Look into my eyes.
About a week ago, I started seeing this strange translucent gray horizontal line across my field of vision. It felt like there was a hair running across my eyeballs. I mentioned it to my NYC hospice nurse yesterday, who called my NYC hospice doctor. It was probably nothing, they said, but I should see an ophthalmologist asap. Ginny was able to get me an appointment today.
The news was all good. It’s probably just an unusual floater and it’ll probably be gone in a couple of weeks. It’s extremely unlikely that my brain tumors have anything to do with it.
The doctor noticed that I’d had a torn retina in the distant past (I never knew that) and that my body seemed to be developing the scar tissue that will take care of that tear for the foreseeable future. What’s surprising about that, is that with all I’ve been through healthwise and “chemowise,” I shouldn’t have that good an immune system. And yet it seems to be doing a good job, at least in this one area. (The doctor was also just generally blown away by how healthy I looked for a hospice patient in my condition. I get that a lot, but it’s especially good when I get it from a doctor.)
As I can plainly see, I continue to be the world’s luckiest hospice patient.
The world’s luckiest hospice patient (WLHP) also has the world’s best wife. We’ve been driving each other crazy the last couple of days. She can’t stand it when I worry about her. (“I’m perfectly fine,” says the 71-year-old Hodgkin’s Lymphoma patient.) And she can’t stand it that the 65-year-old lung cancer patient is so scatterbrained–even though the patient has been that way for the duration of our 39 years together. (A fact she points out regularly.) Ah, young love.
After spending a couple of weeks with us, my sister Patti called one of her best friends yesterday to share her insight: “You and I did exactly the right thing,” she said. “We didn’t get married and we didn’t have kids. Married life is exhausting.”
Reminds me what my mother used to say: “Retirement means more husband and less money.”
The WLHP has a wife who cares, a sister who helps and a mother who’s funny. What could be better than that?