Three Sheets to the Wind

This wonderful print entitled "Three Sheets to the Wind" by Barbara Lavalee is found here

Many years ago, my dear friend, Martha, gave me this print that she purchased on a trip to Alaska. She laughingly told me that the title reminded her of me, since I often use the phrase to describe my befuddled self quite often. It really applies today.

Three years ago I had Lasik eye surgery. Even though I thought I'd be a bad candidate for it, being menopausal and having dry eye problems. No, they assured me. I was indeed an excellent candidate.

I had the procedure and had immediate vision improvement that far exceeded my expectations. And I have had no end of dry eye problems as well.

We've tried one kind of lubricating eye drops that gave me an allergic reaction that made me look like a gargoyle. Another kind worked pretty well for awhile but it glued my eyelids shut to the point that I'd have to feel my way into the bathroom every morning--completely without vision. Then we put temporary tear duct plugs in my lower tear ducts so the tears wouldn't drain out as easily and my eyes would stay more moist. That was the idea and I wasn't sure it helped, but anything would be better than how it was. We decided to place permanent ones next: miniature silicone golf tee-looking things that hurt going in and irritated my eyes. They helped for a few weeks and then I was back to dry, painful eyes in the morning with diminishing vision from the dry spots.

So when we moved here a year ago, I went to a university eye clinic. The doctor told me that research indicates that punctal plugs work best in the upper tear ducts, not in the lower ones. Would I like to try those? We did the round with temporaries and then permanent golf tees in the upper ducts. They hurt going in and one of them was quite irritating--itchy eyes, etc.

These marvels of science gave me permanent teariness. You should try to lecture with tears coming down your cheeks at unexpected times. The first time it happened, I looked up at a classroom of students looking at me, shocked, sitting stock still in their seats. One quietly handed me a tissue. It didn't help that I was talking about child abuse and they thought I was really feeling my topic that day.

These unbidden tears appear at the worst times: in therapy (Oh Barbara, you really get what I'm saying, don't you?) and during public speaking (Your talk on loss was sooo moving!). Me, dabbing away tears and trying to look as though I'm not sad. Botherdash.

I had just about had enough of this when a little growth appeared on my lower eyelid. It resembled a cauliflower and was the size of an eraser at the top of a pencil. Try looking around that or being in front of people, peering around that in the corner of your eye! So in to the eye doctor I went. I don't know what that thing is, but how long have you had that cancer on your nose, so close to your eye? Shall I take it off?

Yes, and while you're at it, get rid of those bottom punctal plugs. I'm sick of crying through life. She tried to lift them out in the office, but only succeeded in lifting me up out of the chair. So surgery, it was.

In the interim between her pronouncement that I have skin cancer, and the time she could operate, I treated the little cauliflower growth myself: antibiotic ointment in my eye every night. It disappeared in two weeks.

Yesterday afternoon I had the operation to remove the infamous plugs. It was to be 30 minutes and ended up taking an hour and a half. The doctor told me that she had an awful time getting them out and had to cut them out. Yikes! I look like I've been in a fight with two ominous black eyes. I woke up after surgery with ice packs galore over my eyes, a pounding headache from the cold, and feeling terribly queasy.

"Let me get you some pain medicine," the nurse chirped.

"Yes, please!"

"Here's some Demerol that I'll put in your IV."

"That stuff makes me throw up. Can you give me something else?"

I fell asleep before I knew what hit me: Dilaudid. My goodness, that stuff knocked me out for four hours. Why someone would give me Dilaudid is beyond me. It's the same as using a sledge hammer to push a tack into a bulletin board--the magnitude seemed unwarranted. I woke up with Sam rubbing my hand and asking me if I could go home yet.

Do I look like I can go home?! I could hardly even open my eyes.

I had a continuous, dribbling nosebleed all the way home and could hardly stand up, so wobbly was I. In fact, I think I dozed off going to the bathroom in the recovery room and don't remember anything of the ride home. Sam put me to bed and I went out like a light for another two hours. I got up just long enough to have a turkey sandwich he brought me, along with a cluster of grapes. And down I went again.

It is all most inconvenient: the plastic backed absorbent pad over my pillows that keep me up at 45 degrees--that makes my hot flashes even sweatier. This telfa visor-type affair that is taped to my forehead and that I don't know how long I can tolerate, or why I have it in the first place. These two oozing incisions down my face from my tear ducts toward my nose. And gluey gooey stuff in my eyes that obscures my vision. Oh, that that's not mentioning the ubiquitous bag of frozen chopped broccoli that I've been wearing over my face off and on. It really helps with the pain and the nosebleeds and gives me a headache.

It is 2:30 in the morning and I'm so slept out that I can't stay in bed any longer. Otis' little furry body on one side of me and Sam's on the other--that bed was like a veritable oven.

And yet, for all the discomfort and inconvenience, I have unending gratitude for the fact that I live in 2007 and in a community with highly trained surgeons who can care for me. Because if I lived on the prairie in 1835, I would not be able to see (no glasses), no physician who could do much of anything for my sight, and dry eyes could make a person go blind eventually, not to mention glaucoma or cataracts. The absence of air conditioning and air filtering systems in the house would have turned me into a raving lunatic, what with hot flashes, allergies, and menopausal idiosyncratic behavior. No pain medications that could be trusted.

Dilaudid has just about undone me, but it is beetter than brandy with a rag in my teeth.

So I'll stop grousing, put more goop in my eyes, and wobble my way back into bed. Thank God that this surgery was available. Thank Him even more that it's over!