The following is a true story of my experiences with blindness caused by retinal detachment. Some names have been withheld or changed for privacy purposes.
The first inkling of trouble
It was the middle of August, 1985. School would be starting soon. My niece and her husband were newcomers to Shaw Air Force Base, South Carolina, about fifty miles away. It was a beautiful day. My husband had gone to work. I knew her husband had gone to work and she and the two children would likely be at home alone. What a nice day to go to the zoo and what a wonderful opportunity to help her get acquainted with the area. Afterwards we could walk along the Saluda River bank. I picked up the phone and dialed her number. When Melanie said hello, I asked if the children had been to the zoo in Columbia. She said no, they hadn't had time yet.
It was still early in the morning so I said, "Put the kids in the car and drive to my house. I'll pack us a picnic lunch, then we'll head for the zoo. Can you find your way here?" They'd been to my house only once, a few days before, and it's not the easiest one in the world to find.
Tad and Lila were just the right ages to enjoy the zoo. I had just put the fried chicken, potato salad, and some vegetable sticks, in the cooler when they arrived. I made a thermos of ice water to carry along, too. It was likely to be a hot day with the sun beaming down. We could buy a dessert at the zoo. Tad and Lila would probably love a candy bar or an ice cream.
We all piled in my car and I drove across town to the zoo. We had a wonderful day. I didn't want to get caught in the rush hour traffic that I knew would begin about 3:30 when industrial workers would be going home from that area. Besides, Melanie's hubby would be coming home soon and she needed to drive the fifty miles or so back to where they lived. She wanted to be home in time to start their supper on time.
Just as I got behind the steering wheel of my car, which had been sitting out in the hot sun all day, I began to feel absolutely drained. That was strange, because I'd felt good all day up until that moment. I felt so bad that I almost handed the keys to Melanie to drive back to our house. That would have been the sensible thing to do, but, hey, who said I had to be sensible? We'd be home in fifteen minutes or so.
By the time we got back to my house I had a splitting headache. Not wanting to upset my guests I had not mentioned any of this to them. But now I was having visual disturbances and I mentioned the headache to Melanie after we were inside the house. She suggested that I take some aspirin and rest a while.
She and the children left. I took three aspirin and went to bed. I had no idea at that moment that anything out of the ordinary was happening, since I'd been prone to migraine headaches for some time.
The next morning I was the first one out of bed. My headache was gone, but I learned within minutes that I had a serious problem with my eyes. Large black patches covered my vision. Patches that grew larger by the second. When Jim got up I told him I needed to see Doctor A, the ophthalmologist I had been going to for many years.
Jim couldn't believe this was serious and he wanted me to wait to see what would happen. I refused, because it was happening so fast I already knew what was happening. I was fast going blind and I needed to get to the doctor immediately.
Still he procrastinated. There was no way I could drive myself to the doctor's office, just fifteen minutes away. At the rate my vision was deteriorating I would be totally blind before I could reach his office.
I picked up the phone and dialed his number. His assistant answered and told me that Doctor A was in surgery. She would contact him and get back to me with his instructions. In a few minutes she called and told me to get myself to Doctor K's office as quickly as I could. She had already called Dr. K. and he had said he would see me immediately. Go now, she said. Every minute counts.
Doctor K was waiting for me when I arrived a few minutes later. Although his waiting room was full, he called me in right away. He gave me a thorough eye exam, then said, "I'm almost certain that you have a detached retina. I can't be positive, because there is so much blood in your eye that I can't see the retina. Go back to Doctor A immediately. Your vision depends on quick treatment."
Doctor A was still in surgery. His assistant relayed the message, "I've made an appointment with Doctor C., a retinal specialist. Your appointment is at 1:00 today. Be sure to keep it. It's very important that you do not delay."
Doctor C. gave me another thorough eye exam and told me the same thing the first doctor had said. "There is bleeding behind the eye and it's caused the retina in the right eye to detach. The retina in the left eye has holes in it. You must go in the hospital today. You need to stay in bed immobilized to prevent further damage. You must not touch any part of your head, nothing above the shoulders. Not to wash your face, nor brush your teeth, nor comb your hair. You're not to get out of bed for anything except to use the bathroom. You must have your food and water brought to you in bed."
I didn't want to go to the hospital just to lie around and I asked, "Can't I do that at home?"
He was reluctant, but finally agreed after Jim promised that he would wait on me hand and foot, and see that I stayed in bed as instructed, sitting up at 60 to 90 degrees.
For a month I stayed in bed, but would go in to see Doctor C about once a week. Nothing was improving. Instead it was getting worse all the time.
I was seeing rainbows, bright colorful flashes of light. I went to yet another ophthalmologist, this one on nearby Ft. Jackson. Doctor J spent about two hours examining my eyes and talking to me about what was happening with my vision. He ended by saying, "It's time for the surgery, but we don't do that here." I needed his permission to go to another hospital, otherwise, my insurance would not pay. He gave me that, and wished me luck.
Back in Doctor C's office the next day, he used a laser to repair some of the holes in the left retina. When that was done he said, "You have two choices. You can go to Walter Reed Hospital, or you can go to Piedmont Hospital in Atlanta where there is a doctor who teaches the procedure. If you go to Atlanta, I will go along to help him with the surgery. You need two retinal specialists since the vitreous must be drained, cleaned, and returned to the eye without the eyeball collapsing. If the eyeball collapses you will be totally blind. You will not even have an eye. Nothing can repair that. Doctor H is the only other retinal specialist between here and Walter Reed. The choice is yours, but let me know in five minutes since it's Friday and it's almost closing time and I need to get this set up."
