Aging, Chapter 924

Ah, the indignities of aging keep-a-coming. Despite your best efforts to tone, tighten, and strengthen your aging body, one must recognize that there are things that can happen that are outside of one’s control. No matter how healthily you eat, how much exercise you do, when it comes to the aging body, well, it’s gonna do what aging bodies do at some point.

There I was the other night, cozily ensconced beneath my blanket, sitting on my sofa, waiting for the Chiefs-Dolphins football playoff came to come on.

Ernie walked in and asked, “Did the game start yet?”

I looked up to answer him and I saw fireworks.  Now, to be fair, what married woman doesn’t see fireworks when she sees her beloved husband?  Am I right, ladies?  But no.  These weren’t the figurative kind.  They were the literal.

I was blinded by this flash of light in my left eyeball.  Hmm, I thought, trying to quell the rising panic.  What in the hell was that?  This was followed by, maybe I imagined it? Just looked up too quick?  But no.  Every time I moved my eye, there it was again.  The white flash of light.  Sometimes it seemed to be tinged with a little purple, blue and/or, yellow. 

My OCD ruminations kicked into high gear.  My brain immediately sent out any number of possible worse case scenarios that would result in either my imminent death or at the very least, loss of an eye.

Reminding myself to breathe and grounding myself, I was able to think more clearly.  It was obvious I wasn’t in any immediate danger and could likely wait until the morning.  If it was still present when I woke up, I would call my eye doctor and go from there. 

I resisted googling the symptoms because I knew myself and knew that that was a rabbit hole I did not want to go down, as it could likely fan worst case scenario thoughts again.

With that plan of action, I continued to watch the game and tried to not move my eye so much.  I did ask Ernie if he could see if there was anything in my eye and quizzed him on his symptoms when he had had a detached retina.  This didn’t seem to fit the detached retina bill.

As the night progressed, the flashes got less, but then floaters started.  These dark lines in the shape of an arc started floating across my vision. 

I awoke the next morning to floaters.  Dang, I thought.  It’s still here.

A few hours later, after speaking with my eye doctor, I had a diagnosis.  One that he would confirm the next day with a physical exam.  The diagnosis?  Posterior Vitreous Detachment. 

Apparently, as we age, the gooey stuff in the back of our eye, can start to get dry, lose its gooey-ness, start to crack, and peel away from the eye ball.  My eyeball was like a bottle of Elmer’s glue left out too long with the cap off.

Nice. Who knew?  I mean of all the things on my Aging Radar, Posterior Vitreous Detachment was not on the list.  I wonder what else I don’t know?  I think that is a thought probably best left unexplored.

Prognosis?  Fortunately, this is nothing serious.  It carries with it, a slightly greater increased risk for a detached retina.  So, I do need a follow up with a retinal specialist in two weeks.  But generally, this is just an annoyance.  One that could last up to a year, mind you.

For now me and my floaters are learning how to coexist.  I am perfecting the art of holding my head just so, adjusting my gaze in just the right way to maybe keep the floater more in my peripheral vision vs front and center.  I also lit a candle at the Altar of Thank You It’s Nothing Worse and thanked that particular deity profusely.

Meanwhile, so glad I ditched Dry January.  I have a feeling when I have my glass(es) of wine this evening, I’ll be asking myself, “Floaters? What floaters?”