Did I mention that Sai beats me? Sure, she’ll deny it, and usually there’re no visible bruises to prove it, but a few weeks ago, I suddenly had a very noticeable red eye (surprising it wasn’t a black eye, but she’s subtle like that). I am not sure when she did it (most likely while I slept), or specifically why (though I am sure I deserved it), but I have no other explanation for the redeye.
Sai mentioned it, as did several coworkers, forcing me to take a hard look in the mirror, when I realized WTF?! I have a red eye! Once you notice such a thing, you suddenly experience associated (psychosomatic) symptoms that were heretofore non-existent (my eye itches, throbs, hurts; my vision seems blurry; I can’t read, etc.). Sai of course blamed my use of the iPhone and Kindle in bed and/or my use of a small laptop computer screen (I may be the last person on the planet not to use a large monitor), but the doctor denied these causes.
The local pharmacy suggested a simple eye drop solution for allergies, but since I’m not allergic to anything (as far as I know), the drops were a worthless drop of a few dollars. The Patient First Clinic ran some more advanced analyses including a yellow dye to cause my eyes to glow in the dark (but only under black light and only for a short period, so it wasn’t the cool party trick it first sounded like), but they too did not know what was wrong with me (as if anyone can figure that one out). They gave a referral to a specialist, which led to Wilmer.
The initial referral was for the Wilmer Eye Institute in Bethesda. However, when I called them on Monday in late November, I was told that they couldn’t see me before the end of December. By that time, I feared my bloody eye might be dead or untrustworthy (what’s the old misogyny joke – don’t trust anything that can bleed for seven days without dying?), so I pushed for other options. They offered other facilities, and we soon figured out that I could go to their Johns Hopkins hub in Baltimore the next morning. Rather than wait a month, I’d just have to drive up to B-more a little earlier than normal, as I’m up there every Tuesday afternoon for meetings anyway.
The Wilmer Institute is an impressive part of the impressive Johns Hopkins Medical Campus in a depressive part of Baltimore. The eye institute has been sticking things in people’s eyes longer than the Three Stooges. They have old photographs and display cases of medieval torture medical devices to scare the curious visitors. If you’re wide-eyed with fear or wonder, it makes it easier to check your eyes. If you prefer to clench your eyes closed in fear, fear not, because they have toys to deal with that too.
They dropped all kinds of drops in my eyes (why not just the one I was complaining about?), shined all kinds of bright lights, dilated my pupils, tested my eyeball pressure (a twisted little rig where you rest your chin on a ledge with your forehead against a pad while this tiny probe gets progressively closer to your eyeball, and they tell you to try not to blink…), before the nurse (or whatever his role was) told me that everything seemed normal according to their contraptions. I then went into the secondary waiting area, to await further eye-gouging from the formal doctor. After the numbing drops and dilating, I couldn’t read my emails or my Kindle app. Even the lobby TV was a blur. It was the opposite of the typical sensation before going to the doctor; usually, the symptoms disappear, and I feel like a fraud. This time, my eyes were on fire (not literally, but the numbing drops, while not exactly painful, felt all kinds of funky), leaking some kind of yellow fluid, and my vision was much blurrier than when I had arrived. Was this a case of the search for the cure being worse than the disease? Perhaps some wiki-research might have revealed that old Wilmer was not a brilliant eye surgeon, but a sadistic blinder? Too late now, because I couldn’t check my phone to confirm his malpractices.
And then she appeared, like an angel, a sight for sore eyes. Doctor Leposa is certainly easy on the eyes. The young, fit, attractive blonde looked deep into my eyes and confirmed… my left eye was red. Once again, I reiterated that I did not know of any specific trauma (remember, Sai is subtle), nor any allergies or other obvious causes, but I suspected my eye was not normal, since people didn’t normally ask me what the hell was wrong with my eye. She labeled it Episcleritis just to sound smart, told me that sometimes it just happens and that I could take some steroids to try to make it go away quicker. Since by now it had been an issue for a couple of weeks, (a week of ignoring it, a week of ineffective eye drops), I agreed to pay for more expensive eye drops, and not just because attractive blondes are good at getting older men to pay for things. And then I bought her dinner (just kidding, Teerak; please don’t hurt me). They assured me that I was fit to drive, despite the screwy eyes. No worse than DWA (driving while Asian – I know Sai will beat me for that one).
A week later, lighter in the wallet, I was back for more. Another eye-numbing, probing, vision-testing nurse, followed by a few minutes with the Doctor, in which she confirmed that my eye was still red.
Rinse, repeat, and a week later, guess what? First, this charming third time, I told the nurse that I didn’t want the eye-numbing crap again. Poke me in the eyes if you must, but I don’t want any more lingering effects following the session for the next few hours. No problem, the nurse assured me, before retrieving a scary-looking dusty silver case, containing a diabolical looking hand-held tool that belonged in the torture chamber in the waiting area museum. She approached me with the pistol-like weapon, pointed it in my eye, and a split second later, she was done with the first and on to the second. And then it was over, completely painless. Why don’t you use that every time? I inquired, and was told that “they” prefer their fancy machines. (“They” being the hospital budget committee, I presume.)
