Nothing like it

After a restless night when I finally fell asleep for a few hours early in the morning, I went back to the doctor the next day. He wanted to check on whether the surgery was taking, and it appeared to be.

The technician ripped the tape off my closed eye, checked its pressure, which was okay, and held up various fingers for me to count.  I could see out of my affected eye, which was encouraging because the afternoon before, when I was wheeled into surgery, about 7/8ths of the vision was occluded in that eye.  Then the doctor came in and explained the surgery which he said had inserted a gas bubble into my eye to replace the vitreous humor and the bubble would dissolve over time as it was replaced by eye fluid during the healing process, and my vision should gradually improve as that occurred.

We discussed my discomfort during surgery the night before.  I don't think he appreciated me as a surgical patient because when he had cut into my eye I was awake and aware and I reacted badly, moving my head in response to the pain ("Lie still!  No talking!"), which I felt palpably, and I moaned softly as he worked, which allayed the incredible anxiety I felt as a burning sliver of metal was jabbed into my eye and thrust about (at least, that's what it felt like).

The doctor was reassuring although he considered the job incomplete because despite repairing the three tears in the retina with his laser, he hadn't fully cemented to his satisfaction the background or "wallpaper" as he called it because I was a moving too much.  But he cited the 90-95% success rate with the procedure as he assured me it was going to be an onerous recovery, and he said he would see me in a week.  Oh what a visit that would turn out to be!

A legend passes on

I said these words on FB shortly before John McCain passed on. I meant every word.

An American hero is apparently going to depart us in awhile. Senator John McCain, a Naval Academy graduate who was shot down over North Vietnam and spent years in the Hanoi Hilton being beaten and tortured to the extent that he can't lift his arms above his shoulders even now. He later famously forgave his captors, which undoubtedly freed his soul. He was offered to be sent home early in his incarceration because his father was an admiral but he refused because he wasn't next on the seniority list of POWs, opting to stay with his men. This is true loyalty, displayed in the true American way (McCain embodies American greatness which has never gone anywhere, despite trite and mindless slogans). 

Later he became a U.S. Senator from AZ where he served with honor and distinction, despite some political miscalculations (he always admitted his actions were never perfect and he made mistakes, a refreshing political attribute). He mentored newer senators, both Democratic and Republican, worked on campaign finance reform before the despicable Citizens United USSC opinion unleashed a deluge of corrupting dark money upon the U.S. political system. 

Before this year, he's the only Republican I have voted for in this century, in 2000, because the Grand Old Party is now a stifled, merely self-aggrandizing and mostly corrupted party otherwise. Famously McCain defended Barack Obama as an honorable, loyal American citizen to mindless, misguided supporters of his even as he ran against Obama's candidacy in 2008. 

Check out his concession speech after that election, a healing, uniting bit of elocution that I have always thought was under appreciated. I'm glad John is still with us and when he departs I will mourn his passing.

An era has passed.

Goodbye to John McCain, who served our country with honor, always.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Dylan Thomas.

It hurt

By Tuesday morning I already knew I had retinal detachment, as I had consulted Dr. Google. But it was worse, I had three tears in the superior region of the retina which was ruining my vision, probably permanently. There's no telling why it occurred.

I was scheduled for surgery that very afternoon and whisked off to the pre-surgery ward and given that famous surgical open-in-the-back garb in the doctor's hope that a surgical window would open sooner. "Who's going to come pick you up after surgery," I was asked.

I frantically made calls and imposed myself upon a good friend, who left work, stayed with me and took me home afterwards. She is a true friend and if my sight in that eye is saved, she will be responsible for that. I spent a restless night as my eye was taped shut and it hurt.

My recovery instructions were to keep my head parallel to the floor 12-14 hours a day for two weeks, then very sedate physical activity for six weeks, and no strenuous physical activity for four months in the hope the repair would take permanently upon the delicate structure of the eye. Try keeping your head very parallel to the floor for 12-14 hours, then extend that for 13 more straight days.

He'll see you tomorrow

Bad things always seem to happen on weekends when the co-pay is double. A black spot had inexplicably developed in one eye.

I called my health-care provider and was given an appointment with an eye doctor for Wednesday. It didn't hurt, and I pretended that my vision was returning to normal.

On Monday I realized my vision definitely wasn't improving, it was getting worse. I called my health-care service again and said I couldn't wait until Wednesday, that I was losing my sight.

I was given an appointment on the morrow with an ophthalmologist, not an optometrist as formerly scheduled. Most ominously the advice nurse shortly called me back and advised me not to eat or drink anything after midnight.

Who you gonna call?

When my vision started failing in my right eye, I underwent two emergency surgeries upon my eye a week apart.  Each time when I went to see the ophthalmologist, I did not expect to suddenly be scheduled for immediate surgery and I was confronted with summoning a caregiver to come get me afterwards.

I have two friends in the area who would do that for me but they both work and when I called, suddenly they were unexpectedly being asked to leave work for the day to come to my assistance, which each one readily did.  My thoughts about asking for help never turned to any of my three sons, all men around thirty now, two of whom, I believe, live in the state, three lads who I helped bring into this world and whom I bestowed love and care upon for all those years until, during and since the nuclear divorce launched upon the family by their mother whom I believe to be a covert narcissistic who overbore their immature wills for her gratification at the time, and they haven't communicated with me or any Lamberton since then.

As I have publicized, every holiday at noon I go to the same restaurant for lunch, hoping for a fresh start someday with one or more of them, also I fruitlessly went to pick them up on every other Friday for court-ordered visitation until the last one turned 18 (their mother showed them how easy it is to be a scofflaw) and I provided full college tuition and fees for two of them without a word of thanks from either of them, and still hold a full tuition plan for the third (although the IRS has demanded that the plan be vacated so taxes on it can be collected). That is what familial love demands and manly duty requires, in my estimation, generous and upstanding attributes I obviously didn't impart to these three mighty unusual adults who apparently still worship at the altar of the mother that they love oh-so-much.

As I approach my seventies, it makes me sad that I couldn't count one bit on any of my three fully mature adult sons when I really needed help. I have a third operation coming up in a few months and I want them each to know that if anything unexpected happens they would probably be contacted by one of their Lamberton aunts or uncle, if possible, to provide a small amount of cash to each one of them.

Don't be alone

My last post, last month, was about the big corporations beating down the common man (or woman) because we don't matter in current Amerika. My attitude hasn't changed.

But a health issue interposed. I'm losing my sight.

A detached retina in my dominant eye (three tears in the superior region) caused me to lose 3/4 of my sight in a day in that eye. The ophthalmologist operated that very day, upon my right eye, and it hurt a lot.

The surgery failed because a week later I was in the OR for surgery number two, upon that eye, an hour after I went for my one-week check-up. I live alone and couldn't even have had these sight-saving surgeries unless I had someone to pick me up immediately afterwards (ALL surgeries are outpatient these days) who would take me home and ensconce me in bed to begin the weeks-long arduous recovery from eye surgery.