Double Vision

I was in a strange place: my cardiologist didn’t want to see me for six months. My audiologist didn’t want to see me for three. I wasn’t due for my annual physical for five. The only doctor’s appointment on my calendar was my quarterly teeth cleaning. Was this possible? Was this a respite from aging and illness? What an opening. Could it be? I was planning vacations. We have a big anniversary coming up. Dee said, “Hawaii.” Perfect.

It wasn’t just a respite. It was a hole too. I don’t miss work but it’s nice to have some structure to the week. I like to have a lunch or two with friends on my calendar. Zoom calls too and the Zen classes that I’m teaching for the Zen Peacemakers. Doctors’ appointments had been part of my structuring and now they weren’t.

Respite, hole, and the strange unknowing: how long would this moment last? My life keeps throwing up these koans – the Zen “stories” which pose unanswerable questions. I was just beginning to settle into the unknowing of the moment where the only certainty is that the moment will pass, on my way to Brooklyn to meet my Dharma brother, Michel Dobbs, for lunch when I realized I was having a vision problem. I’m driving and I’m trying to understand what’s going on. It’s scary. It’s my left eye. I can actually see better if I close that eye. I figure it’s the cataract that Kramer had been watching for a couple of years before he retired suddenly. I’ve found a new ophthalmologist, but I can’t see him for another three weeks. (I’d tried unsuccessfully to move my appointment up).

By the next day, I’m coping a little better, driving a little better. By turning my nose slightly to the left so that straight ahead I’m looking to the right, my vision is clear. For left turns, to look to my left, I shut my left eye and turn my head. I’m staying off highways. High speed lane changing is not for me. I’m okay, but I’m scared. I call the new guy. “Is there any way he can see me?” I explain the urgency. “No,” but someone else in the office can see me the next day.

It's not a cataract. It’s sixth cranial nerve palsy. He’s 90% sure. He sends me to a neuro-ophthalmologist in Manhattan. There aren’t any on Staten Island. He sees me three days later. He’s 99% sure, but he sends for an MRI the next day. Just to rule out a brain tumor or a stroke. Within 24 hours, I can read the results myself online. There’s no mass; it doesn’t sound like a stroke. I try calling the Staten Island guy and the Manhattan specialist. I try calling my cardiologist. No one is calling me back. It’s getting late on Friday as we head into the Memorial Day Weekend. No one calls. I’m not going to hear from anyone before Tuesday. Dee tells me this is good. If it was something bad, someone would have called.

The following week, the neuro-ophthalmologist reviews the MRI findings with us. “Mild small vessel disease.” “Chronic microhemorrhages.” He checks my vision: the double vision problem is correcting itself. Nothing really urgent. Nothing to really worry about, but I will need a relationship with a neurologist. “It takes months to get a first appointment.” So, I should get on the calendar. And I should see my primary and my cardiologist. My calendar is filling up, but my anxiety is soaring.

As I approached my mid-60’s and the age when my father died of a heart attack, I was holding my breath, but I survived. Mom died of Alzheimer’s in her 90’s. I’ve been wondering if that would be my fate, but it was far over the horizon. Now, microhemorrhaging in the brain could be pointing toward dementia. Even though, really, there is nothing to worry about, I’m worrying. Am I ready for this? Can I handle it? At least my calendar is filling up again.