The small and windowless exam
room’s darkness which had been my cave for over twenty years would
close in on me were it not for the soft light of the lamp projecting an eye
chart on the wall at the end of the room. The muffled sounds of techs escorting more and more waiting patients into vacant exam rooms penetrated my thoughts. My internal clock told me I was falling behind on my
schedule again.
I peered through the microscope for the fortieth time today. Her surgery had healed perfectly despite her poor health, low income and meager resources. She had traveled from a small town over an hour away to sit in my waiting room to wait for a brief post-op visit. Doors opened and closed in the hallway. “He will see you shortly,” I heard echoing down the hall for the fortieth time as well. Clinic was especially busy this day leaving little time to have meaningful conversation with patients.
I peered through the microscope for the fortieth time today. Her surgery had healed perfectly despite her poor health, low income and meager resources. She had traveled from a small town over an hour away to sit in my waiting room to wait for a brief post-op visit. Doors opened and closed in the hallway. “He will see you shortly,” I heard echoing down the hall for the fortieth time as well. Clinic was especially busy this day leaving little time to have meaningful conversation with patients.
“Everything looks good. I’ll see you in a year.” I announced as I completed my
documentation. She was just leaving the room when she stopped and turned to me.
“Thank you for fixing my eyesight.” she whispered gratefully. “I sure wish you could do the same for my
son.”
I had to ask.
Her thirty-two year old son
was on multiple medications for severe manic-depressive disorder and had a
family eye disease called Retinitis Pigmentosa.
Uncommon and untreatable, RP progresses to total blindness. She was his only caregiver and wage earner,
and his vision had gotten so bad he had become totally dependent on her for
everything. “Other doctors has seen him
in the past,” she offered, “but they said they couldn’t do nothing.” Apparently they had described his future as
one of total darkness without treatment, so for years he had stopped getting
what they considered futile and expensive eye exams.
“If you can get him here,
I’ll be glad to take a look at him.” I said as sincerely as possible. But I knew it was unlikely anything could be
done.
A few days later I opened an
exam room door to find her and her son waiting for me. In the exam chair sat Eddie. Large-framed and dark-skinned, his broad
shoulders bulged under a tight, worn-out T-shirt. He must have been an athlete in his prime,
but now his eyes roved aimlessly toward the light from the open door. A blank expression was fixed on his face,
likely due to his heavy medications and the hopelessness of his situation. He
could not see me.
“Let’s take a look.” I
volunteered, a bit too cheerily I thought.
The microscope showed me, surprisingly, a large cataract in each
eye. I looked again, just to be sure.
Unbelievable! I could see the untreatable damage from his RP but those people
get treatable conditions too. And he had
one. A large, treatable cataract. All had assumed his worsening vision was due
to his RP. And they might be right. “I don’t want to get your hopes up, but I
think I can help you”.
Eddie reached his large hand
out slowly to shake mine. “Do what you
think best, doc”, he said in a deep and monotone voice.
The day following his cataract
surgery, Eddie and his mom returned and as I opened the exam room door, things
were different. There sat Eddie, an
ivory grin on his black face, looking straight into my eyes. “Hey doc, I can see!!” His mom rejoiced “Praise Jesus!", and
clutching her beaten purse to her chest, her eyes filled with tears. Eddie’s new gaze followed me across the room,
his strong hand reaching to grasp mine.
“Doc, I can see that chart!” And without glasses he proudly read to me a
line on the chart that would allow him to drive a car. He was so giddy, had he not been medicated, I
think he would have jumped high enough to touch the ceiling.
Fighting a lump in my throat,
I congratulated Eddie on his new vision and leaned in for a closer look. “When can you do the other eye?” he
interrupted, his manic tendencies starting to show. “Listen doc, I didn’t always used to be like
this. I used to wrestle. You know, I was nice to people and
everything, but if I had to I could put a hurtin’ on them in a fight.” His mom chimed in. “Yea, man.
He’s not mean, but he was strong.
And he always won.”
Eddie and his mom didn’t have
much. And they know he will still need
medications and eventually go blind from his RP. But I was able to turn the clock back for them. Back to days long ago when he did
not have to depend on his mom for everything, back to when he was strong and
able and confident and could work and had a future so bright he had to wear
shades. And in return he gave me the
thrill of helping a person see and feel better as well as something else I will
always remember.
“Doc, I can’t pay you or
nothing, but I want to do something for you.
Listen doc”, and he leaned in to me, slowing his voice down to a deep,
deliberate whisper. “If anybody ever
messes with you, you let me know. Nobody
better ever mess with you. Nobody.”
A bodyguard.
You're probably very glad Eddie didn't give you a bear hug!
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