I chose Atlanta, since that was closer. Doctor C dialed the office of Doctor H in Atlanta and explained the situation quickly. Hanging up the phone he said to me, "He agrees. You will go there on Sunday. I'll meet you there at 1:00. The surgery will be done first thing Monday."
On Sunday afternoon in Atlanta, Doctor H's assistant, Doctor M examined my eyes even more thoroughly than had ever been done before. He mapped my right eye, explaining all the while just what would be done tomorrow in the operating room and what I was to do (or not do) afterwards. The retina, he told me, has the consistency of wet tissue paper. It cannot sustain stitches. An air bubble would be placed behind the retina after it is repaired. Whether the operation was a success depended entirely on what I did or didn't do afterwards.
I must stay in bed at 60 to 90 degrees, and I must not touch anywhere above my shoulders for about six to eight weeks after the surgery. While in the hospital I would not be allowed to feed myself. I would be spoon-fed like a newborn baby. I was not to move my eyes. In fact drops that paralyzed the eyes would be instilled and I would be blindfolded.
The blindfold would come off in a couple of days, but my eyes would still be bandaged in such a way that I could look straight ahead, through tiny peepholes. I was not to read even then, nor for about six to eight weeks afterward. When I got the peepholes I could watch TV as long as I didn't move my eyes. I'd remain in the hospital eight days and when I went home I was to stick to the same regimen for at least six weeks.
On the morning after the surgery Doctor H came to my room and sat beside my bed. He held my hand and told me that the surgery had gone well. It was successful, but I needn't expect my vision to return right away. It would come back gradually, instead. He repeated the instructions I was to follow, ending with "your vision depends on it."
On the eighth day I went home. Regular visits to Doctor C for several months showed no improvement in my vision. He said there was no reason why I could not see. The operation was a success. Everything had gone right. My eyes looked good.
Everything to me was gray, always like twilight. Except when I went to bed at night. In a dark room with my eyes closed I could see a black heaven full of multicolored stars. The stars were ever changing. Moving and changing colors. Red, blue, orange, purple. More beautiful than the real stars in the sky. A Kaleidoscope of color. But only at night and only in a very dark room and only with my eyes closed.
After a few months there were only blue stars in a black sky. At times there were red stars, or yellow stars. Yet on a sunny day I could see no color at all. My world was dark and dreary except when I went to bed at night.
And my disposition was no better. I had hit bottom. If I couldn't see I didn't care whether I lived or not.
I could see just enough that I could walk through my home without stumbling over furniture. My colorful home was all gray.
One day I noticed a spot on the carpet. I couldn't see any color, it just looked darker or lighter than the rest. I tried to clean it up. I couldn't tell if I'd been successful or not, but the next day the spot was there again. I cleaned it again, but it showed up again and again.
Finally, Jim saw me doing that and I mentioned to him that whatever it was it wouldn't come out and I guessed we'd just have to live with it.
He laughed and told me I was trying to clean up a spot of sunshine that was coming through the window.
On a bright day standing inside the house and looking out I could see the slats of the Venetian blinds on the windows. They looked wavy.
On the Interstate highway not far from our home at that time, there was a sign that was as wide as the two lanes of the highway and half as tall with lettering that once I had been able to read at least a quarter mile away in a car moving at 70mph. Now I could not make out a single letter.
The green and white highway sign was like the rest of my world, gray. Traffic lights were gray as well. When we drove through a city at night that was lighted all I could see was the lights, which were blurred. They seemed to be one continuous light. I hated riding through cities at night. The lights hurt my eyes, so i would close them until we got past the city.
For a year after the surgery Doctor C kept telling me there is simply no reason for you not to be able to see. He just didn't understand what the problem was. Every week when I went back to him he spent a couple hours with me, testing my eyes, talking with me, explaining how maybe I just refused to see. My brain was not functioning properly. He came up with every possible excuse that it was all my fault that I still could not see.
His assistant would hold her hand fifteen inches in front of my face, fingers spread and ask me what I saw. I'd say a gray blob. What part of the eye chart can you read? I can't read any of it. Not from 20 feet, not from 10 feet, not closer to it. I can barely see the chart and it is all gray. And whatever is on it is moving--squirming like a bunch of wiggle worms.
Two years passed with no discernible improvement in my vision. And then at last a small cataract was discovered in the right eye. It was so small that three doctors had not been able to see it with the newest and best equipment available at the time. "It's so tiny, but it covers your central vision. That's why you can't see."
I was skeptical, but decided I had nothing to lose, so I went ahead with the second surgery to remove the cataract. When the bandages were taken off the next day I could see my doctor's face. Color returned gradually after that. Some months went by and my vision continued to improve, but it was several years later still before I had really good vision again.
The cataract, Doctor C told me was a complication of the retinal surgery, but some time later I developed a cataract on the other eye. It, too, was a complication from the first surgery. It grew slowly for many years before I finally had to have it removed last year.
My vision will never be perfect, but it is fairly good now. At least I can read, and colors appear normal, and best of all my nights are no longer starry. I'm seeing as normally as most people my age do.
Retinal detachment can sneak up on you without warning, just as it did to me. If this happens to you see an ophthalmologist immediately. Just as I was cautioned many many times, time is of the essence. Minutes can mean the difference in being blind the rest of your life or regaining a reasonable degree of good vision. Don't put it off. Not even for one minute, if you can possibly avoid it.
©2003 LaVonne Boruk (copyright) All Rights Reserved