OK, so the story ended abruptly.
I was going to tell you about the friendly doctors and the boring tests; how familiar it felt over the course of a day as they went from treating me like a hypochondriac that’s over reacting, to taking me seriously, to treating me as if I don’t understand the severity of my situation. I was going to tell you how my poor wife didn’t get anything to eat until 7:00pm and how I sat around for an hour to pay $60 on 2.5mL (that’s a half of a teaspoon) of Travatan and 5 mL (a teaspoon) of Timolol Maleate.
Instead, I’m going to tell you the short version and then go into the yard and garden. It’s a beautiful summer day. Later, I’m going to grill some chicken.
The Short Version
My eye pressure is high. My implant is failing. There are no new drugs to try… but we have to try something. As my doctor put it: “If we don’t get it under control, we’re talking months, not years.” I’m going in in a few weeks to see if another surgery will buy me more time.
Oh, and I think someone was stuck in the elevator when we left.
I also learned how wrong I was about not being able to see in. Those Harborview people have all sorts of things to look around curves. (Yes, I know prisms aren’t new inventions. Shut up.)
Look at these two thumbnails:
Each one is a map of an eye. The dark spots are where I’ve lost vision. Even after the removal of the cataracts, that vision isn’t coming back.
To quote myself: Everyone’s invited to my Pity Party, but I’m going to sneak out and go to Golden Gardens to play on the beach. Feel free to pity without me.