#because mine is an old medical chair from surgery recovery

[iliveinprocrasti-nationn]

wheelchairs are magical i think

[gotham-ruaidh]

Little Bit Better Than I Used To Be

Catch up: Chapter 1 (Starry Eyes) || Chapter 2 (Save Our Souls) || Chapter 3 (Dancing On Glass)|| Chapter 4 (Merry-Go-Round)|| Backstage (1) || Backstage (2) || Chapter 5 (Danger)|| Backstage (3) || Chapter 6A (Love Walked In) || Chapter 6B (Without You) || Backstage (4) || Chapter 7 (Stick To Your Guns) || Chapter 8 (Time For Change) || Backstage (5) || Chapter 9 (Take Me To The Top) || Backstage (6) || Chapter 10 (Home Sweet Home) || Backstage (7) || Chapter 11a (Nightrain) || Chapter 11b (Nothing Else Matters) || Chapter 12a (Handle With Care) || Chapter 12b (I’m So Tired of Being Lonely) || Chapter 13a (Angel) || Chapter 13b (She’s My Addiction) || Chapter 13c (Patience) ||| Also posted at AO3

Chapter 14A: Where Do We Go Now?

Soundtrack: “Sweet Child O' Mine,” Guns N' Roses, 1987 [click here to listen]

She's got eyes of the bluest skies As if they thought of rain I'd hate to look into those eyes and see an ounce of pain Her hair reminds me of a warm safe place Where as a child I'd hide And pray for the thunder and the rain to quietly pass me by...

Philadelphia || June 1988

Claire pushed her chair back a bit from the desk. Raised her arms. Stretched. Breathed deeply.

Reading for the eighth time the words she’d finally tapped out on the Selectric this morning, after days of rolling them around in her head.

Chief Physician

Boston Medical Center

To Whom It May Concern,

As you may be aware, I am a trauma surgeon at BMC. Twelve months ago I was placed on administrative leave by the BMC, and my medical license was suspended, pending the resolution of BMC’s internal investigation into my conduct. The investigation started by looking into a near-fatal error I committed during a surgery, and then quickly discovered that I had not only been forging prescriptions and stealing painkillers for quite some time, but also developed a severe addition to those painkillers.

As you may also be aware, I did not contest the actions taken by BMC. Subsequently I enrolled in an intensive drug rehabilitation program in North Carolina. I am happy to share that I am almost twelve months clean, having completed the program last December and successfully maintained my sobriety since then.

I have previously communicated to the Board, on several occasions, my sincere regret for what I did and my remorse for the incredible lapse of professional judgment and ethical standards I demonstrated. I repeat those regrets to you now.

Which is, in part, why I am writing you today. I wish to understand what else is required of me to return to work, in any capacity, at BMC.

Making amends for wrongs was something that Claire and Geillis had talked about a lot, during her time at The Ridge. Yes, doing that was a formal part of any 12 Step program.

But it was more than just saying sorry – it required the addict to recognize the wrongs.

To own them. To understand why they had happened, and the impact they had had on others.

Because nothing sounded more inadequate in the English language than the two words, I’m sorry.

But words matter. And this attitude shift was a crucial step on any addict’s road to recovery.

Making amends was something that Claire and Jamie had talked a lot about, too. She had seen him make amends many times, in their short time together – and quite often during their last few weeks on the road, as they traveled city to city for Print’s acoustic tour and Jamie came into contact with many people who had last seen him drunk/rude/high/demanding/hung over/acting like a total asshole during the last (disastrous) tour in ’86.

He made it a point to really talk to each person, to apologize for specific things he remembered doing. No matter if it was the venue manager, or the catering guy, or the lighting guy, or the security guard. I was a dick when I was drunk. I said terrible things. I hurt you. I’m sorry.

Two weeks ago in Chicago, he couldn’t sleep after a fucking incredible show at the old Chicago Theater. The adrenaline buzz after the show so much better than any pills or bourbon or groupie could have given him. He had tossed and turned for hours, until finally, quietly slipping out of their bed and perching in the easy chair in their suite at the Palmer House, watching Claire shift restlessly under the covers without him.

But of course, she knew when something was wrong. She woke, and turned to face him, easing up on one elbow. Watching him back. Giving him space.

When he finally spoke, it was just above a raspy whisper.

“How can you be here, Claire, when all you do is hear me talk about how awful I was to so many people?”

