Intravitreal Injection with Lucentis or Avastin

Somedays things just get more blurred. The headache comes and the fog grows thicker. Those are the days when I know an injection is needed. This injection is not a shot in the arm, nor in the muscle of my bum.

No this injection like it or not is straight into the eye, right where I can see, oh yes even when I am at my blindest, I can still see that needle coming down towards me.

 The minutes pass by slowly. I remember when this moment just made me afraid. Today I am no longer afraid, today I just want it over and done. With luck tomorrow some of the fog will clear, tomorrow I might be able to see my hand again.

The fog is a symptom of swelling in the retina. The blood clots caused blockages which leave holes that fill with fluid and move the retina beyond the point of focus. I could see it on the scan earlier a thick black line, like some layer of thickest blackness that monster which refuses to let me see. I hate you, you steal what I want most. My ability to see and now I have a weapon to use against you. Beat you for a month, two, maybe six months again. Oh! Please let it be six months again.

Following all the usual tests, my doctor walks in the room.

"Well Bill, it's time for another shot!" She says.

My heart sinks as I groan an "OK."

The shot, will either be Avastin, Lucentis or Kenalog. All take down the swelling behind my retina. The injection though is straight into the eye an intravitreal injection. Not particularly painful but very stressfull.

The assistant quickly pulls the chair back and adjusts the headrest. At about this point I fold my hands under my back.

"It relaxes me." I say to the nurse.

She just smiles patiently. I know what is coming, first the cold, cold feel of the iodine solution swabbed over my eye and left cheek. Then the bitter taste as the iodine hits the back of my throat. Arrgh I hate that taste. I wish they would give me a drink of something, but they never do. Just to take the taste away.

"Keep your eye closed and don't touch your face." She says as she leaves.

Crossing my hands behind my back does relax me, but also it makes reacting to the sight of that needle descending into my eye impossible. I cannot push away. Thank God my doctor has a steady hand.

Then there is a clatter of heels. My doctor is back.

"OK. Look Up!" She taps me on the shoulder.

I take a deep breath. My eyes refuse to open for a second. I can. I must. I say to myself. Quickly I open my eyes, it's there the needle, coming down. I feel the pressure. I feel the eyeball give a little. Then the moment. I see a blackness spread across my vision.

It is like driving a car through a flock of startled birds, sparrows or starlings, one poops and hits the windshield right in the line of your visions. The watery part distorts and leaves the black solid before your eye.

But here today, I have not found a flock of sparrows. Today I have found an ostrich.

And the Ostrich has pooped!

The black spot I now see before my eye will be gone in a couple of days. But until then it will be there like bird poop on the windshield of my eye. Rest helps it clear a little. Sleep passes the time and so I sleep after climbing into the car for the long drive home.