On Contemplating Blindness -- Part I: The Beginning
It started on a Thursday afternoon in July. Something didn't seem quite right about how I was seeing my computer screen. I occasionally have ophthalmic migraines, so I thought I must be coming down with one. Usually the first sign is realizing I'm missing a tiny part of my field of vision. I can't quite read a word or a number. It's not that there's a black spot; there's just nothing where something should be.
I closed my eyes and looked for the telltale pinprick of light. It wasn't there. I looked at my screen again and tried to find an area of vision that was missing, but I couldn't pick one out. I was busy, so I shrugged it off and went back to work.
The next morning I opened my eyes while in the shower washing my hair. Directly across from me was the white fiberglass wall of the tub. And a circular shaped burst of rays of shimmering light, like prisms sparkling in the sun.
Great. I hadn't eaten breakfast yet and here was the ophthalmic migraine. With gastro-esophageal reflux disease as my constant companion, ibuprofen is something I don't tolerate well, and certainly not on an empty stomach, but it's the only drug that keeps my ophthalmic migraines from turning into full-blown headaches. Headache or searing chest pain? Headache or searing chest pain?
I finished up as quickly as I could, drank a glass of milk, took two ibuprofen, ate a bowl of cereal, and waited for the light show to go away. The typical manifestation is for it to start as a pinprick of light, then gradually grow larger with sparkling prisms in a crescent shape and widen out until it disappears.
I didn't have the luxury of taking any time away from work -- I have to plan six weeks in advance to take a sick day -- so I hopped on the computer and just did my best, scanning around the screen to get the information I needed since I couldn't see what was in the center of my field of vision. To read an account number, I had to scan back and forth and memorize what the numbers were. Out of a number like 12345678, I could see the 1 and the 8, but nothing between. So I would shift and see the 2, but now not the 1 or anything after. And then shift again, and see the 3 but not the 1, 2, or anything after.
At some point I did the unthinkable, and took a second dose of the ibuprofen. It had seemed to help, but the vision problem never completely resolved like usual, so I thought a follow up dose might kick it. I noticed while doing my physical therapy exercises that there was a round dimple on the wall. Odd. And although the ibuprofen had taken away the light show, I was seeing a blue circle follow wherever in the room I looked. That had happened once before and took about 24 hours to go away, so I didn't panic.
Saturday morning I woke up and blinked a few times. There was the blue spot on the wall. It turned yellow when I closed my eyes. Open, blue. Close, yellow. And again, a light show on the white tub wall in the shower. I was in the middle of triathlon season and noticed that it seemed to subside while I was out training and for an hour or two afterward. But then it was back. More ibuprofen.
By Saturday night, it still hadn't gone away. A blank spot in the middle of my field of vision where stuff should be. Driving in the unfamiliar northern suburbs between the bike shop and my training site that afternoon, I'd had to scan back and forth across the street signs in order to read the words to know if this was where to turn or not.
Since this had been going on for 48 hours, I did what any sane person would do. I went online and googled "missing center field of vision."
Macular degeneration came back. I read the Mayo Clinic site and everything matched.
My blood ran cold.
Grandma Whitman. My mother's mother. Blind from macular degeneration.
Okay, let's make sure this doesn't run in families.
It does.
Slam.
I wonder what most people's first thought is when presented with the possibility of going blind. Mine was: "How will I climb mountains?" Followed a nanosecond later by, "How will I do triathlons?"
Having lived through my grandmother's descent into blindness, it had never once occurred to me that it could possibly happen to me. Apparently it's been something my mother has feared for most of her adult life. But I never gave it a single thought.
And now it was staring me in the face. Except I couldn't quite see my face in the mirror unless I scanned around using my peripheral vision.
To be continued….
I closed my eyes and looked for the telltale pinprick of light. It wasn't there. I looked at my screen again and tried to find an area of vision that was missing, but I couldn't pick one out. I was busy, so I shrugged it off and went back to work.
The next morning I opened my eyes while in the shower washing my hair. Directly across from me was the white fiberglass wall of the tub. And a circular shaped burst of rays of shimmering light, like prisms sparkling in the sun.
Great. I hadn't eaten breakfast yet and here was the ophthalmic migraine. With gastro-esophageal reflux disease as my constant companion, ibuprofen is something I don't tolerate well, and certainly not on an empty stomach, but it's the only drug that keeps my ophthalmic migraines from turning into full-blown headaches. Headache or searing chest pain? Headache or searing chest pain?
I finished up as quickly as I could, drank a glass of milk, took two ibuprofen, ate a bowl of cereal, and waited for the light show to go away. The typical manifestation is for it to start as a pinprick of light, then gradually grow larger with sparkling prisms in a crescent shape and widen out until it disappears.
I didn't have the luxury of taking any time away from work -- I have to plan six weeks in advance to take a sick day -- so I hopped on the computer and just did my best, scanning around the screen to get the information I needed since I couldn't see what was in the center of my field of vision. To read an account number, I had to scan back and forth and memorize what the numbers were. Out of a number like 12345678, I could see the 1 and the 8, but nothing between. So I would shift and see the 2, but now not the 1 or anything after. And then shift again, and see the 3 but not the 1, 2, or anything after.
At some point I did the unthinkable, and took a second dose of the ibuprofen. It had seemed to help, but the vision problem never completely resolved like usual, so I thought a follow up dose might kick it. I noticed while doing my physical therapy exercises that there was a round dimple on the wall. Odd. And although the ibuprofen had taken away the light show, I was seeing a blue circle follow wherever in the room I looked. That had happened once before and took about 24 hours to go away, so I didn't panic.
Saturday morning I woke up and blinked a few times. There was the blue spot on the wall. It turned yellow when I closed my eyes. Open, blue. Close, yellow. And again, a light show on the white tub wall in the shower. I was in the middle of triathlon season and noticed that it seemed to subside while I was out training and for an hour or two afterward. But then it was back. More ibuprofen.
By Saturday night, it still hadn't gone away. A blank spot in the middle of my field of vision where stuff should be. Driving in the unfamiliar northern suburbs between the bike shop and my training site that afternoon, I'd had to scan back and forth across the street signs in order to read the words to know if this was where to turn or not.
Since this had been going on for 48 hours, I did what any sane person would do. I went online and googled "missing center field of vision."
Macular degeneration came back. I read the Mayo Clinic site and everything matched.
My blood ran cold.
Grandma Whitman. My mother's mother. Blind from macular degeneration.
Okay, let's make sure this doesn't run in families.
It does.
Slam.
I wonder what most people's first thought is when presented with the possibility of going blind. Mine was: "How will I climb mountains?" Followed a nanosecond later by, "How will I do triathlons?"
Having lived through my grandmother's descent into blindness, it had never once occurred to me that it could possibly happen to me. Apparently it's been something my mother has feared for most of her adult life. But I never gave it a single thought.
And now it was staring me in the face. Except I couldn't quite see my face in the mirror unless I scanned around using my peripheral vision.
To be continued….
Please get yourself to an eye doctor asap. Work is nothing compared to one's health and eyesight...seriously.
ReplyDeleteHope you are ok! I am really wondering how this turned out!
ReplyDeleteOh Karen. That is awful. Please, please keep us posted.
ReplyDelete