Her heart did break a little bit. “Because I never knew that version of you, Jamie. What I care about is who you are now.”

He sighed, breath ragged. “This shit is so fucking hard.”

“I know, baby.” Somehow she was standing beside him, and blindly he buried his face into the warm skin of her belly. She threaded her fingers in his hair, held him close as his pulse spiked.

“Deep breaths, Jamie. Focus on me. I’m here.”

He had had several panic attacks during the tour. Which could be chalked up to anything – the stress of changing hotels every day, the crush of fans and press that clustered around their tour bus when they arrived in a new city, the women who pulled down their tops in the front row at every concert, the Jack Daniels bottles and little baggies of powder left in his dressing room before the show in Wilkes-Barre.

But instead of smashing to pieces all alone, she sheltered him. He knew when to ask for help. And always found her just in time to crash against her, shaking and crying in bathroom stalls and green rooms and even once on the deserted tour bus. And each time she was so grateful for the psych rotation she’d done in med school that prepared her to help him.

But that didn’t make it any easier.

“Breathe in, Jamie. Think about how much I love you.”

He drew in a deep, sobbing breath.

“That’s right. Now exhale. I’m never going to leave you.”

He exhaled, shoulders shuddering.

“And inhale, Jamie. We can get hamburgers for breakfast again, if you want.”

He inhaled, and she felt a faint smile against her belly.

“That’s right. And out. Think about how amazing our wedding night will be.”

He exhaled. Gently bit the soft, soft skin above her bellybutton. She shivered, and smiled.

“Good. Center on me. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

She counted along with him – twenty four more deep breaths. Caressing his forehead, and kissing his hair, and loving him and loving him and loving him.

Finally when he had calmed down, she crawled back into bed, and he held her so close against him. Kissing her forehead. Whispering endless words of love.

“If I ever fuck up with you, Claire, know I’ll always own it.”

She kissed his eyebrows. “The same for me, Jamie. I’d rather be mad at you than not have you.”

He had said the same words to her this morning. A promise he never tired of repeating. Murmured against her hair when he bent over to kiss her in the bed, body thrumming with energy.

Colum had booked a studio here in Philadelphia for the day, so that the band could lay down recordings of the acoustic tracks they’d played to dozens of sold-out crowds during the tour. With the incredible press from the tour – thanks in no small part to Geordie Ash’s profile in Rolling Stone – and bootlegs in wide circulation, it was time. And for once, the band agreed with the label.

She would join him later, of course. But today she needed the time to herself, to finally write and then mail the letter to Boston.

All because of Jamie.

“You can’t stay in a state of limbo forever, Claire,” he had said one night, meeting her eyes in the bathroom mirror as he gently brushed her shower-wet hair. “And I know we still don’t know where we’ll live when we’re married. But you have the right to know.”

She had sighed, jamming her hands in the deep pockets of the hotel bathrobe. “I don’t want to go back to that life.”

He had set down the hairbrush they shared, slipping his hands into the pockets, pulling her close against him. “I know. But you can’t have that door hanging open, Claire. Whether you open it or close it, you know I support you. But you’re not doing yourself any favors by not knowing.”

She had nodded, and pursed her lips. Smiling just a little as he kissed the shell of her ear.

She blinked, and turned back to the typewriter.

I have been traveling for the past few weeks, and won’t be back to Boston for at least the next month. Although I may not be immediately reachable by mail or telephone, I’m enclosing the contact information for someone who can get any letter or other message to me.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely,

Dr. Claire Beauchamp

She gently pulled the paper from the typewriter roll. Signed her name. Took a deep breath. Began to address the envelope.

[howling-harpy]

Shiftytab from the pov of smokey? Idk if this is specific enough so maybe after the war but while theyre still in austria? If that makes sense? Thanks so much :)

Word count: 1764 A/N: Whoops? This got long. I have feelings about this pairing and I haven’t yet exactly figured out what, but it’s a lot. Thank you for the prompt, it turned out to be a really inspiring one!

*

Even though Walter had a lot of work to do, lying in a hospital bed was still a bore. He hadn’t even counted the hours spent staring at the ceiling while squeezing a rubber ball in his hand and passing it from one hand to the other, and between those boring hours were the long, painful ones he spent shuffling his feet and lifting himself from the chair and hopping to sit on a table and then back to the chair. Still, he couldn’t say he was happy when a familiar face took the bed next to him.

