It’s hard for me to explain to most people what my vision post-surgery is like. Most people don’t understand, and some try to act like having to wear glasses because “like I’d so be blind without them” is comparable. However, until they invent glass to put on your BRAIN, the two situations are nothing alike.
*Cough* Anyway, about a week ago I noticed that my vision was changing. I didn’t think it was for the better or worse, until it started blurring up at work. On Wednesday, I was on my computer, as I usually am, and I blinked. When I opened my eyes again, the screen was blurry. That was unusual for me, because despite the chunks that are missing, I’ve always had 20/20 vision. (Actually, if you want to envision how I see everyday, read this article on Wikipedia and combine the three scotoma images on the right-hand side until they merge and form a giant, mutant scotoma. Welcome to my life.)
The change in symptoms got so worrisome to me that Wednesday night I decided to go to the emergency room. I hate to be one of those people who abuses the system by using the ER as my primary doctor. Either way my health plan doesn’t cover pre-existing conditions. It was one of those infamous damned if you do, damned if you don’t situations. Really, their slogan should be: We’ll keep you healthy…but only if you’re already healthy!
This is where I wish there was a real life Dr. House, who would take my case pro bono because it was a challenge. Obviously.
Then they would subject me to a battery of tests; during the first two the outcome would look bleak. Then suddenly, ten minutes before the end of the show, they would find the magic pill (or the correct diagnosis) and I would take it and feel better. The end. Everyone lives happily ever after.
What really happened was definitely not interesting enough for TV (and barely interesting enough for this blog… you’re welcome!). I waited in the waiting room for over an hour. Then I waited in the room for hours, until I finally got a CT. Everything turned out normal. Their diagnosis: vertigo. The good news is that my brain is normal! Well, normal-ish. The bad news is that I made a big deal out of nothing, getting myself nervous for the possibility of something, like tumor regrowth or meningitis, or something equally worthy or a medical sitcom/drama. Sometimes, in these situations, don’t you hope that they find something wrong? Even a little something, lest you look like a nutcase hypochondriac who relishes taking advantage of the system?
Or maybe that’s just me…
In the end, I went home five hours later with a note to stay home from work and anti-vertigo pills . It was an anticlimactic end to an overly dramatic day. Next time, I’ll just take a nap and skip the ER.