From Fear to Jubilation

By Mickey Dunaway

In mid-November of last year, I went for my yearly ophthalmology appointment expecting that my physician would tell me what I already knew: that I was going to buy another pair of glasses and the accompanying (and classy) mirrored sunglasses. After a set of typical eye tests, I made it to the doctor’s office to have my eyes dilated and have the doctor examine the back of my eye and the optic nerve to confirm that the results of the Optical Coherence Tomography machine were accurate. 

She gave me my results of the tests: “Your overall visual acuity is diminished, and your macular degeneration has worsened. I will refer you to a retina specialist. The folks up front can schedule your appointment with the specialist.” 

We shake hands. I thank the doctor as always, and I don’t mention how long I spent in the waiting room. At the front office, a receptionist has my paperwork ready, and with my iPhone Calendar open, we make an appointment with the practice’s retina specialist for six weeks out. Since I prepaid my deductible, I am done … or so I assume.

As the late Paul Harvey used to say, “Now for the rest of the story.” 

***

When I went in that morning for my appointment, I was actually seeing pretty well. My macular degeneration was not a surprise, as my ophthalmologist had kept me abreast of changes over the months. The macular degeneration was beginning to have some minor effects—straight lines became squiggly, and circles became ovals—nothing I had not adjusted to. I put on my wraparound mirrored sunglasses and drove myself home. What? A 79-year-old cannot be cool?!

However, the next morning I didn’t feel cool at all. I experienced one of the biggest surprises of my 78-year-old life. I awakened and wiped the sleep from my eyes three times, yet everything was still very fuzzy. There was a big shadowy blob in the middle of my sight. Damn. I could hardly see anything. Waking up with 50%  of my eyesight gone scared the “Pea Turkey” out of me, as we Southerners might say to keep from using the cusswords which I cannot use here. 

After two knee replacements, a spinal fusion, and a Watchman device in my heart. I am not fearful of the issues of aging. However,  this eye issue shook me to my core.

After a cup of coffee to settle my nerves, I called the retina specialist’s office. I told her the details of the visit the day before, my scary experience upon waking, and the appointment several weeks away with the retina specialist. 

I think after hearing the panic in my voice, she worked me in the next week. 

“Hallelujah!” I said to myself. I don’t know if this was a miracle, but it seemed that way at the time. 

So, I checked the specialist’s credentials, was appropriately impressed, and went into the visit with zero expectations. I just didn’t know much about my issue, but presumed only positive outcomes based on his credentials. I was not to be disappointed.

After a series of additional tests, the doctor came in, pulled up a chair, and shared the results with my wife and me. Usually not a good sign. Not so this day. Miracle #1 came from the doctor’s mouth with these words: “I believe I can restore 99% of your vision.” 

Double hallelujah and praise the Almighty! “When can we start?” I asked. 

“How about we start today?” He responded. “I will give you a shot in your eye. It won’t hurt.  You will just feel pressure on your eye.”

“Let’s do it,” I said. 

And a minute or two after numbing my right eye, the doctor told me, “Look up and to the left.” 

I did; he clamped my eyelid open; and then I felt the pressure he described; I didn’t see the needle coming; and then it was over. Miracle #2.  

The rest of the day was like a prolonged recovery from a regular eye dilation. But, the next day, I could see again. The shots came each month for several months—same procedure—and my eyesight improved as the oval circles and the squiggly straight lines had disappeared. Soon we moved the shots out to six weeks, and most recently to eight weeks, with the possibility, if all goes as it has, out to 16 weeks. Miracle #3.  

After Miracle #1 — the beginning of the restoration of my vision occurring after one injection—Miracle #4 was the most unexpected. The doctor, before he told me he was extending the time between shots to eight weeks, said these words, “Mr. Dunaway, your macular degeneration is in remission.”

There is not enough space here to tell you what I felt with the doctor’s words. I quickly walked down the hall to the waiting room where I knew my wife, Sandy, would be.  

“I’m in remission,” I almost shouted to her. We made the next appointment for eight weeks out, and I sang Amazing Grace to myself as Sandy drove us home.