Shifty looked almost exactly like Walter remembered him from Bastogne, albeit tan instead of pale, and he was certain that wasn’t a good thing. The poor boy looked downright miserable, didn’t say a word and stared into the ceiling in much the same way Walter remembered from his own early recovering days. Nurse Crane gave Shifty’s head a motherly pat that he didn’t react to before turning to Walter. “He was in quite the automobile accident, poor lad. I talked the doctor into puttin him here since you were in the same unit, weren’t you?” “Yeah, we know each other,” Walter said. He hadn’t yet figured if he was happy to see Shifty, but knew that she had done the right thing bringing him to him. “How bad is it?” “A broken arm and a concussion, but the worst is the broken pelvis. He’s going to have to stay very still for a long time, and he’s most likely to receive more surgery. I thought you’d keep him focused on the recovery and maybe cheer him up a bit,” nurse Crane explained while filling Shifty’s chart. “He’s on a quite big dose of morphine for now, but do try chatting a bit.” “Sure,” Walter agreed, and the nurse left them with a bright smile. Walter turned his attention back to Shifty. On the second look he indeed looked more than simply depressed, he looked drugged. He had a tube attached in the back of his hand and it was steadily feeding him fluid from a bag, a hefty amount of morphine no doubt with it. “Hey, Shifty,” Walter called, trying to get his attention, “hey, remember me? It’s Smokey. How did a pretty thing like you end up in a dump like this, huh?” There was no response. Not even an eye twitched to signal that any of Walter’s words had registered to Shifty, his gaze dull and his blinking slow like he was nearly asleep. Walter kept talking anyway. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay, buddy. The worst thing here is the boredom, but that guys like you and I can handle, right? You just got to be a bit patient and your body’s going to take care of itself. Mine sure does. See, I can move my arms, even lift my legs a bit. I’m going to walk out of here sometime soon, and you’re coming with me, you hear me?” Shifty might have, might have not. He gave no indication to either direction, but Walter talked anyway. For the first four days there Shifty drifted in and out of consciousness, and nurses kept a close eye on his vitals. With his concussion they were worried about his constant sleepiness and the first twenty-four hours Shifty wasn’t allowed to sleep more than three hours in a row, but after that they wrote his sleepiness off as a by-product of his heavy pain medication. Nurses kept a close eye on his blood pressure and breathing, but otherwise let him be. Sure, they fed him, cleaned him and asked him about the pain whenever he was awake, but Shifty didn’t react much to anything. Walter kept talking to him, and even though it was never certain if he heard him or not, talking to a familiar person eased his own loneliness and boredom too. After a week Walter got a letter. He had heard from the guys regularly of late, Lipton writing him the most, but this time he got a letter from Talbert. It wasn’t that surprising, they were good buddies and Walter was certain they’d see each other back home, but this time the letter was short and, there was no better word to it, odd. “Dear Smokey,

