It is now 12 days since my surgery. Do I feel better? Well, yes and no. I certainly am not feeling as flat as had been. The demands of eye drops, to stop rejection of the graft and to lubricate my eye - made me recall the constant call of a newborn baby. No sooner do you feed them than they need changing and burping and so on. But after about nine days Dr H wound back my eye drop regime. Now I am about four times a day with an ointment at night.
He says things are healing and my eye certainly looks a lot better.
I complained that the graft felt like an ill fitting hard contact lens I longed to take it out. In fact, one night when I was feeling really tired I popped an eye patch on because I feared I might accidently try to pop it out.
Dr H, examined my eyes and said there appeared to be a slight buckle or crease in the graft. My words but I think that it what he was saying. Generally, he would put in 16 stitches. In my case he put in 17. However, it might require one more stitch.
He must have seen the look of fright on my face. I think he regards me as a very nervous patient. I probably am but maybe I seem nervous because I say what I am thinking.
He said he would give the graft three weeks to settle down. Fingers crossed it will work itself out because I am not keen on going under again.
He directed me to the eye chart but I still cannot make out any of the letters. I could lie because I pretty well know them off by heart. But that would be cheating. And one thing I was clear about what that my eye would be worse before it got better.
I have found that really difficult to manage. Over the past few days I have ventured out but find the loss of sight in my right eye means I find it difficult to judge distances on my right. I am quite nervous. I have no doubt that I will adapt to this. I had plans to provide more posts on this blog on a more regular basis but at this point I am finding my eyes very tired. I was due to go back to work in a few days which would have given me two weeks sick leave. However, I do not feel able to spend more than a hour or so sitting at a bright computer screen. I will see how I feel next week.
I have my fingers crossed that things will fall into place in the next week or so and I can start resuming some of my normal activities. But I can't see a time anytime soon that I will feel comfortable enough to drive. Before my operation I was classified as being legally able to drive wearing my contacts. With one gone I don't feel confident about my own or anyone else's safety.
Sunday, September 2, 2012
Monday, August 27, 2012
The operation - part one
It's a Tuesday late in August and Spring is trying to push it's way through. I am sitting at the computer in my home study, peering through one eye at the computer screen. How do I feel? Well, not great but I thought it would be difficult. I was warned my eyesight in the right eye, which has undergone the cornea transplant, would be worse before it got better. But, when you are struggled with your vision all your life, it is hard to contemplate being more blind.
At a later time I might describe my feelings on the day and the emotions I felt about receiving a donor cornea. I need to be more in a contemplative rather than survival mode.
After last Tuesday's op I felt groggy but relieved. I had undergone a general anaethestic. It had been a big day beforehand with upheaval all around me. I had woken with a sore throat and runny nose. Late in the afternoon I called the rooms of my opthamalogist. Let's call him Dr H. His normally cool, calm and collected receptionist pondered out loud why I had not called earlier in the day.
"Well, I have felt worse as the day has gone on," I tried to explain.
She left me with instructions to call Dr H first thing in the morning to see if my cold was worse and if it was not the operation would need to be postponed.
I rode my bike the short 15 minutes home. I complained bitterly to my youngest child, Lucy, blaming her for giving me the cold. She had a head cold for weeks and I had kept telling her to stay away from me. Alas, she loves to jump all over her mum. It was inevitable.
I filled myself up with lemon and honey all evening and couldn't sleep because I was so nervous. I had been gearing up for this day. The next morning I rang Dr H. I explained that I felt Ok. I added that I had a tough day, for various reasons, the day before I had been teary. It would not have helped matters. He said he thought I was fine.
"You will have to wait five months if we wait," he added. He gave me the mobile for the anaethetist and said to call him. I rang Dr A and explained the situation. He said we should assess it when I got there.
So, there I was ready but still unclear if it was happening. He assessed me. The nurse checked me. I was fine apart from nerves. As I was waiting to go under, Dr A asked me about my bad day yesterday. My eyes welled up.
At a later time I might describe my feelings on the day and the emotions I felt about receiving a donor cornea. I need to be more in a contemplative rather than survival mode.
