Cornea Transplant (Part One)
Aug. 27th, 2013 08:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maychorianI had a cornea transplant yesterday.
I've talked before on this journal about the problems I have with my eyes. Keratoconus, misshapen corneas, the distortion and problems. My left eye has been useless and in need of a transplant since I was in college. My right eye now can no longer be corrected with glasses, so I wear a hard contact in it. It's like a daily miracle--I wake up and I can't see. Then I put in the contact and I can see again.
But my right eye has been working alone for a very long time. My left eye is very lazy, always wandering off, and my brain has gotten used to just using the right. Finally, this year, my church said they would help me meet my insurance deductible so I could get this transplant I've been needing. It's been a very long process--actually started in April. But yesterday was the fruition. I now have a new cornea in my left eye.
This morning the nurse took off the gauze at my first follow-up appointment, and already I could see better with my left eye than I've been able to see since I was a teenager. I saw her face, not just a big blur. When asked to look at the eye chart, I could make out the first two lines with my left eye, which was previously impossible. It was amazing, and my vision will improve a great deal as my eye heals. (My eye looks pretty awful right now, but that's okay.)
Because I'm a writer, I'm going to try to get down in words what the experience was like. It might be kind of gross or disturbing, though, so feel free to scroll along if that might bother you.
We arrived at the clinic at eight thirty in the morning. One of the surgery techs, Rex, explained exactly what was going to happen so I would have advance warning of what to expect.
The first procedure I needed was the laser cut to my left eye. Later the donor tissue would be cut in the same way so that the join between the two would be precisely matching. First I sat in the regular eye exam chair that you've probably all seen. Dr. Price looked at my left eye with that painfully bright light to re-familiarize himself with the exact contours of my particular keratoconus-riddled cornea. Then the technicians, Rox and Rex (I know, right?) took me into the room with the laser. This was the hardest part for me.
I lay down on a moving bed, sort of like you'd see in an MRI room, except the machine the bed moved me under was much smaller. It didn't look like much, just a big box, but it contained the laser and probably all sorts of controls and monitors. The bed I lay in didn't move it just one direction, either--they could adjust it back and forth and side to side. They had to, because my eye had to be positioned very precisely so that the laser could cut my eye. They also put a pillow under my knees and a towel under my head so that my head lay completely flat. Then the process started of positioning my left eye precisely under the laser. They also taped a shield over my right eye.
I had been told that it would be important for me to hold my eyes open and relaxed during the procedure. If I reflexively tried to squeeze my eyes shut, or twitched or moved or anything, I could throw off the laser and the procedure wouldn't work. So this entire process was extremely stressful for me. They did put some numbing drops in my left eye so it would not be painful, but I still felt the pressure of the machine, and the bright lights were very disconcerting.
My first job was simply to stare upward into the center of a circle of white lights while they did some measurements. The machine was so close to my eye that this white circle, which was probably no more than a half inch in diameter, took up my entire vision. It felt like staring into a black hole. I was supposed to look into the center of the circle and not look away. Because my left eye is so lazy, I worried about this. I could feel that it wanted to slide away and look somewhere else. My brain continually tried to switch my vision to my right eye, because that's how my brain has functioned for the last ten years since my left eye because useless. I had to struggle to keep my vision on the circle of light. The techs and Dr. Price kept telling me not to move whenever my eyes made the slightest little twitch. I could see the calipers coming toward my eye when they measured it. It took all my will not to flinch away.
My heart was pounding the entire time. I have trouble expressing just how terrifying this entire process was for me. Just...try to imagine that you're laying on a table. You're not supposed to move. Very bright lights surrounding a very dark center are so close to your left eye that it takes up your entire vision. A voice of authority continually warns you not to move whenever the flesh around your eyes makes the smallest, most involuntary of tics. You keep trying to open your eyes wider and wider, and when you do your brain tries to switch your vision to your other eye, so you can't even tell if your left eye is looking into the center of the lights like it's supposed to, and it takes an effort of will to switch your vision to the left eye again. The whole time, you know that this is being set up so that a laser will cut into your eye.
Sometime before the measurements actually started, the doctor placed a speculum on my left eye between the lids to hold them apart, so that helped a bit as far as keeping my eye open. Still, I had to keep my eyes open, keep them relaxed, and look into the center of that circle. When the measurements were finished, Dr. Price placed a suction ring over my left eye, and the machine suctioned itself to me. It was like someone pressing their thumb very hard and very firmly into my eye socket. Then a tech said they were going to start docking the laser down on the suction ring. She said things like "Suction one started. Suction two started." And those bright lights moved even closer to my eye. The vision in my left eye blurred, then went out, and my brain switched to my right eye, so I was just staring at the very edge of the shield over my right eye, where it wasn't touching the skin, so I had a sliver of light and could see the blue lining of the shield as well as the edge of my nose.