I hope you’re well or at least better than last time, keeping up with the recovery, flirting with that old nurse of your ward and so on and so on. You’re in our thoughts, I’m rooting for you, the usual. I’m actually writing to you to ask a huge favor. No, you can’t ask, no, I won’t explain, at least not now and not in a letter, but please, if you’re a real friend of mine, do this. Alright? Shifty got in a pretty bad accident, I heard. I don’t know anything else except that it was bad, like really bad, and I also know that he’s been taken to the same hospital as you. Now, the favor that I’m asking of you is this: The next paragraph is for Shifty, and you gotta tell him, but don’t ask anything. Not me and not Shifty, okay? Here we go: Shifty, I’m glad you’re alive. You’ll be okay, and I need you to know that whatever it is, no matter how bad or permanent, I don’t care. You’re still the same person, and the most important person too. It can’t be so bad that it would scare me, as long as you’re still you inside. Just take care of yourself, you’re in my thoughts. And also, I swear and cross my heart, there are no girls. I’m gonna write more soon. Okay, that’s it. Just get that to Shifty and make sure he understands, and I’ll be in your debt. Regards, Floyd Talbert” It was a curious letter, even for Talbert who had a habit of scribbling down whatever and sending it off without much of a thought. Walter sensed there was a lot under the surface there, something he didn’t know but what tickled his appetite for gossip, and the only thing that kept him from asking was that the only person he could ask was Shifty, and Shifty was… Well. Shifty was Shifty. Of course Walter did as he was asked to and read the letter out loud when Shifty seemed more awake than unconscious, but other than opening his eyes and flicking his gaze around a bit Shifty didn’t react to Walter’s words. Not until in the middle of the night, when Walter was brought out of his slumber by an unusual noise. It was a soft, irregular noise, very quiet but out of place enough to disturb him, and when he woke up enough he realized that Shifty was crying. “Hey…” Walter started carefully, “hey, Shift, what’s wrong?” It was almost a full minute of little sniffles and thick gulping sounds and shivering breaths before Shifty got himself together enough to answer: “I want Floyd,” he whimpered. Walter shrugged with sympathy. “Yeah, you’re not alone with that.” But Shifty shook his head and brought his healthy hand to wipe his face. Even though the room was dark, the streetlamps gave enough light inside through the blinds that Walter could see the tears still running. “I should’ve stayed with him. It’s my fault… All my fault, I was so stupid, so selfish…” Shifty rambled on in a bitter tone. “Woah, woah, nothing’s your fault, kid. You’re alright, it was an accident, a whole lot of simple bad luck, that’s all!” Walter hurried to interrupt him before he cursed himself deeper into the swamp of despair. Again Shifty shook his head, more firmly this time. “No… I was… selfish. I should’ve stayed, but I… I miss home so much… So I left.” Walter gave a deep sigh. “Shifty, everyone misses home. Anyone would have taken an opportunity to go home, and no one blames you for it.” “I think God’s punishing me,” Shifty whispered grimly. Even Walter was speechless for a second. “For missing home?” “No, for leaving,” Shifty continued in an anxious mutter, “I used to… I used to think it was wrong. That I would be punished for… For other things, with Floyd. I ran away because I was weak, and scared, and selfish, and I wanted to see my mama. And now God’s punishing me for being a selfish coward.” Walter knew he had heard something very profound just then and he couldn’t just fall back on his usual humorous way of dealing with it. He felt like a priest at a confession and the role was so unfitting for his personality that he was at complete loss of what to do. Desperately Walter thought what Lipton would say to something like that and not for the first time wished he was there to help him. But he wasn’t, so he had to make do by himself. “Shifty, I’m sure everyone has regrets. I don’t think a single one of us leaves here without wishing that he’d done something differently. I certainly wish I hadn’t made that cup of coffee and that I had stayed lower in my foxhole. There’s no one so good and perfect that he’ll make it through without regrets. And if anyone came up to me and said that he’s totally fine and did everything right, I’d call him a lunatic.” Shifty was still sniffling, but Walter hoped that the lack of words meant that he was listening. “No one hates you or blames you,” Walter went on, “and if you’re worried about Tab, don’t be. He wrote to me so that I could tell you that. You hear me? He wrote to me for no other reason than to tell you that he thinks you’re alright no matter what. Now I don’t know about God, but I know Floyd Talbert well enough that I can tell you he won’t take shit from anyone, not even the man upstairs.” That got a small hiccup from Shifty that Walter hoped was a sound of amusement. “I’m not gonna ask what you think you ought to be punished for, but I can honestly say that I don’t think you deserve it. You’re a right on guy, Shifty,” Walter said and meant it. In the dark room, Walter could see Shifty wiping away his tears and heard his breathing slowly evening out. He was clearly calming down, thank heaven, as the pits of despair during the small hours were deep ones and Floyd Talbert wasn’t there to smile and pull him up.

[economistontherun]

Finding Gratitude in Recovery

I am getting better because I’m more obsessed with my allergies and the pounding against my Mose scar on my face. That is a either a gentle reminder that the end of 2018 was foreshadowing to the stress that would be poured upon me in 2019 or I handled that surgery and recovery with as much grace as possible and if I could do that, I could certainly win at recovery of this. 

That brings me to a conversation about age and health that seems to keep popping up. I’ve become acutely aware that there are certain members of the medical community that will look at my age of 51 and treat my injury and rehab as “Well, what do you expect? You are 51.” Yes I am 51 and I’m proud of that. I went into this surgery in the best shape of my life since last year. My expectations of my recovery are a full recovery. Not the senior citizen version of I’ll be able to walk in the “Walk” lane of the Ocean City, NJ Boardwalk. We all know we have limitations as we age, but that doesn’t mean that we are supposed to take that as a get out of exercise free card. If your doctor makes you feel that way, then find another doctor. Now, I’m not saying that you go for multiple opinions until you get someone to say what you want them to hear, I mean that everyone needs to have the care of a medical team who understands who you are as a person and an athlete. Tough love is necessary at times and it is important to listen to the advice when it is rest. I wish I listened to that a bit more when I was in my thirties and forties for sure. 

