When I left off in Part I, by the end of October, the only visible evidence remaining from the Staph infection that had been coursing through the left side of my face was a scar above my left eye.
Fast forward to Saturday December 10th. My 45th birthday. We were on our way to Columbus for a getaway weekend, when I noticed my left eye was aching and I told Ron I hoped I wasn't getting pink eye. That night, it hurt to even have it open and I went to bed early.
Sunday evening when we arrived home, I needed to run back out to the van for something. So barefoot, I tried to jump between snow patches, not realizing the spaces between snow patches was sheets of ice, and I planted my ass straight down into the edge of our front porch.
By Monday morning, when I couldn't tolerate light, or reading, or watching the new episode of Sister Wives because everything was blurry, I entertained the thought of a brain tumor, my ever present silently lurking fear, because look at me. I can't see things and I fall down.
Later that night, through a conversation I had with an extended family member, I found out she has Type 2 Diabetes and was my age when she was diagnosed through routine blood work with no symptoms. Off to Google I went and woke Ron up at 2am.
"I have bad news. I have 3 out of 10 signs of Type 2 Diabetes."
He humored me and asked which ones.
I said, "I pee a lot, I'm hungry, and I have blurry vision."
He replied, "You drink gallons of coffee daily, you're always dieting, and it's 2am. My vision's blurry right now, too."
Me: "I also fell down."
Ron: "What's that have to do with diabetes?"
Me: "Nothing. That'd be the brain tumor."
Ron: "You don't have a brain tumor. Probably just a parasite."
I'm no longer allowed to google things at 2am.
He's no longer allowed to comfort me.
Lines have been crossed.
That morning I called my family doctor to request blood work. The receptionist asked why.
Um, because there's like a 3 out of 10 google chance that I have Type 2 Diabetes. Why the interrogation? My blood work was scheduled for the following day.
Then I called an eye doctor, because if I can't watch Sister Wives anymore, what quality of life am I really facing here? They got me in that afternoon.
As I sat in the waiting room, the annoyingly repetitive song 'Hey Santa' cranked through the speakers, causing my eye to throb, and I started mentally making a list of everything I'd say to Carnie Wilson if I ever met her. Then a lady sat next to me and reeked of Pine, and she didn't silence her phone, so the 'blooop' of her texting sounds almost made me forget how pissed I was at Carnie Wilson. That's when it occurred to me. All my other senses are obviously overcompensating for my loss of sight. Oh, lawd, I'm like Mary Ingalls. And my mind flashed to clutching Ron in the middle of the night screaming, "HELP ME, PA, I CAN'T SEE!"
So. My irrational freak flag doesn't just fly at 2am. Noted.
They called me back before I could start groping stranger's faces and I was given an eye exam with the letter chart across the room. My right eye was still my normal 20/20. Then the doctor checked my left eye and all the letters suddenly morphed into Chinese symbols and she finally put us both out of our misery when I guessed the number 9 and General Tso.
Hey, be happy I'm not calling you Pa.
Then we put our faces against a machine, she looked in my eye and said, "Oh my gosh."
Dear doctor's everywhere. Never look at a patient and say, "Oh my gosh."
Then she called 2 other doctor's in and told them, "I've never seen anything this bad before."
Dear doctor's everywhere. Don't say that either.
As it turns out, the original Staph was never gone, and it spent 2 months growing into a 4mm ulcer that had worked it's way through 4 layers of my eyeball and was starting into my pupil. I was put on antibiotic/steroid drops every 2 hours and had to be seen every day to make sure it responded, before deciding whether or not to refer me to a corneal specialist to admit me into the hospital for iv antibiotics. By Saturday, I'd seen 7 doctors in that practice, all of which were excellent. Apparently, what I had was so rare and the risk of rupture so great, that they all took me under their wing to see me through, and I'm officially out of the danger zone and don't have to go back until January 2nd. I'll always have a scar on my eyeball and my vision will never return completely, but should only be noticeable when I drive at night, and it could've been so much worse, so there's that.
So, on a serious note, God was in this big time, I'm extremely thankful for His protection and that He paved the way and led me to the doctors I needed and in the perfect timing. See? Jesus loves hot messes, too.
As for my blood work, all my numbers are (in my doctor's words) "Off the chart perfect."
"You mean I don't have Type 2 Diabetes?"
With a look on his face I'm sure he reserves for all of his most special patients, he replied, "No you do not. So is there anything else I can do for you today?"
Well. Since you asked.
Talk to me about parasites.