It's been almost a year since my Cataract Surgery on my left eye (March 15, 2012), and the botched job is finally getting so much worse I need to do something. Studying my videos from the recent Monroe trial, I was horrified to see my handling getting worse. I know it's because my depth perception is off, as though I'm blathering drunk or seriously hung over all the time. I have a hard time distinguishing obstacle distances and all the horizontal bars blend together. I can't rely on vision to judge the distances. Sometimes the jumps are farther away than they seem, sometimes closer. I run in halting fashion like I'm confused, surprised, nearly lost. No wonder my dogs are slowing down despite them becoming better agility dogs.
Worse handling has resolved me to at last do something about my eyesight. I haven't wanted to think about it, much less deal with it. But now I see I must. I can't go thru life seeing things in a blur, not taking stairs unless I have a rail to hold onto, much less run my dogs with confidence.
Taking action on this fills me with fear. I have no confidence in doctors. They deal with your most vital parts, but don't know you from Adam. They make their money and toss you out to fend for yourself. The highly respected specialist who did my cataract surgery made me feel like a slab of cow meat. A few months after the surgery I attempted to write a followup post, but I couldn't finish it. I've finally posted it today, unedited, unpolished, a stream of conscious rambling account of my surgery and aftermath, entitled Cataract Surgery - Part 2. The upshot of which is . . . . when I told that doctor something wasn't right, his reaction was "I've done over 30,000 of these operations and I've done my job right. The tests show you have 20/20 vision in that eye. I don't know what else you expect me to do."
I don't either. But you're the specialist. Do something. Show interest in my case. Find out why my left eye is still swollen, it feels like a pin pricking the inside corner when I look left, like a blast of cold air hitting the surface when I look right, and my eye cries all the time. Plus, I'm still looking through a fog, and little brown squigglies float through the eye. My new eye sees things one size, the old eye sees them smaller. Very disorienting. I can't go back to that same pompous jackass, but I can't go on like this. So now I have to figure out my next move. What will it be? Guess I'll confer with a few different specialists and see what they suggest. I'll keep you posted.
Upwards and onward!