Regardless, my eye pressure was still normal, as were all of the other tests they ran, and DocLep realized that I was faking the whole thing just to keep seeing her. No, it just seems that way. She prescribed a stronger steroid, and requested I return in another week, hopefully with a clearer looking eye. And if that doesn’t work, we’ll go with my home remedy of just trying to bleach out the redness. What’s the worst that can happen?
The good news is that if you ever get to the point where you go somewhere enough times that you can get there with your eyes closed, it’s fitting that it be an eye institute.
Continued…
So what happens when you take a red eye and add a powerful steroid? Think Cyclops from the X-Men. My piercing stare now bores holes in people! My laser-like focus lases through laseable objects! Those weird hairs that Sai sometimes gets on her… (forget that, we don’t talk about those). Fortunately, I’m usually unfocused, so I haven’t done much damage yet. For her sake, I hope DocLep won’t be showing too much nice leg during my next follow up visit, or she might get a painful thigh burn. Though I’m pretty sure Johns Hopkins has a good burn center as well. Before you go seeking out your own Prednisolone Acetate to achieve bionic ocular abilities (bionoculars?), I may be exaggerating a bit. But does it work? Yes, it does. No need for bleach.
Question: Why would the hot doc prescribe a very expensive, moderate steroid that ultimately didn’t do anything for two weeks, only to follow it up with a stronger one that costs over a $100 less and fixed the problem in three days? Is the health care / prescription drug system corrupt? Surely it’s not a besmirch of the lovely Dr. Leposa, I hope (she deserves besmooches before besmirches)…
I returned a week later to demand answers from Wilmer himself! Conveniently for them, the old doctor died 80 years ago. So I would have to confront the sweet eye candy instead. Doctor L seemed happy that I was clear-eyed and that she’d soon be rid of me, and she fielded my furious challenge with her usual aplomb. She gave a very logical explanation, which I’ll paraphrase to my liking: rather than a cheap, generic, powerful steroid, she thought I warranted a special, expensive, weak steroid. She thinks I’m special! Or, more emasculatingly, she feared my sorry-eyed scler couldn’t handle a powerful drop. DocLep also told me that the really annoying eye-numbing drops usually only last for fifteen minutes, not the several hours I complained about. Guess she’s right, I am a wimp. But you already knew that, since I started out as a battered husband, suffering a mysterious malady at the hands of a tiny Thai woman.
Wilmer seems on the up and up. The old doctor studied at THE University of Virginia, so you know he was very smart. His Institute has treated eight US Presidents (according to propaganda printed in their main waiting area). If you get caught looking at a pretty girl and your wife tries to poke your eye out (not that that’s what I did), I’d recommend seeing Dr. Leposa at Wilmer for treatment. Just don’t bring the angry wife with you, or you’ll end up having to check out their testicular torsion division next, and no one wants to go to the nut wing.
[The Idiot Card: During my first visit to Wilmer, before the bad cop nurse started his Szell-like routine on my face (in my eye and without a drill, but still), he asked some customary queries about previous history, allergies, is it safe, etc. He then asked a new one, that I hadn’t heard before. He asked if I had any condition that would cause me to be unable to understand what was being explained to me. I might have this condition, because I was thrown for a loss by the question, and I questioned the questioner. Apparently it’s a legal requirement, because if you have a disability that prevents you from understanding, you might give unintended consent for their torture, and they can only torment (knowingly) willing participants. Fair enough, but isn’t this a Catch-22? If I am too stupid* to understand the explanations from the doctors and nurses, would I be smart enough to know it (or humble enough to admit it)? I feel like there should be a card for people with this condition, with some ingrained training so that when their wheels start spinning but they find no traction, the afflicted will automatically pull out their Idiot Card, which will explain to the other party that the message isn’t getting through. Or, the caregiver can use the Chris Tucker to Jackie Chan approach and just yell “DO YOU UNDERSTAND THE WORDS THAT ARE COMING OUT OF MY MOUTH?” Regardless, I told the nurse that I thought I was okay, as long as they didn’t use too much medical mumbo jumbo. I think I know enough doctor jargon to get by though. For instance, when I was subsequently told that I had Episcleritis, I knew enough of word origins to piece together that since epi = outer and itis = inflammation, it meant that my outer scler was inflamed. Don’t you hate when that happens? Likewise, when the previous visit to the Patient First clinic suggested Conjunctivitis, I recognized that my conjunctions – (h)ands or(s) but(t)s were neither inflamed, nor leaking any unusual fluids, and besides, had nothing to do with my left eye, so he clearly didn’t know what he was talking about, which led to me sitting in a sadist’s chair at Wilmer. Where can I get one of those cards for next time?]
* Pardon the insensitive wording, but I’m too stupid to come up with a more politically correct word for it; besides, we did just elect the Donald, so pc is dead anyway.
Traipse Reports - Trips and Races 