After last Tuesday's op I felt groggy but relieved. I had undergone a general anaethestic. It had been a big day beforehand with upheaval all around me. I had woken with a sore throat and runny nose. Late in the afternoon I called the rooms of my opthamalogist. Let's call him Dr H. His normally cool, calm and collected receptionist pondered out loud why I had not called earlier in the day.
"Well, I have felt worse as the day has gone on," I tried to explain.
She left me with instructions to call Dr H first thing in the morning to see if my cold was worse and if it was not the operation would need to be postponed.
I rode my bike the short 15 minutes home. I complained bitterly to my youngest child, Lucy, blaming her for giving me the cold. She had a head cold for weeks and I had kept telling her to stay away from me. Alas, she loves to jump all over her mum. It was inevitable.
I filled myself up with lemon and honey all evening and couldn't sleep because I was so nervous. I had been gearing up for this day. The next morning I rang Dr H. I explained that I felt Ok. I added that I had a tough day, for various reasons, the day before I had been teary. It would not have helped matters. He said he thought I was fine.
"You will have to wait five months if we wait," he added. He gave me the mobile for the anaethetist and said to call him. I rang Dr A and explained the situation. He said we should assess it when I got there.
So, there I was ready but still unclear if it was happening. He assessed me. The nurse checked me. I was fine apart from nerves. As I was waiting to go under, Dr A asked me about my bad day yesterday. My eyes welled up.
Monday, August 13, 2012
Keratoconus & Me
I was diagnosed with Keratoconus - I still struggle with its spelling - when I was not even 10. I had been prescribed reading glasses when I was around eight-years-old. But soon afterwards it was decided that my Keratoconus was at a stage that the only way to treat it was to fit rigid contacts lenses. I would have been about 11-years-old when they were first fitted. They were tiny little things with a greyish tinge. The cruel irony of correcting poor sight with these weeny little things struck me straight away. Over the years, I have been on hands and knees in bathrooms, restaurants, ovals, museums and in cars trying to locate the little buggers when they have gone missing. Friends and family have lived to tell the tales. It hasn't been pretty when I have been separated from my lenses.
Those early days were fraught when you are not used to putting things in your eyes. Lots of near misses and lots of discomfort. It is amazing that these days they fit rigid contacts in the eyes of toddlers.
So what is Keratoconus? I often joke that not only is my middle-aged body bulging but so are my eyeballs!
There is a lot of information out there but I quite liked the website I came across the other day www.whatiskeratoconus.com. It explains the disease simply. It is clear, like a window that light has to pass through to enter your eye.
"Behind the cornea is the lens that focuses the light onto the retina at back of the eye. The retina converts the light into nerve signals that your brain can understand. In a normal eye, the cornea is smoothly rounded. The light passes through evenly onto the lens," the website explains.
But in dodgy corneas like mine this doesn't happen.
Instead, my cornea has thinned and bulges. Yep, another spot to battle that bulge.
Back to the website: "The light coming through is distorted the lens cannot focus it properly and vision is affected. The name actually means coning of the cornea, although the actual distortion of the cornea is not as regular as a cone."
The irregularity of the cornea means the vision is very hard to correct.
Hence the fitting of rigid or hard contact lenses.
Over the years, as people have learned that I wore hard contact lenses, I have been advised I should try laser surgery "because that really worked for my grandmother" or the assumption is that I am too vain to wear spectacles.
On the contrary, would love to be able to slip on a pair of specs. I know peope complain that they fog up but it would be a great convenience when you are at the beach or hoping out of bed to put on some glasses. Sadly, I have been unable to get any correction with glasses. Not even Coke bottle glasses.
copyright: Claire Heaney 2012.
Those early days were fraught when you are not used to putting things in your eyes. Lots of near misses and lots of discomfort. It is amazing that these days they fit rigid contacts in the eyes of toddlers.
So what is Keratoconus? I often joke that not only is my middle-aged body bulging but so are my eyeballs!
There is a lot of information out there but I quite liked the website I came across the other day www.whatiskeratoconus.com. It explains the disease simply. It is clear, like a window that light has to pass through to enter your eye.
