I had posted before about being scared to death and having to go for an MRI. My eyesight had been getting progressively worse in my left eye, and on two different visits to the optometrist (two years apart) he had found nothing wrong, and insisted it was just that my right eye was dominant, and that this is normal. Well, by this time I KNEW something was wrong and decided to see an opthamologist. I'm sure glad I did!
He dilated my eyes (something the optometrist had never done) and saw right away that my pupil was not responding to light normally. He said he wanted an MRI. He said I could have had a stroke behind my eye, or it could be something else "bad." He didn't actually say brain tumor, but he didn't have to. I was numb and felt as if I were outside my body. Was this really happening?
Fast forward to the MRI. My husband was allowed to stay in the room the entire time, and I had an open MRI because I am claustrophobic. It took a total of about 40 minutes. My husband held my hand. Don't know what I would do without him.
Well, I had the MRI on a Tuesday, and here it was, Thursday, and the doctor's office said they didn't have the results in yet. The imaging place had told me they would have it by now. I didn't want to go over the weekend, not knowing if I had had a stroke or some huge, nasty brain tumor that was going to kill me. Friends kept telling me that if they didn't call, not to worry, since "no news is good news," and that they'd call me right away if something serious showed up. So late Friday afternoon, the doctor's office calls me, saying the doctor wants me to come in Monday morning, first thing. Well, now I was positively TERRIFIED. I knew it had to be serious, but I had no idea HOW serious it might be.
That was the longest weekend I think I've ever had in my 51 years of life. My husband and I discussed it all - and I mean ALL. We even talked about what would happen if I were to "go." I kept telling him I didn't want to leave him - that I want to see my grandson grow up - that I want to be there for my son, who has no relationship with his father, and has almost no living relatives. I cried my eyes out, shook like a leaf, prayed nonstop, and took Xanax like they were candy.
Monday morning comes and the doctor walks in and says, "So I guess you know by now that something was found on the MRI." He said I had something on my optic nerve and he wanted to refer me to a neuro opthamologist at USC - one of the best in the country. He said he didn't know if it were benign or malignant - that more testing would surely have to be done to find out. Only thing he COULD tell me for sure was that I hadn't had a stroke.
I went to my primary care doctor a few days later for a jury duty excuse and told her what had been going on. She asked if they had told me that I have MS. I said no. I later read that one of the earliest signs of MS is blurry vision in one eye.
Only a week later, I went to USC. A mere two weeks had gone by since I'd first gone to the opthamologist, but it seemed more like two months. I had been waking up at night, frightened, and my husband turned the TV on for me, and we watched Leave it to Beaver at 2am. That's the kind of man I'm married to.
As we walked into USC, records and MRI in hand, I'd taken over twice my normal dose of Xanax, in bits and pieces. I'd feel unbearably nervous, and I'd break off a little piece of pill here and there, until I got to the point to where I was still afraid, but able to walk in there without turning around and running right back out! It was a HUGE test for my courage, let me tell you.
An assistant proceeded to do a variety of vision tests, lights shining in my eyes, eye charts, and a peripheral vision test. This went on a for a good half hour. Then, at last, the doctor walked in. He was not at all the cold professional I expected. He was in his lmid 60s, I'd say, with the kindest eyes! He sat down and talked to us as if we were old friends, and he was not the prominent, respected physician that he is. He asked me if anyone had mentioned Sphenoid wing Clinoid Meningioma to me. I told him no, that I hadn't been told much of anything except that it could be "bad." He explained that I'd probably been born with this lesion/mass on my optic nerve. Its 1.4cm in size, and its constricting my optic nerve, and that is the reason for my failing sight.
He said there was good news and bad news. Good news: It is NOT malignant, will not spread, or go to the other eye. Bad news: I will eventually lose all of my sight in that eye. I started to cry. He thought it was because of my vision loss. I explained to him that I was crying because I was so happy and relieved. I don't have a brain tumor! I don't have MS! I will be able to be with my husband into old age! And watch my grandson grow up! And be there for my son! I was beside myself with joy. So what if I'm going to be blind in one eye? That is NOTHING compared to what could have happened! No radiation or chemo! Nothing.
The doctor said 90% of his patients with this condition (and he has hundreds of them) opt to do nothing. I could have serious BRAIN surgery but that would only extend my eyesight for about another two years. Forget it. I would have to SERIOUSLY consider it even if it offered 10 more years of sight! No brain surgery for me, thank you very much.
So. . .now I see the world in a very different way. I appreciate the birds singing in the trees now that spring is here. Colors are brighter (out of my good eye, lol) I appreciate my pets and spend more time with them. I stop and notice things of interest along my way, instead of hurrying to get more done by the end of the day. I think God has given me a reminder to appreciate life. It was a reality check. Funny how a lot of my indoor plants and orchids started budding and blooming right before I went to USC. I had asked God for a sign - anything to let me know I was going to be all right. Well, I was pretty sure that was his sign, and now I know it for sure. Life is too short for anger, misery, resentment or any other negative emotion. Life is precious and something to never be taken for granted. And believe me, I never will take it for granted again. . . .