Further on the subject of recovery, I never knew you should shop for a physical therapist. Frankly, I didn’t know what to ask. When my doctor did a clinic on this I was surprised and excited that I now knew what questions to ask to get the care I needed. When you are wired like I am it is important that your physical therapist knows that as well. I’m looking forward to physical therapy next month and will be dedicated to improving my mobility and listen to the advice and guidance of my doctor and PT.  The bottom line is that going to PT and getting to swim a bit gives me a bit more control over my recovery. Movement is key, it just makes me feel better. I feel like I have control over very little so I do like knowing this is around the corner. 

Not All Created Equal aka The Gene Pool is Deep

My parents were always active. I come from good stock as they say. As my parents age it is hard to cope with the deterioration of my mom’s mobility. I look like my dad, but I have similar medical conditions as my mom but mine were identified earlier. I remember my mom walking miles with me pushing Ethan in a stroller in her fifties. Now it is hard for her to get up and down steps and into a chair. It breaks my heart and scares me at the same time. At times I wish she would rise up and be my mom in her earlier years. No one could keep up with her. Dynamo and full of fire described her perfectly. She slowed down over time and arthritis started to twist her fingers and back. Her legs became skinny and she tipped to the side. She now uses a walker or cain and she can’t move very quickly. This makes me want to cry for her because she is the same person inside. She wants to go and do all the things she used to do, instead she is trying to keep up or doesn’t go at all. At the same time, she does not want anyone feeling sorry for her. She is strong, loving and hates having to be taken care of my my dad. I’ve always admired her spirit and she is an inspiration to me. 

It is difficult for me to have challenges with my hips, hamstrings and to see my thumb begin to twist. I am determined to remain positive through this recovery and to use her fight as my inspiration. She didn’t have her diagnosis as early as mine and it is my hope that providing my bones, spirit and blood with positive energy, rest and nutrition that I will be able to tap into the strength of our genes and not succumb to the pull of the negative. Have you seen the video of the 103 year old woman at the senior olympics or the Iron Nun? 

They have tenacity, will and good genes on their side. It is my goal to be joining them and have a long life of active fun. It keeps you young and I will be back out there with all of my friends. 

“Your effort in itself is a success” - Sister Madonna Buder 

[mymacularhole-blog]

My Experience with Macular Hole Surgery - 2018

My experience with macular holes.

Initial Symptoms:

My symptoms started when I was 60 years old.  I later learned that macular traction / macular holes more commonly occur in older women.  My symptoms were very subtle at first, only identified when I went to my eye doctor for a routine exam and noticed a mild distortion of my central vision while reading the eye chart.  It was discounted by the optometrist, so I initially discounted it as well.

Over the next month, my central vision became more noticeably distorted. It was only a small area in the very center of my vision. Straight objects had a little bend to them. Other objects were moved a little off center. I then returned to the see the ophthalmologist in the same office who referred me to a retina specialist. The diagnostic exam was an OCT. Optical coherence tomography (OCT), is a non-invasive imaging test that uses light waves to take cross-section pictures of the retina.  The patient sits in a chair and the exam takes less than a minute. The exam revealed that my distortion was related to vitreomacuIar traction, meaning my vitreous (the jelly inside the eye) was pulling on my macula. The macula, which is responsible for the center of your vision, is part of your retina, the light sensitive tissue lining the back of your eye.  Typically, the vitreous pulls off the retina over time. Often, it pulls off without any impact on the retina. But sometimes a hole in the macula develops.  The retina specialist advised to give it some time since there were no reliable treatments to prevent a hole from occurring.

Unfortunately, in a few days I began to notice a worsening of my vision along with a small blind spot in my central vision. For example when I looked at a sign on the highway, I saw 5 mph instead of 50 mph. Or when I looked at someone’s face I saw only one eye, a nose & a mouth rather than both eyes. This blind spot was caused by the macular hole, the hole created when my vitreous pulled off of my macula. When the hole developed my central vision became more distorted both in shape and color. There now was a pink-brown hue to the distorted central vision.

