The Beaten Goes On
Thu., August 23, 02:58 PM
Thanks to "Rhymes with Orange" for this explanation entitled Cave Blog. So fitting. I can't manage to upload the graphic, but do go and look.
This started as just the crazy lady obsessing about her vision. “Fascinating,” as Mr. Spock would say. Not necessarily useful, but definitely interesting. On the second day the doctor removed the patch from my eye and tested it. What had been 20/200 is now 20/40 — which is what it was years ago. I should probably go and look for a pair of my old prescription glasses.
However, straight lines are still bent. I don't know if that is technically astigmatism, since the problem is not in the lens, but in the retina. It doesn't really matter what you call it; bottom line is, I am not seeing the same thing with both eyes, so I'm still closing one eye to read. After I put the post-op drops into the left eye, I still have to put the other drops into my right eye so I can read with it. Looking at print with both eyes means seeing double. That's not helpful.
Every day brings something new. The first thing I noticed was the disappearance of what I called the fragmented rainbows. That's a common symptom of cataracts; lights are surrounded by radiating colors. (U.D. grasped the concept when I described them as multi-colored bacilli.)
The next surprise came as I was surfing the net. I closed the “wrong” eye and saw — with the new lens — colors I haven't seen since I don't know when. I still couldn't read with that eye, but I could see pictures and colors. Next day, I could read large print, as long as I wore my reading glasses.
It continues to improve. (I'm not reading books with the new eye yet.) I feel very hopeful. I suspect that it is possible to prescribe glasses for it. I'll let you know.
[Since I wrote that, I have been back to the doctor and tentatively scheduled the surgery for the other eye. This one has done so well that the retinologist will probably not do anything more than look at it. Maybe I can start to be a person again.]
Husband, meanwhile, is stamping his foot. That's the first sign that he's irritated. It may be followed by shouting if someone annoys him. We are trying to take care of him; he is just… trying.
Like a two-year-old, he is so busy digging in his heels and saying no that he often misses the fact that what he's refusing is something he might want. Then, a little while later, it's “On second thought… ” Despite it all, the nurses seem to think he is improving.
Take yesterday. Just about the only good thing I can say about yesterday is that it's over. We knew there could be problems: Husband had a doctor's appointment at 8:15 a.m. Our schedules and routines would have to be adjusted. For example, it is too early to give Husband breakfast. (U.D. and I eat earlier.) I told him we could eat in the cafeteria, and I packed his morning pills.
U.D. got us to the clinic in plenty of time and waited with us. And waited. Around 8:30 Husband was called, his vitals taken, and we were to wait for the doctor. Shortly before 9:00 he appeared.
The big question for Husband was whether he needs to use his oxygen round the clock. He does. For how long? Forever. I saw the look of sudden comprehension on his face; I last saw an expression of astonishment/anger like that when my four-month-old infant realized what “no” means. Husband protested, but there is no alternative.
U.D. was already late for work, so she left. We waited for instructions, prescriptions, pneumonia vaccination, etc. This was going to be a long day. I brought Husband to the cafeteria, got him some breakfast and a newspaper, and gave him his pills. Then I started my trek.
First was the prosthetics department, where I picked up a nebulizer, which should deliver his medications more efficiently than the inhaler he was using. I waited in line to get that one. Next was the inhalation therapy department, where I had to wait to get instructions on how to use the nebulizer. More often this information is given to the patient, but this particular patient just wouldn't get it. He's had these treatments before, so he should be familiar with them; but he got really impatient when I started his first one.
The nebulizer wasn't particularly heavy, so I didn't expect any difficulty picking up the prescriptions. However, they turned out to be two grocery sacks full. I lugged everything down to the cafeteria. Husband had left his wheelchair to visit the men's room, but he returned shortly after I got there. I got him some lunch, 'cause it had taken me that long to do all the errands. And then I took a couple of tylenol and just sat there, because my back was protesting.
After a while he wanted the men's room again, and I reminded him that U.D. was expected soon. He was taking a long time. U.D. arrived and carried some of the paraphernalia to the car. I put the rest into the wheelchair, figuring I would save him the steps when he came out. Forty minutes later we were still looking for him, wondering whether we should call security, when I glanced into the gift shop and saw him buying candy. (He is not supposed to be eating candy until the effects of one of his temporary medications have passed.)
I yelled at him, but U.D. really yelled. He had sneaked away — without oxygen — for candy. She pushed away the candy, Husband tried to push her away and lost his balance. All of a sudden people were trying to protect the “poor defenseless old man,” who was perfectly fine except for his dignity. We had been worrying about him for all that time, we were late for other appointments, and… he did it to me again.
We had to bring him along with us — no time to drop him off at home — and he behaved abominably the whole time. We had to take away his cane, which was not support as much as a weapon. He would not accept an arm to help him walk because, of course, “I'm fine.”
When we got home, he just left his portable oxygen in the hall (without turning it off). I just took a nap (missed my eyedrops, which I'm still supposed to be doing four times a day). I didn't have the energy to set up the nebulizer for him till today.
I don't know who this stranger is. He's sitting on my last nerve…
