In all my healing and muddling through I have neglected to provide an update on my vision and associated things. A little while back I had a review with the Ophthalmologist at the Alice Springs Hospital eye clinic, to follow up on my nerve palsy, caused by post-operative swelling compressing the nerves of my eye, causing severe double vision. My friend E an Optometrist, offered to come along for morale support. Thinking it would be wonderful to have someone I could pepper with questions, should I be left with any, I welcomed E’s company. On the day, I was pleased to see my friend was there ahead of me, chatting amicably with the staff. In a place remote as Alice, my friend not only works for a private business but also with the hospital staff undertaking very remote travel to provide eye care in Aboriginal communities and also spends time working at the in-town Aboriginal health service. She is extremely busy and dedicated and it is this that makes me truly appreciative of her taking time out to accompany me with my relatively straightforward eye condition.
For more on eye health in Central Australian Aboriginal communities, these links may be of interest. http://www.hollows.org.au/our-work/what-we-do/improving-indigenous-health & http://www.hollows.org.au/news-media/town-alice
E introduced me to a colleague, Ms. M, who was visiting from Tennant Creek, the next largest town, 500 kilometers heading north, with a population of around 3,000 people. She was down to observe the Alice team at work for the day. I am not sure who would be seeing me but I have heard a great deal about Dr. Tim Henderson and the great work he does and doubted my condition would warrant his attention. After a short wait a dark haired young man walked into the waiting area, looked at the file in his hand, “Ahh, um, Ver-riana.” “Veraina,” I corrected gently as I stood.
I followed as he led us to a consulting room, with a couple of old chairs, a small desk and piles of boxes and equipment. I made my way to the seat next to the desk as E slipped in behind me, taking the chair by the door. I told the doctor she was there for morale support (not realising he was a visiting student doctor and had no idea who she was).
He introduced himself and explained he would be examining me and doing all the tests before the Ophthalmologist would see me and asked me to please tell him the circumstances leading to my visit. As I began, I recalled a conversation E and I had a couple of weeks before my operation about patients wasting valuable time with trivialities. We were cooking breakfast whilst camping at Boggy Hole and somehow we got talking about what information is important to provide and her frustration with clients whom when asked the polite question, “how are you today?” go on to spend most of their appointment time actually answering the question, usually talking about anything other than the reason they are at the Optometrist. I recall telling her that after all my practice attending medical appointments, I thought I had become quite good at answering questions appropriately and providing relevant information.
I recounted the pertinent events to the student doctor relating to my eye issue, as concisely as possible. When I finished, I glanced nervously at E. She nods her head encouragingly and says, “You did good.” Thank goodness, I think and relax a little, as we shared a quiet chuckle.
The doctor proceeded to write notes and begin what became two hours worth of tests. After the first 45 minutes, E had to return to work. Prior to leaving however, looking ever so casual, E asked the doctor his opinion of which nerves were involved in my case. The young doctor pushed his chair away from the desk and faced her as he “ummed” and “ahhed”. He eventually began a halting recital of his text books and whilst being put completely on the spot managed to provide an answer that E accepted as reasonable. “Do you have an interest in eye health?”, her victim asked. “You could say that,” says my friend in an manner one might expect from the cat in and cat and mouse scenario.
Ms. M from Tennant seemed to adopt me after E left and asked if she could follow me through the testing as I was undergoing a rigorous process that enabled her to see a lot of what the team do. At one stage I had to have drops put in my eyes and wait as they did their thing, so we both took a seat in the waiting room and passed the time with talk of the woes of the health sector in Tennant and Alice, the decline of funding and then the joys of hospital stays. It was actually a really pleasant way to spend the time. When the nurse came out to give me the drops, she handed me a tissue and tilted my head back, “Now there are two different sets of drops so just stay like this while I do them.” I complied but when the second lot of drops hit my eyeball, they set off a searing pain. I bucked against the pressure of her hand on my head and stamped my foot in an effort not to punch her. As both the pain and I settled, my new friend was heard to murmur, “That’ll be the nerve ones.” Gee, thanks mate. You could have warned me!
After several tests the student doctor spoke with the Ophthalmologist, who seemingly disbelieving of what he was told, came into the room and repeated a number of tests and measurements. When, after two hours of every eye test known to woman, he finally met with me for the verdict, he explained they wanted to have a solid benchmark for my vision in the event of me having any issues down the track (particularly as I have brain aneurysms). Further, he told me I had regained the peripheral vision lost after surgery and my vision in the right eye was excellent. The only remaining obvious sign of the nerve palsy was in my eyelid, which was still drooping. He believed this would also resolve with time as would the weakness of the eye and the double vision I have with distance vision and when tired. The pain I have upon tearing up is nerve pain and it will hopefully also go away. He then said, “It is the fastest ever recovery from nerve palsy I have ever seen.”
Fastest ever, oh yeah, that’s right. Fastest. Ever. Recovery.
So much for: “Leave the patch on for six months and we’ll see how it’s going”.