Luckily, I was able to see the retina specialist again very quickly. My corrected vision was 20/80.  He confirmed the diagnosis with a follow up OCT exam and scheduled my surgery for the following week.  I was told the highest success rate is when surgery is performed within one month of the occurrence.  I was scheduled for a vitrectomy.

Preparing for surgery:

It goes without saying that I tried to eat well & sleep well to prepare for my surgical procedure. The other must important thing I did was order vitrectomy recovery equipment.   My surgeon recommended Comfort Solutions   (877) 470-3455, their website is: http://www.facedownsolutions.com/vitrectomyrs/.  The equipment cost $189 for a 1 week rental.   It included a face down chair which looks similar to a massage chair and various pillows. Mine was scheduled to arrive 2 days before surgery. This gave me enough time to adjust the equipment for size and comfort. This is very important because I spent a lot of time with this equipment.  It made my post-op time much more comfortable.

The surgery:

The vitrectomy was scheduled as day surgery. I had propofol anesthesia for the initial few minutes of the procedure. This is the same anesthesia that is typically used for a colonoscopy. It was just long enough for me to be asleep for the retro orbital nerve block which anesthetized my eye for the procedure. When I woke up from the propofol my distant vision was a blur. I was one of a few patients that could see every step of the procedure.  I could see the probes entering my orbit. I could see the dye entering my eye, and then the surgeon’s delicate use of the equipment inside my eye. I could hear and see the flashes of light when the laser was used to stabilize a thinned portion of my retina.  Happily, there was no pain.

Post-op:

The first 24 hours the patch stays on the affected eye. I took pain medication (acetaminophen was sufficient for me) and I spent almost all my time in the vitrectomy recovery chair. After 24 hours, the pain was gone and my patch came off at the surgeon’s office. The white of my eye was bright red and puffy.  My eye lids were bruised and swollen from the surgery.  I could only see movement of vague shapes in a diffuse yellow haze.  My surgeon recommended six more days in the face down position. It was 6 long days. I slept a lot and spent much of my time in the “recovery chair” watching TV and movies. The vision in my postop eye continued to be a yellow blur. I used my eye drops as recommended.   On approximately day 4 postop I began to see a fluid level inside my eye when I moved my head. Initially it was quite small, but by day 7 postop it was in the middle of my visual field. At about the same time I started having problems with my balance. It was a swaying movement feeling and I needed to use a cane for extra support. I was happy to be upright again and sleep more comfortably. I continued to use a patch over my eye since the fluid level was distracting. At this point I was able to stop my dilating pupil eye drops. The balance issue resolved after about a week.

By day 10 postop, my vision started to improve. I was able to see comfortably over the gas bubble (even though the gas bubble floats, your brain sees the opposite, so the upper vision is clear and the cloudiness is below).  My overall vision was still blurrier than before the surgery.  My central vision continued to be somewhat distorted, and the blind spots continued.  The color distortion I had preoperatively was gone.  The other unusual thing I noticed was a blue glow to the upper portion of the gas bubble. The glow was especially noticeable with my eyes closed at night.  I continued to sleep on my stomach since I read that the gas bubble adjacent to the lens of the eye promotes cataract development.  80% of vitrectomy patients go on to needing cataract surgery and I wanted to do everything I could to prevent a second eye surgery. I slept on my stomach until the gas bubble reabsorbed.  I also noticed that my pupil was still partially dilated.

Day 15 postop was my follow up appointment with the retina specialist.  At this time, I still had a distortion of my central vision with several small blind spots. The OCT showed a fluid collection beneath the healed macular hole.  The surgeon told me this will take time to resolve and was contributing to my distorted central vision. My partially dilated pupil was likely related to the surgery and may continue to improve over time.  I was also determined to have high internal eye pressures which was thought to be related to the prednisolone eye drops I had been prescribed.  I was given a different cortisone eye drop called Lotemax along with an eye drop for the increased eye pressures.  Day 16 postop the gas bubble disappeared.  My peripheral corrected vision was 20/40, but the central distortion and small blind spots continued. Although still with symptoms, I was able to return to work, drive and read comfortably after about 3 weeks. My unaffected eye was able to compensate for the deficit.

