Beauty for Ashes

“Another school year had begun. I had 19 students, 13 of them boys. I knew it was going to be a long 175 days. The first two weeks went pretty much the same as in other years. Assigning desks, making sure the desk fit the child, giving out books, setting up classroom rules that the students feel are important to live by, setting up classroom rules that the teacher feels are important to live by (!), conducting several safety drills that take us to the outer reaches of the school building, sending home a gazillion state and federal forms for parents to fill out, and “getting to know you, getting to know all about you.” Yes, the beginning of new things. Little did I know what a beginning it would be. “Wednesday, September 22nd : “As I was getting into the shower, I noticed a black spot at the bottom of my eye. I didn't think it was anything serious. Probably a floatie, since I had had these coming and going across my field of vision off and on over the years. I figured it would go away quickly. I proceeded to get ready for school. But at the end of the next day, I became more concerned, for the black spot was still there. I called my eye doctor’s office, and they told me to come in immediately. After an exam, the doctor told me that I had a detached retina. I gasped! She told me that they were making an appointment for me to see an eye specialist the next morning and that I was to go straight home and lie down for the rest of the evening. “Friday, September 23rd : “8:00 A.M. and I'm in the eye specialist's office going through a very thorough eye exam on both eyes. It was unlike any I'd had before. After the exam, she proceeded to draw in detail with regular and colored pencils my eyes and what she'd seen. Afterwards, she told me that the retina had detached so much that I would need surgery. However, she would not be able to do the operation because she was a presenter at a conference that day. Her staff was making arrangements for me to see an eye specialist in Portland at Maine Eye Center. With her drawings in hand, I went out to the car with my dad and broke down. I was in shock and couldn't believe what was happening. “10:30 A.M. “It's pouring rain, and my lovely 84, soon to be 85, year old dad and I head to Portland. I'm lying down in the passenger's seat, and my dad is driving. Now, it's bad enough that I know in a few hours I'll be heading into surgery, but to add to the stress, my dad's driving. My family's traveling legend is that we never went on any trip, no matter how near or far, without getting utterly and totally lost. I felt doom closing in on me. Well, my right eye was in bad shape, but my left eye was working overtime! I made sure Dad took all the right exits; but, of course, when we got to Portland, we didn't take the right turn to Maine Eye Center. We ended up on Congress Street, and then Dad had to go to the bathroom. We stop at a fire station for a break and directions. Dad comes back, relieved, but with no directions. "I didn't see anybody in there. They must be taking naps", he says. So, I sit up and remember that there were two sets of directions to this place. Lo and behold, I get us there. “1:30 P.M. “The eye specialist walks in. Much to my surprise and delight, he's young, short and cute, with dark hair and beautiful, “dark brown eyes. I might have been blind, but I wasn't dead! It didn't take long to also realize that he was brilliant and had something that is rare among doctors today, a wonderful bedside manner and genuine care for his patient. He gave me the same thorough exam that my own eye doctor had earlier, drew his own pictures of both eyes and went on to explain the whole problem and the surgical procedure to me. All I remember saying is, "okay", "okay", "okay". I was in trauma, and I think my dad was in worse shape than I. “2:30 P.M. “We head downstairs and see a staff member who gives us directions to the Brighton Avenue campus of Maine Medical Center. Everything's being set up for surgery, and they are expecting us. As my dad and I are about to leave, the young lady tells me not to worry, that I am in good hands. The eye specialist is the best in his field. She has no idea what a comfort those words are to me. “3:00 P.M. “I'm registered at Maine Medical and am being prepped for surgery. “5:00 P.M. “I'm wheeled into the OR, and two and a half hours later I awake in recovery. “8:00 P.M. “Dad and I make it to Howard Johnson's Hotel near the Maine Mall. (Yes, we missed the turn and had to swing back.) We had to stay overnight because the eye specialist needed to see me in the morning before we headed back to Bangor. “Saturday, September 24th: “Dad and I make it back to Maine Eye Center at 9:00 A.M. to have the patch and bandages removed and to have my right eye examined. (I can sit up now, so no more mystery rides!) The surgery went well. I was seeing double for a little bit, which was expected, but, thankfully, that soon disappeared. I'm scheduled to come back on Tuesday for a follow-up. With that, Dad and I gladly head back to Bangor and home. “Tuesday, September 27th: “My cousin rescues my dad from another trip to Portland and drives me to the appointment. Fortunately, my cousin has an excellent sense of direction, and you wouldn't believe how very close Maine Eye Center is to the exit! “3:15 P.M. “The eye specialist walks in and, after the exam, lowers the boom. Though the operation went well, the retina didn't completely reattach. (I knew something was wrong, because there was still a patch of black at the bottom of my eye.) This happens to only 1% of patients who have this type of surgery. Oh, that was a group I wanted to be a part of! The solution: I would need to have a needle filled with gas injected into my eye. The gas would form into little bubbles that I could see. These gas bubbles apply pressure to the retina causing it to reattach. I am in trauma once again. “The good doctor asks me if I'm ready to do this. I say "okay". I'll spare you the details. But tiny bubbles were to be an important part of my life until they completely dissipated around Thanksgiving. “The next three weeks I recuperated at home. I was blessed to have the same substitute teacher for the entire three weeks. My class was difficult, but she was handling them very well.