by doing all the "right" things. It's scary, though. I'm only 27 years old. I really am way too young for this.

When Things Come Together...

...it's easier to not fall apart. I feel compelled to share my experience with Postpartum depression. PPD affects a lot of women--probably more than even realize what they're experiencing. The CDC reports up to 20%, but those are just the ones who've sought help. It could be much higher. I experienced a horrible bout of PPD after my twins, but it took me almost six months to get diagnosed. Everyone experiences it in different ways. Mine was intense anger. Intense. I didn't think about hurting my babies, although that can be common in PPD. My anger was directed at everyone else around me. Nobody seemed to understand, nobody seemed willing to help, and severe lack of sleep and support took their toll. I had trouble breastfeeding, so I suffered feelings of inadequacy, and was really angry at myself too. Looking back, I could've had more help, especially from my grandparents, if I wouldn't have had such an overwhelming fear of letting go of some of the control. I felt that something would happen to my babies if I let them out of my sight for too long. My parents helped some in the first weeks, but right around that time, they got divorced. I was in isolation from friends, partially from having just moved back to my hometown before getting pregnant, partially from being on bedrest literally the entire second half of the pregnancy, and partially because of my age--the early 20s can be an awkward time to have children.

This time, things have been different. I still experienced PPD with my six month-old, but I'm positive that a LARGE part of that was because my grandmother was sick in the hospital from the time he was a few weeks old. She passed away when he was just five weeks old. My grandma helped raise me, she was a huge part of my life. I still can't believe she's gone most days, and I'm still grieving. The point is, I got treatment much sooner this time, at about four weeks from delivery. I still had trouble breastfeeding, but I tried, and was able to deal with it better when I realized I just wasn't providing enough nutrition. I still have my bad days, but there's a world of difference from last time. I'm older. I have experience (and yes, one is SO much easier than two!). I have a mellow baby who was born about a month further along in development than his siblings. I have my husband, who is the best father I could possibly hope for for my children. I have experienced so much more, and have learned there's always a light at the other end of the tunnel. This time, I can breathe. I can laugh. I can let things go.

If you think you might be experiencing PPD, please, please get checked out. Too many families have suffered. Too many mothers have lost out on valuable bonding time with their babies. Too many children have gotten seriously injured, or worse. It's not a shameful thing, it happens. With treatment and time, it does get better--but without them, it could result in tragedy. Talk about it, get support, and get help.

Avoidance

I've been avoiding you.

Well, not you. I think about you everyday, often many times throughout the day.

I think about you when things are going well, and I think about you when they're not.

I remember. And I'm doing you a disservice by not putting it all down, here, where I write about the things that are important to me.

I can't yet.

I can't face the emotions that will come with writing it all down. I can't dredge it all up yet, or I might crumble. I mean, just writing this, the tears are streaming down my cheeks and my heart is in my throat.

And so, I avoid, avoid, avoid.

I hope you understand. When the time comes that I can handle it, I promise, I'll let it out. I'll put it all down. I'll share the story of the strongest, most beautiful soul I've ever known. The story of my angel.

I miss you so very, very much, Grandma. I love you.