Three months after my vitrectomy my vision started to become hazy and my retina specialist confirmed that I developed the common complication of a post-vitrectomy cataract. I was scheduled for surgery. Unfortunately, due to the surgeon’s schedule, it took an additional 3 months of waiting to have my cataract removed. It was very difficult to drive and work during this waiting period, as my cataract progressed and became quite dense very quickly.  My cataract surgery was a quick and easy procedure.  Unfortunately, the lens calculation was imprecise and I wound up with a 1.25 diopter more myopic prescription than I started with.   I went from a -6.75 diopter eye glass lens to a -8 diopter lens.  Post op recovery was also complicated by haziness of my posterior capsule, requiring laser surgery and a glare, which apparently also can be a common side effect.  

It took about 6 months for my vision to stabilize.  My vision was significantly improved compared to my preop vision.  A mild central distortion and small blind spots continued, therefore, I no longer had fine pinpoint vision in that eye.  My vision was able to be corrected to 20/40. My pupil remained slightly enlarged.  The glare that I had after my cataract surgery became less noticeable over time. I also, infrequently get a falling light visual in my operated eye.  This began after the vitrectomy but continued even after the cataract surgery.

Symptoms in the other eye:

One year later, my other eye developed the same symptoms.  This time, I immediately noticed the subtle changes as something significant.  I saw the retina specialist within 2 days.  Using OCT, he confirmed the traction was now occurring in my “good eye”. He suggested options of Pneumatic Vitreolysis-which would involve injecting gas in the eye and physically bobbing up and down several times a day or ocriplasmin (Jetrea®), which is a medication injected into the eye. My retina surgeon did not have great confidence in either procedure, so we decided to give it a little time.

We hoped that it would pull off without a hole, but unfortunately within a week, it pulled off creating a macular hole in my second eye. The surgeon said that it appeared to be smaller than the hole in my other eye.  My corrected vision was 20/160.  I had my vitrectomy scheduled within 1 week of the occurrence.  I knew the routine all too well. I ordered my recovery chair, tried to prepare myself psychologically for what I knew would be a difficult few weeks. Under the surgeon’s recommendation, I told my employer I would be out of work about a month. The second recovery typically takes longer since now both eyes would be compromised.

The second Vitrectomy:

My second vitrectomy was similar to the first, as described above, although the local anesthesia worked differently and I was not able to see any of the procedure.  Because of my history of mildly elevated eye pressures, I used the Lotemax drops, but otherwise there were no differences in my post op plans.  I watched a lot Netflix and Amazon Prime on my laptop which I placed on the recovery equipment table.

Post op course #2:

This time I felt I knew what to expect, but my post op course took a little different path. Seeing was more difficult, as my “good eye” still had some distortion and small blind spots. Compared to my first surgery, my vision took longer to improve and my bubble took longer to resolve.

Day 14 post op-Follow up OCT showed my hole had healed and similar to the first surgery I developed a fluid collection beneath the healed macular hole.  My corrected vision was now 20/70 in my operated eye, partially related to the blind spots but also some residual haziness to the rest of my vision.  My blind spots look like 2 upside down “V’s” and have a purplish hue to them.  I had the blue “glow” in my bubble at night.

Day 20 post op-  After 2 weeks of initial gradual improvement and decrease in size in my gas bubble, the improvement slowed down to a crawl. I woke up several mornings with 1-3 additional small bubbles bouncing around.  I read that the bubble of SF6 gas can persist a month and breaking off into smaller bubbles can occur as the gas reabsorbs. I had plans to take a short flight and my surgeon advised that I could fly since my bubble was small.  I also read on-line that if the bubble is <10% of the volume, flying was safe.  My surgeon gave me a prescription for rapid acting Diamox 500 mg to take in case my eye became bothersome.  But I was asymptomatic during the flight.  

Day 28 postop- My bubble, albeit small, is still with me. There still is a mild haziness to my vision in addition to my blind spots.  That said, my blind spots are definitely smaller than before surgery. Reading small print, like a newspaper, is still difficult but I have been using a magnifying lens which has been helpful.

Day 31 postop—My bubble is finally gone-for unclear reasons it took twice as long to get reabsorbed. Two days later, I saw the retina specialist.  My vision now was measured at 20/40 corrected with smaller blind spots. My surgeon said I already have a moderately dense cataract and recommended I have it surgically removed, but to wait 2 months for my retina to stabilize.  I already notice a mild yellow coloration compared to my other eye-indicative of cataract symptoms.

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