Following through on these eye doctor appointments at Joslin’s eye clinic usually means carving out 5+ hours in the day.
Even though Rhode Island is assumed to have a short commute to Boston proper, with traffic it can take two hours to get into the city. Which means that for a 1.30 pm appointment, we had to leave the house at 11 am to ensure that we arrived 15 minutes before the appointment time, then the hour and a half appointment (including dilation and exam … and waiting), and then the two hour ride home.
I could find an eye specialist closer to my home in RI, but I believe in the care team at Joslin. They’ve been caring for me for almost 30 years, and when I was diagnosed with macular edema last year, it was caught so early that no one panicked, but everyone was ready. They were ready to do all the close monitoring required to track this eye disease, and they were also prepared for any medical or surgical intervention, should things progress to that point.
I trust them. My complications are “common” to them, in that they see long-established people with type 1 diabetes all the time, and they treat macular edema all the time. My eyeballs are run-of-the-mill to them.
I have some anxiety about macular edema because it’s new to me, and scary, and I find it comforting that my eye disease is something the Beetham Eye Clinic cares for every day. It might feel like unfamiliar territory to me, but it’s just another day at the office for them, and for whatever reason, that comforts the hell out of me.
The staff at the eye clinic are very personable, and the technician who put in the dilation eye drops and tested my vision prior to the exam was extremely kind. Their compassion helps put the feelings of trepidation to rest. I don’t particularly care for the personality of the doctor, but in these appointments, we don’t really talk about “the whole patient.” The focus is on the whole eyeball. In this instance, I am willing to give on the relationship side of the HCP/patient equation in favor of his expertise. Besides, it was easier to feel less aggravated by a doctor who speaks more to the computer screen than to the patient because this time, the news continued to be good.
“This screen is how your eye looked in December,” pointing to a swollen optic nerve and a bright, obvious fat deposit on that nerve. “And this is how it looks today,” pointing to a screen showing significantly reduced swelling and a barely visible fat deposit. “This is better. Much better.”
“So I’m still moving in the right direction?”
“Yes, this is good progress. We can continue with appointments every six months.”
Last year, I had no idea I had this complication. The symptoms of macular edema are hard to detect unless the eye damage takes a significant turn. I had no idea something was brewing in my eyes until it was detected – and early, at that – by a dilated eye exam and a team of excellent doctors. Eye-related diabetes complications unnerve me, but I’d rather know about them and track them aggressively rather than be surprised by them and experience irreversible damage.
We spent hours in the car getting there, considerable time in the waiting room, and then hours in the car on the drive home. But I’d do it all over again, and will in a few months, in order to keep close watch on this diabetes complication. My doctors can only help me with the things I let them know about by way of routine exams and screenings. Informed doctors make me an informed patient, and everyone being well-informed helps me stay healthy.
I’d rather hope to regain good health than to fear the unknown.