Vexed

I went for more scans today and am a bit frustrated to report that there is still no change in my tumor status. We looked at the "films" (it is all digital now, so there aren't any real films) with Dr. Smile, my neuro-oncologist, and with the exception of an itty-bitty possible blip, there is no change. This is not a disaster, since there are still two months until the end of the window in which improvement may appear, but it is a bit, shall we say, vexing.

I was hoping to see some change by now, but (as I have mentioned before) my expectations are somewhat skewed by my first experience with ye olde radiation. What gets me is that I will not get another shot at it. Of course, I thought that last time, and I did get another chance, so who knows? I guess I should say that I don't imagine I'll have another shot at this treatment. But that's also new - a crisis of imagination - and it makes me feel, even without any evidence, doomed.

Anyway, I scheduled another scan for the third week of April. Until then, I will try to put it out of my mind; I have plenty to do, and obsessing doesn't help. Deep breath, move on.

Sunshine

At work, we've had several letters like the one I copied here (in my last post) and it looks like the funding program will be renewed. Yay! Merle seems to be tolerating his "sub-q" with relative equanimity, for a cat of very little brain, and we only have to do it once a week for the moment. My eyes healed perfectly, and I finished with the post-operative drops today, though they suggest you use them for another month to 6 months. And I am not working this weekend, which has happened exactly never since we started the program!

(My only complaint is that I keep pawing at my face to "take off" the glasses I'm not wearing. So far I've only scratched myself once...)

Letters Like This Make It Hard To Sulk

This arrived for me (read, my department) today.

I am writing you because of what this foundation has done for me. How do you thank people or a foundation for helping give hope to having a better life? Thanks just does not seem to be enough. I greatly believe in the fact that it is my decision to have done what I did. My life is essentially saved, I can now get through school, get a job, and have a sufficient income when I am older.

I am so grateful that there was an organization like this or I never would have been able to make the trip and afford having the procedure done. This gives women around the nation hope that a bright future is possible! Someday I hope to repay the huge favor this foundation has done for me. I thank god everyday for having wonderful people in this world, which set up a great service such as yours to help women around the nation.

I can’t thank you enough, and everyone who works there that I was in contact with was very nice and understanding. Thank you from the bottom of my heart, you saved my life and I am grateful everyday!

Keep going strong and god bless to all of you, and keep this amazing foundation running! You are a miracle and I will always remember what you people have done for me in my life!

Correction

Sorry, everyone; I led you astray! I meant that I was starting the LASIK process today. My actual surgery is Thursday.

The young man who examined me at the Eye Doctor today told me that he was taking time off from med school to do an internship there. He moved here for a year to study optometry, and feels very lucky to have gotten the chance. There are more things, as it goes, in heaven and earth, than are dreamt of in my philosophy. (That makes me Horatio, of course.) Apparently this office is the place to be! I like them because, among other things, the one doctor did his partner's procedure. It is hard to ask for a better recommendation.

One day last week, we drove out to one of our favorite places to eat. To get there, you have to drive through our largest park, and it was fairly dark under the trees at 5:45 on a February evening. I took off my glasses (Mr. Husband was driving, obviously!) to watch the lights one last time. At night in the city, the kingdom of myopia is a magical place. If I could paint, I'd try to make a picture of it - sudden sunbursts, zany zigzags right in front of me, bursts of color.

I am limiting my options, I told someone, by having this procedure. Now I have two options: I can choose to see clearly or I can choose to see the runny watercolors of my near-sightedness. After the surgery, I will only be able to see clearly. The person I was talking shook his head and said, no, you can always choose to close your eyes. Oh yeah, I said. That's right.

Update On Merle

We went to the vet again on Sunday - who knew they had Sunday appointments? - and got good news afterwards: we only have to give him the subcutaneous fluids once a week now!

The vet assistants tried get a syringeful of urine from his bladder to test for infection, which was a loss on all counts; they both got scratched, they were unable to get anything from his bladder (though he peed copiously after the fight with them was over and he was hiding behind a trash can) and everyone was traumatized. The "up" side to this is that when we gave him his sub-q (to use a little vet-speak) that evening he was so relieved not to have a replay of the afternoon that he purred the whole time. I have a friend who is a high-falutin' vet and I'm hoping she'll alert me if she thinks he was maltreated. (Suze?)

And while we are talking about pets, you need to read this. I've never had a dog, but Merle acts like one, so I know the syndrome. To paraphrase, WOE.

It has taken me 2 days to post this entry. Like the man says, ARRRRRRG!

But Now I See!

Not actually now, to be specific, but in the next week - the big day is the 18th. When they asked me at the eye doctor how long I'd been thinking about it, I had to stop and think. "A few months?" the LASIK doctor's assistant prompted helpfully, "or a few days?" I was a little embarrassed to admit I'd been thinking about it for oh, twenty years, so I just said, "a long time."

I dreaded, however, and rightly so, watching this little movie the FDA helpfully created. It's like a horror show - you don't want to look, but you can't look away. Consider yourself warned. It's almost more graphic because of the cartoons. When I first started wearing contact lenses, it took me months to get over the combination of my squeamishness and my instinct to protect my eyes.

My sister and I talked once, years ago, about the near-sighted person's enviable ability to blur the world around herself when necessary. Honestly, I think I will miss that. But being able to see in the shower? Or when I first wake up? Not panicking when I cannot find my glasses? Being able to wear mascara, if I choose to do so? That might make up for it.

Touch

This will be a short entry but I just wanted to touch base. So, touch. More soon. (You don't even believe me, do you?)