A little free advice. Try to avoid having your eye poked with sharp sticks.
It's true what they say: doctors and nurses make the worst patients. I feel like I am going crazy, trapped at home and strictly forbidden to do any activities off a very long list. Basically I'm allowed to sleep and watch TV, and that's about it. I am currently cheating by typing in Word, using a large font that is visible even to my stuck with a sharp stick eye.
We went into a fancy Pittsburgh office on Friday morning, and a fully expected to leave said office cured. I imagined some in-office miracle laser procedure would seal up my slightly defective retina and we would be on our way. Next thing I knew I was in a gown and waiting on a gurney in Montefiore Hospital and the nursing staff had hidden both my shoes and underwear. I was a serious elopement risk, as I realized the sort of surgery that they have you get naked for ain't just laser. Naked means tubes in unpleasant places, and I was firmly against tubes in any location of my body.
Regardless of my objections I was kept in a state of undress, denied food and water, and then stuck with needles. Tim, bless his incredibly loyal heart, stayed beside me and held my hand even when I was threatening candy stripers with assassination if someone didn't bring me a cheeseburger. He even tried to explain to the poor creatures that I have never gone without food for more than two straight hours in my entire life. They stayed pretty far away from us anyway.
So, I was taken to surgery and the sharp stick poking commenced, and when I came out of anesthesia my eye was bandaged so the true damage wasn't yet apparent. The next morning, the surgeon removed the patch to reveal the following: My eye is the most horrific movie monster creature you have ever seen, complete with stitches in the sclera. I have not recovered my lost vision, however now I have double vision. And, although the surgery went well, there is new swelling, that may or may not require a second surgery.
I can't drive, I can't ride (the car makes me nauseous), for the most part I can't read, and so I am simply home, doing not much of anything. This sounds like fun, unless you take the not doing anything part of it into account. I keep begging to go back to work, but I am forbidden until my next surgeon visit on Thursday. If he doesn't clear me I swear, I am poking HIS eye with a sharp stick.