Probably the worst thing was that they had to do that suction thing three times. Three times! The first time wasn't precisely lined up. They backed up, Dr. Price removed the suction ring from my eye, and he asked if I had felt any pressure anywhere besides my eye, like on my nose. I managed to squeak out a petrified "No." I was so locked down into NOT MOVING AT ALL that I had difficulty getting my voice to work. Then they adjusted my head a tiny bit and tried it again. And then again. The first time I had hoped that maybe the laser was so fast (I had been told that the actual cutting would be very quick), that it was already over and I hadn't even realized it. But no, they had to adjust it.
So finally. The machine was sucked down on my eye. Rex kept telling me to keep my eyes open. My left eye had quit seeing anything so I just saw the edge of the shield on my right eye. I held my breath without realizing it, I was so focused on holding still and keeping my eyes open. I heard a loud humming on my left side, and I think I might have smelled a smell of burning. It was about a second. I hoped it was done. Rex said they were halfway through. Another second of humming/burning/trying-not-to-move. And it was done. The suction released and the machine backed off, and I finally breathed again.
How did I get through it? Mostly adrenaline, I think. I kept telling myself that this was neat, this was cool, this was a great thing. A freaking LASER was going to cut my eye. How cool was that? I had been told a great deal about how beneficial it was to have the laser cut my eye and the donor tissue instead of scalpel--cleaner, more precise, quicker heal time, less chance of rejection. In the moment, though, it was all I could do to keep my balance. I was dizzy and a little sick from not eating or drinking since midnight--fasting always makes me dizzy nowadays, with whatever blood sugar thing I have going on--and when that bed moved after I laid down on it, I felt like my entire body was just floating away.
One funny thing--on the way down to Indy, I played Avett Brothers on my phone. So while I was laying there under the laser machine I had the first line of "Left on Laura, Left on Lisa" in my head, only except instead of "Nobody knows it, but I am sad," in my head the lyrics were "Nobody knows it, but I am so scared."
Except I think pretty much everyone knew exactly how scared I was, haha.
It's exhausting to write about it, too, and I'm still very tired. So yeah. More later.
And here's what my left eye looks like today, from a quick pic taken with my webcam. It's just crying cuz it's happy.
I've talked before on this journal about the problems I have with my eyes. Keratoconus, misshapen corneas, the distortion and problems. My left eye has been useless and in need of a transplant since I was in college. My right eye now can no longer be corrected with glasses, so I wear a hard contact in it. It's like a daily miracle--I wake up and I can't see. Then I put in the contact and I can see again.
But my right eye has been working alone for a very long time. My left eye is very lazy, always wandering off, and my brain has gotten used to just using the right. Finally, this year, my church said they would help me meet my insurance deductible so I could get this transplant I've been needing. It's been a very long process--actually started in April. But yesterday was the fruition. I now have a new cornea in my left eye.
This morning the nurse took off the gauze at my first follow-up appointment, and already I could see better with my left eye than I've been able to see since I was a teenager. I saw her face, not just a big blur. When asked to look at the eye chart, I could make out the first two lines with my left eye, which was previously impossible. It was amazing, and my vision will improve a great deal as my eye heals. (My eye looks pretty awful right now, but that's okay.)
Because I'm a writer, I'm going to try to get down in words what the experience was like. It might be kind of gross or disturbing, though, so feel free to scroll along if that might bother you.
We arrived at the clinic at eight thirty in the morning. One of the surgery techs, Rex, explained exactly what was going to happen so I would have advance warning of what to expect.
The first procedure I needed was the laser cut to my left eye. Later the donor tissue would be cut in the same way so that the join between the two would be precisely matching. First I sat in the regular eye exam chair that you've probably all seen. Dr. Price looked at my left eye with that painfully bright light to re-familiarize himself with the exact contours of my particular keratoconus-riddled cornea. Then the technicians, Rox and Rex (I know, right?) took me into the room with the laser. This was the hardest part for me.
I lay down on a moving bed, sort of like you'd see in an MRI room, except the machine the bed moved me under was much smaller. It didn't look like much, just a big box, but it contained the laser and probably all sorts of controls and monitors. The bed I lay in didn't move it just one direction, either--they could adjust it back and forth and side to side. They had to, because my eye had to be positioned very precisely so that the laser could cut my eye. They also put a pillow under my knees and a towel under my head so that my head lay completely flat. Then the process started of positioning my left eye precisely under the laser. They also taped a shield over my right eye.
