I lost partial vision in my right eye 30 years ago, and now my left eye is in jeopardy. And that’s unsettling because I love reading and writing and can’t imagine life without eyesight. I’m counting on my left eye.
This week during a post-cataract-surgery follow-up, my ophthalmologist detected abrasions on my cornea, the “windshield” of the eye.
As it turns out you have a genetic condition that makes your cornea highly susceptible to abrasions.
(I knew it! I just knew it! I’M GOING BLIND.)
This is concerning, but it’s treatable.
(Let me pause here to bless all medical professionals. This was not his first rodeo.)
I’d never heard of a “bandage contact,” but I now have one in my left eye. It protects the fragile cornea while the abrasions heal.
(Let me pause here to praise those who invented prosthetics—artificial lenses, legs, arms, knees, hips, and bandage contacts.)
Thirty years ago I noticed that words seemed to wiggle when I was reading. My optometrist took one look and sent me to an ophthalmologist in Winchester, who took one look and said:
You have a condition that makes your right retina seep blood. It must be cauterized!
Is it a disease?
No, it’s not like macular degeneration. It’s an ailment. It’s ocular histoplasmosis caused by airborne fungal spores found in bird and bat droppings, including the droppings of pigeons and chickens. Once inside the body, the spores transform into yeast and can linger latently for years before attacking tissues.
(Let me pause here to curse pigeons and chickens. We had a chicken coop in our backyard when I was a child.)
When should I get this done?
Today.
And what will that do, exactly?
It will stop the bleeding instantly. Only a few cells will be destroyed. But because the bleeding is dead center, you’ll basically be blind in your right eye. No more central vision.
For how long?
The rest of your life.
(Rest. Of. Your. Life.)
Sorry. I’m not mentally prepared for that. I’d like to inform my congregation on Sunday and invite their prayers first.
That’s fine. But it won’t make a difference.
I told my congregation. After the service, parishioners squeezed my hand, looked me in the eyes, and gently patted me on the back.
God bless. Good luck. We’re in your corner.
Prayer didn’t stop the bleeding, but it did make a difference.
