Silence in The Treehouse

Looking east

by Jane Miller

30 September 2017 (Two weeks ago)

I fell asleep last night as silence enveloped the treehouse.

And now I sit in silence. The sun is barely peeking above the eastern hills. The house is quiet, the world still asleep. Time waits, though, like a friend pausing to sit with me as I take stock.

It was a day of changes, yesterday was.

The last appointment for my right eye came at the end of very long day at the end of a very long 10 months. A quick check by the doctor who replaced Dr. Perry. “Looks so good,” she repeated as she took pictures and sent me on my way. Seemed anticlimactic after all I’ve been through. Where are the trumpets? The tiara? The congratulations?

I am alive. A little broken, a little afraid, a lot changed, but alive.

Maybe a party would be premature, though, since the ramifications of that devastating fall continue. The diagnosis of sympathetic ophthalmia was verified yesterday, first by Dr. Lin’s fellow, Dr. Choi, then by Dr. Lin herself. Not an infection. Not some obscure inflammation, but an even more obscure inflammation with an incidence rate of .01 percent. My body is attacking my left eye like it’s a foreign object. The denial and compartmentalization that have kept me going through job losses, Parkinson’s diagnosis, five surgeries, death and loss in the last four years have deserted me. For despite Erik’s feelings about my romantic imagine-a-different-world tendencies, I am also a realist. The good news here is that the bad news is not as bad as it could be, but there is a lot of bad news.

The damage to what was my perfectly good left eye is not as bad as it could be because I pushed and we caught it early. I shouldn’t have had to push so hard; they should have listened when I asked if what was happening to my left eye was related in any way to my right. “Oh no,” they denied, “there’s no relationship.” So here we are.

The optic nerve is damaged, but it’s only “mild.”

The uvea and vitreous (middle of my eye) have been damaged by the inflammation, but it might not be permanent.

The retina is intact and is likely to stay that way.

The chance I could still go blind is slight.

See what I mean? Realist.

The list of medications, some of which could last a lifetime is long and complicated. The dosing schedules will require a spreadsheet, alarms, and reminders. The side-effects, which could be serious,  will need careful monitoring.

To the daily medications I take for Parkinson’s and fibromyalgia, we are adding high doses of prednisone for the next four months. Weekly injections (that I have to give myself) of the immunosuppressive drug, methotrexate, for at least three years. Daily eye drops (these I can handle). Daily Aciphex to prevent the prednisone from causing a recurrence of ulcerative esophagitis. Calcium and vitamin D. Prescription-strength folic acid. I started on the spreadsheet and had to stop. Overwhelmed a bit.  

At the end of last November, I asked Erik if he could still love an unemployed miscreant. Early December, I asked him if he could love an unemployed miscreant with only one eye. Last night, as we were winding down from the trip back and forth to OHSU, I asked him if he could love an unemployed miscreant with only one eye – who has to take immunosuppressive drugs for the rest of her life.

He joked about the list growing longer, that we’re pushing the envelope here. Then he was silent.

He will not say the words when I most need to hear them, and for once, the romantic in me has no resources left to create a world that should be far different from the way it will be.

It’s warming up

By Erik Dolson

Freezer Guru Chad texted at 7:15 this morning that he would be here at nine instead of eight. That was okay by me, since I’d completely forgotten that he would be coming today. The reminder was as welcome as the extra hour.

Blame the temporary amnesia not on my years this time, but on the fact that we worked hard on the boat yesterday. Irish had asked me to find the hose nozzle so she could scrub the decks. Continue reading It’s warming up

Fear 1.0

by Jane Miller

Fear comes like the fog – “on little cat feet.” I had thought I was only afraid of dentists, but now I am faced with stomach-gripping anxiety and heart-skipping panic.

I’m afraid …

… we’re going up to the boat in less than two weeks.

… sometimes I almost remember the fall and the impact that took my right eye and crushed my face.

Continue reading Fear 1.0

3:30 am

By Erik Dolson

At 3:30 in the morning of a day in the first week of January it’s almost dark outside but for reflections of starlight off faceted sparkles of fresh snow that’s been falling since before dinner yesterday.

Another year.

The to-do list stretches for pages and hasn’t changed much in months which piles guilt upon guilt for my aimlessness, inattention, lack of focus. I’m writing but not publishing, floating but not boating, sitting and not scrubbing, driving not to any destination. But that’s so often what I do.

Continue reading 3:30 am

One step forward

by Jane Miller

I didn’t really mean to write about all of this. Traveling over the Santiam Pass on New Year’s Eve, I wrote notes for something vastly different. But that will have to wait.

December needs to be revisited first.

I have been so afraid and so deeply sad. I lost my eye. I almost died. My face is still a mass of bruises, swelling, and pain. I will heal, I know, but there will be scars inside and out.

Continue reading One step forward

One of the Best Ever.

By Erik Dolson

Irish had nightmares nearly all night on Christmas Eve. She would cry out or whimper, and I would take her hand or touch her shoulder or leg, someplace where I could reach actual skin.

“It’s alright. I’m right here,”

She would gulp a lungful of air.

“It was awful. People were coming out of the ground to attack me.”

“It’s just a nightmare. I’m right here.”

She’d fall back asleep but 20 minutes or an hour later, she would cry out again.

Continue reading One of the Best Ever.

No Sleighbells

by Erik Dolson

It frightens me when Irish looks at me, silently, with layers of confusion and pain and conflict in her eyes.

In her eye. I have to train myself to look at her left eye, not simply gaze toward her face. Where her right eye had been is a thick bulge of gauze and tape extending from above her eyebrow to below her newly rebuilt cheekbone. Her rebuilt nose has a mesh cast above nostrils that occasionally bleed.

Continue reading No Sleighbells

Holiday to Remember

By Erik Dolson

We had game hen instead of turkey for Thanksgiving, and celebrated a day late. But we gave thanks. It was a beautiful day in a beautiful city. We were together, living on a boat in Victoria Harbor for the winter, getting the boat ready for a three month voyage to Alaska next summer. It could be a lot worse.

As we’d soon find out.

“Harbor Authority is giving away Christmas lights to the first people who come to the office! And they’re giving a prize for the best decorated boat!”

Continue reading Holiday to Remember