I had been told that it would be important for me to hold my eyes open and relaxed during the procedure. If I reflexively tried to squeeze my eyes shut, or twitched or moved or anything, I could throw off the laser and the procedure wouldn't work. So this entire process was extremely stressful for me. They did put some numbing drops in my left eye so it would not be painful, but I still felt the pressure of the machine, and the bright lights were very disconcerting.
My first job was simply to stare upward into the center of a circle of white lights while they did some measurements. The machine was so close to my eye that this white circle, which was probably no more than a half inch in diameter, took up my entire vision. It felt like staring into a black hole. I was supposed to look into the center of the circle and not look away. Because my left eye is so lazy, I worried about this. I could feel that it wanted to slide away and look somewhere else. My brain continually tried to switch my vision to my right eye, because that's how my brain has functioned for the last ten years since my left eye because useless. I had to struggle to keep my vision on the circle of light. The techs and Dr. Price kept telling me not to move whenever my eyes made the slightest little twitch. I could see the calipers coming toward my eye when they measured it. It took all my will not to flinch away.
My heart was pounding the entire time. I have trouble expressing just how terrifying this entire process was for me. Just...try to imagine that you're laying on a table. You're not supposed to move. Very bright lights surrounding a very dark center are so close to your left eye that it takes up your entire vision. A voice of authority continually warns you not to move whenever the flesh around your eyes makes the smallest, most involuntary of tics. You keep trying to open your eyes wider and wider, and when you do your brain tries to switch your vision to your other eye, so you can't even tell if your left eye is looking into the center of the lights like it's supposed to, and it takes an effort of will to switch your vision to the left eye again. The whole time, you know that this is being set up so that a laser will cut into your eye.
Sometime before the measurements actually started, the doctor placed a speculum on my left eye between the lids to hold them apart, so that helped a bit as far as keeping my eye open. Still, I had to keep my eyes open, keep them relaxed, and look into the center of that circle. When the measurements were finished, Dr. Price placed a suction ring over my left eye, and the machine suctioned itself to me. It was like someone pressing their thumb very hard and very firmly into my eye socket. Then a tech said they were going to start docking the laser down on the suction ring. She said things like "Suction one started. Suction two started." And those bright lights moved even closer to my eye. The vision in my left eye blurred, then went out, and my brain switched to my right eye, so I was just staring at the very edge of the shield over my right eye, where it wasn't touching the skin, so I had a sliver of light and could see the blue lining of the shield as well as the edge of my nose.
Probably the worst thing was that they had to do that suction thing three times. Three times! The first time wasn't precisely lined up. They backed up, Dr. Price removed the suction ring from my eye, and he asked if I had felt any pressure anywhere besides my eye, like on my nose. I managed to squeak out a petrified "No." I was so locked down into NOT MOVING AT ALL that I had difficulty getting my voice to work. Then they adjusted my head a tiny bit and tried it again. And then again. The first time I had hoped that maybe the laser was so fast (I had been told that the actual cutting would be very quick), that it was already over and I hadn't even realized it. But no, they had to adjust it.
So finally. The machine was sucked down on my eye. Rex kept telling me to keep my eyes open. My left eye had quit seeing anything so I just saw the edge of the shield on my right eye. I held my breath without realizing it, I was so focused on holding still and keeping my eyes open. I heard a loud humming on my left side, and I think I might have smelled a smell of burning. It was about a second. I hoped it was done. Rex said they were halfway through. Another second of humming/burning/trying-not-to-move. And it was done. The suction released and the machine backed off, and I finally breathed again.
How did I get through it? Mostly adrenaline, I think. I kept telling myself that this was neat, this was cool, this was a great thing. A freaking LASER was going to cut my eye. How cool was that? I had been told a great deal about how beneficial it was to have the laser cut my eye and the donor tissue instead of scalpel--cleaner, more precise, quicker heal time, less chance of rejection. In the moment, though, it was all I could do to keep my balance. I was dizzy and a little sick from not eating or drinking since midnight--fasting always makes me dizzy nowadays, with whatever blood sugar thing I have going on--and when that bed moved after I laid down on it, I felt like my entire body was just floating away.
One funny thing--on the way down to Indy, I played Avett Brothers on my phone. So while I was laying there under the laser machine I had the first line of "Left on Laura, Left on Lisa" in my head, only except instead of "Nobody knows it, but I am sad," in my head the lyrics were "Nobody knows it, but I am so scared."
Except I think pretty much everyone knew exactly how scared I was, haha.
It's exhausting to write about it, too, and I'm still very tired. So yeah. More later.
And here's what my left eye looks like today, from a quick pic taken with my webcam. It's just crying cuz it's happy.
