WHAT HAS GONE BEFORE:

Fall 1985: I'm diagnosed with mild nearsightedness in both eyes. I get my first glasses.

Fall 1987: I decide to try soft contacts. I hate their maintenance routine (remember the electric sterilizer?) and give up on them after a couple of months and go back to glasses.

Winter 1988: I notice my vision has deteriorated greatly in my right eye.

Spring 1989: Go to the eye doctor, Dr. Smick, hoping to get a stronger eyeglass prescription for my right eye. I'm told I have KC and that I must wear Rigid Gas Permeable (RGP) contacts to correct my vision. Damn. I hate contacts. Look at the bright side, the optometrist says, it's not at the point where you'd need a cornea transplant.

Summer 1989-Summer 1999: I get used to the RGP lenses (no steaming them) and go through 9 lenses on my right eye (2 were lost, 1 was broken) and only 4 on the left (it's become more nearsighted, but no KC). The last 2 right lenses were custom-made based on a laser topography. Modern technology, what a wonder.

August 15, 1999: It's a lazy Sunday afternoon and I'm wearing my glasses. Something gets in my right eye. I'd had a haircut the day before, so I figure it's some clippings. I rinse out the eye and go to bed.

August 16, 1999: I go to work and my eye starts bugging me again. Go see my regular doctor who fishes out (his words) "a big piece of crud." While doing this, he is alarmed at the scarring on the center of my right cornea. I explain that I have KC and that that's a result of the contacts. I tell him I was going to see my optometrist in 2 weeks, anyway, he'll know if it's anything new.

September 2, 1999: I see Dr. Smick. He says the scarring is the same scarring that's been going on for years, but he says the KC has progressed to the point where contacts can't give me better than 20/200 in that eye. He thinks it may be time for a cornea transplant. He refers me to a colleague who specializes in cornea problems.

September 3-12, 1999: I begin researching Penetrating Keratoplasty, the fancy term for a cornea transplant. I'm relieved to learn about the high success rate and the relative low maintenance compared to other organ transplants (no immunosupressant drugs). I'm also, I dunno, inspired (?) to read that one of my favorite actors, Mandy Patinkin, is a KC patient who had one transplant 2 years ago, and another last fall. Also of interest is the story of Sid Sklar, the first transplant recipient, whose first graft is still holding 58 years later. I subscribe to Keratoconus-link, the email list for doctors and patients. I also see that many transplant patients keep a diary, which I think is a fantastic way to help potential transplant recipients sort out the fact from the fluff that the brochures feed you.

September 13, 1999: I go see the specialist, Dr. Everett, who will be my new optometrist for the foreseeable future. It's the same guy who did the laser topographies the last couple of years. He says that contacts are no longer an option, especially given that he needs his assistant to hold extra lenses in front of his Keratometer to get a reading of my curvature. Otherwise, it goes off the scale. He reads my corrected vision as 20/150, better than Dr Smick said, but still pretty awful. I'm supposed to see his surgeon partner in 3 weeks, and we'll schedule the surgery then. I go home and call in sick to work, since the dilation drops mean I can't focus on anything closer than about 8' away, which makes computer work impossible. I call my folks to let them know about the surgery. They had known all along that it would probably come to this, but they're still concerned for me. They ask if I'm nervous. "Hell yes, they're gonna cut up my eye! Wouldn't you be?" They agree. When my close vision returns, I begin work on this page.

September 14, 1999: I'm talking to one of my co-workers and he tells me his stepson had a transplant for KC 3 months ago and is doing great with it, and apparently was back at work the next day (not my plan, that's for sure). I'm also glad to hear that this was done at the same place mine will be.

October 4, 1999: I meet Dr. McNeill, the surgeon who's going to do my transplant. I see him while he's between cataract surgeries. He's wearing scrubs with an abstract blue and white pattern. I say to him while he's poking at my eye, "So, those are the Hawaiian scrubs, eh?" He says, "Those are snowflakes & polar bears! You need to get your eyes fixed or something!" That was good for a chuckle. I suppose we all need to justify our existence. As he's leaving, I remember to ask him, "So how many of these have you done?" He says, "Hmm...i think you'll be three," and he walks out. Dr. Everett quickly says, "I don't have the exact number, but he's done several thousand since the mid-'70s." Whew. Dr. Everett also explains that they want to use a graft that's smaller than the opening, so it sutures in flatter, which should correct my nearsightedness in the eye. "We might as well, while we're in there," he says. What the hell, I say. My surgery is scheduled for two weeks from this Wednesday, on October 20.
At work, I tell my boss and put in the paperwork for my medical leave. Fortunately, my employer gives me 2 weeks a year of paid short-term disability. In addition to the 2 weeks for the surgery, I decide to take the 18th and 19th as vacation, so I have time to "put my affairs in order" as it were. Mostly to clean my apartment, since my brother's going to be in town on the 23rd for his 10-year high school reunion.

October 16, 1999: I’m now on medical leave from work, and won’t be back until November 4. Today, I wrote the first draft of my letter to the donor’s family. I’ve read that it’s best to write the letter before the transplant, because your thoughts are only those of hope, and aren’t colored by any post-operative complications or depression over the recovery process. The hardest part about writing it today is the idea that today, four days before the transplant, the donor is probably still alive. I find that thought very disturbing. As I’m watching the local news, they’re reporting that most of the local high schools are having their homecoming dances tonight. I say a prayer that they all drive safely. All the same, it seems like the donor pool is a little bigger this weekend. I gotta turn off the TV.

October 19, 1999: I decide to see one last movie before my surgery. I go see Fight Club, and after I leave the movie, I start freaking out. Yes, a flat-out panic attack. It wasn't the movie that was freaking me out, although the movie was definitely freaky. No, I'm suddenly faced with the realization that, for better or worse, my old cornea will be gone from my body in less than 24 hours. To console myself, I go shopping for computer parts, and once again, I find nothing to buy. I spend the night at my folks' house, since they'll be driving me to and from my surgery. I get about 4 hours of sleep.

Back    |    Next    |    Surgery Photos    |    Email Hank