"Behind the cornea is the lens that focuses the light onto the retina at back of the eye. The retina converts the light into nerve signals that your brain can understand. In a normal eye, the cornea is smoothly rounded. The light passes through evenly onto the lens," the website explains.
But in dodgy corneas like mine this doesn't happen.
Instead, my cornea has thinned and bulges. Yep, another spot to battle that bulge.
Back to the website: "The light coming through is distorted the lens cannot focus it properly and vision is affected. The name actually means coning of the cornea, although the actual distortion of the cornea is not as regular as a cone."
The irregularity of the cornea means the vision is very hard to correct.
Hence the fitting of rigid or hard contact lenses.
Over the years, as people have learned that I wore hard contact lenses, I have been advised I should try laser surgery "because that really worked for my grandmother" or the assumption is that I am too vain to wear spectacles.
On the contrary, would love to be able to slip on a pair of specs. I know peope complain that they fog up but it would be a great convenience when you are at the beach or hoping out of bed to put on some glasses. Sadly, I have been unable to get any correction with glasses. Not even Coke bottle glasses.
copyright: Claire Heaney 2012.
Sunday, August 12, 2012
The Countdown
Claire Heaney Cornea Transplant Diary
The day I have been waiting to arrive for seemingly most of my life is fast approaching. I have been in denial. Scared stiff. Part of me feels like I felt as the impending births of my three children approached. I feel like nesting. I feel I should be trimming, tidying, sorting, throwing out .....
I feel like I will never have an opportunity to do those things again. No matter that most of the outstanding tasks have been sitting around waiting to be done while I have chosen to use my time otherwise.
There's a lot about myself and my life that I have control over. But, sadly, not my shockingly bad eyesight. I know people have plenty of worse disabilities and hardships but I feel like I have gone through my life barely being able to see the glass, much less whether it is half empty or not. But we all cut our cloth according to our situation. I don't drive at night unless it is somewhere very close to to my house (this has been great as it has meant that my husband is always the designated driver). I have chosen to continue living in an inner suburb from which I can ride my bike to work, walk the kids to school and so on. I don't think that has been any great hardship. The kids would love a trampoline and backyard and it would be nice to host a big barbie for friends in a lovely backyard. But that's OK. There are parks nearby. I'm used to going to the footy and only really being able to see half the game. That's not so bad when you barrack for perpetually struggling Aussie Rules team, Richmond. Not being able to see most of the action, or inaction, is a blessing. But there are lots of other things that are annoying. Like not being able to see past your nose in the morning before putting your contact lenses in. Not recognising people or speaking to someone you think you know because you can't see properly. Then, as middle age settles in, not seeing those huge black hairs sprouting from my chin and eyebrows. And then, unhelpfully when a pair of tweezers is nowhere to be seen, my husband says: "Gee, you need a good plucking, you have some huge black hairs sprouting from your face." Great!
I feel like I will never have an opportunity to do those things again. No matter that most of the outstanding tasks have been sitting around waiting to be done while I have chosen to use my time otherwise.
There's a lot about myself and my life that I have control over. But, sadly, not my shockingly bad eyesight. I know people have plenty of worse disabilities and hardships but I feel like I have gone through my life barely being able to see the glass, much less whether it is half empty or not. But we all cut our cloth according to our situation. I don't drive at night unless it is somewhere very close to to my house (this has been great as it has meant that my husband is always the designated driver). I have chosen to continue living in an inner suburb from which I can ride my bike to work, walk the kids to school and so on. I don't think that has been any great hardship. The kids would love a trampoline and backyard and it would be nice to host a big barbie for friends in a lovely backyard. But that's OK. There are parks nearby. I'm used to going to the footy and only really being able to see half the game. That's not so bad when you barrack for perpetually struggling Aussie Rules team, Richmond. Not being able to see most of the action, or inaction, is a blessing. But there are lots of other things that are annoying. Like not being able to see past your nose in the morning before putting your contact lenses in. Not recognising people or speaking to someone you think you know because you can't see properly. Then, as middle age settles in, not seeing those huge black hairs sprouting from my chin and eyebrows. And then, unhelpfully when a pair of tweezers is nowhere to be seen, my husband says: "Gee, you need a good plucking, you have some huge black hairs sprouting from your face." Great!
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