So. Funny story.
And you know it’s a funny story, when I start out like that, right?
This tale needs the slightest of backstories, so I’ll begin by saying I just started at another new job. It’s a long story since I wrote this post about leaving my original job and starting at a new place. And now I’ve left that “new place” after 8 months. Let’s just say very simply that what I thought was originally a good opportunity ended up being the wrong path for me. However, I’m in a much happier place now with this current position.
It’s funny what happens when you let your gut guide the way. And my gut has finally figured this shit out.
About 2 weeks into this new job, I started noticing my vision was acting really wonky.
For those who want the cliff notes, it’s not a tumor. At least the optometrist made a pretty solid case against it when I asked.
Oh, I asked.
Back to the story.
Every day, I’d drive home for lunch, and I’d notice the bright blue sky behind a particular building would have little black dots everywhere as well as floaters in my peripheral. It was like someone had spilled a pepper shaker in front of my vision. And strangely, it was only in one eye.
So I did what any normal grown, adult woman who is molding a young mind of our future would do and ignored it for a week.
And then after seven long days, I decided on a Friday night that I was going to freak out about it. Because if I can give you one word of advice, it’s to hold off on flipping the eff out about medical conditions until the weekend. You know, when all doctors shut their private practice doors and yell, “You’re on your own until Monday, suckas!”
So, naturally, I did the next best thing and typed all of my symptoms into the Internet, paying no heed to my husband’s warning of, “are we sure we’re making a good decision to go to Google here, Katie?”
And the Internet brought me to very dark places. I went to bed worrying about how an old brain like mine could learn Braille. It was hard enough to shove the basics of Photoshop in there.
The next morning, I made another solid decision and went to social media. And because I’m hardcore, I bee-lined straight to a moms group of 1,500 for advice. I knew posing the question to an entire gaggle of mothers could go one of two ways – they’d either convince me I was going to die and to seek emergency treatment ASAP, or they’d tell me to squirt some breast milk in it and suck that shit up.
I got a good mix of both reactions, I’d say.
Enough answered with “retinal detachment,” though, to have me convinced that I might be semi-dying, and should probably get to a doctor before Monday.*
*See note about doctors and their Hippocratic oath to perform medical miracles only on weekdays.
Long story short (are they ever with me?), I found a rare optometrist who worked weekends AND luckily had an opening 15 minutes after I called, so I flew over and went through every single eye exam they had in the office.
You think you have a retinal tear, do you? Let’s first perform this costly eye puff test because you might also need glasses. Also, can you read these letters? And while you’re here, we have this cool machine that tests your blind spot vision. Let’s try it out.
I’m a touch convinced they were hoping to sell me a whole vision package, and I could tell there was a twinge of disappointment when my eye exam results came back as “hawk-like vision.” Boo-yah.
After looking at my retina, they came to the conclusion that this wasn’t a retinal tear or a retinal detachment, although they assured me I wasn’t crazy in thinking that it was.
(I imagine the doc chart read: “Asked about retinal tear. Did need convincing she’s not dying.”)
I ended up being diagnosed with something called MEWDS. Multiple Evanescent White Dot Syndrome. Not to be confused with “White Coat Syndrome,” which also sounds like something I’d have as well.
In essence, it’s an inflammation of my retina caused by a virus. Those little black dots I was seeing? They’re my white blood cells. Creeeeepy.
It’s very rare. The doctor had actually never seen it in all her years of practicing, and announced, “It’s pretty cool to see this outside of a textbook.” Strangely, that was not very reassuring to me, but I had limited options on a Saturday, ok?
It happens most often to healthy females around my age, and isn’t dangerous. However, it takes a few months to go away, which means the eye dots have set up camp for awhile.
I’m getting used to the floaters, except for the bright white one that comes out of nowhere and scares the shit out of me every single, damn time. Tonight, I gasped while Tony was driving because I thought a car had pulled up along side of us on the shoulder of a two-way street. Like WTF, Katie.
While the optometrist told me there’s no treatment, she also would like to see me every week or two for the next month to keep tabs on the dots. I hear the last few pennies clinking in my HSA.
I think she’s convinced there’s still a chance I might bite on a pair of glasses if I fail the next round of testing that involves reading 9-point newsprint across the showroom floor.