August 2020
“You’ve got Retinal Vein Occlusion, a stroke in the eye.
It’s very rare in someone of your age, I mean look outside in the corridor (there were about 10 people aged 70+, all failing to social distance in a tiny space). So what we need to do now is give you an injection and laser treatment, try to bring the swelling down at the back of your eye and then go from there.”
“An injection? How will that work?”
“Yes, an injection in your eye.”
“An injection in the eye?! When will I be having that?”
“Now.”
“I’m having an injection in my eye right now?”
“Well, in the next 10 minutes, I won’t be doing it. Are you a fainter I hear? Get prepared. Even I would faint with a needle in the eye.”
Soothing words from the eye specialist at the Royal.
I electronically signed some papers and that was that. The thing is, I was also told that there’s no guarantee that my sight will return. In some people it comes back in full, sometimes the vision will return slightly, and other times there is no improvement. For definite though, if nothing was done, I would most likely lose the sight completely in this eye.
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Let’s roll back a bit though. At this point I’d had problems with the vision in my right eye for 6 weeks. During the FA Cup semi-final between Man City and Arsenal my vision had gone blurry in one eye. I just assumed I was tired and left it. But the next morning it was still there.
After a couple of days I had a telephone consultation with my GP, who sent me straight to A&E for tests, where I was checked to see if I’d had a stroke or a head injury, told to arrange with my GP for tests to check for diabetes, a stroke, cholesterol, and another genetic test after my mum’s heart attack two years ago. Thankfully, all of those have come back clear in the last few weeks. It’s my slightly high blood pressure that has caused the problem. I must have had a spike that night – Now that I know what caused the stroke in the eye, it must have been because of my Real Kashmir League and Cup double win on Football Manager 2020 that evening, getting me too excited. What a win!
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Back to the hospital.
When I arrived that day I went alone, because I thought I was just there to speak to a consultant. I’d already had loads of tests in the weeks running up to it so I assumed there would be no more. But no, three hours of tests. With corridor waiting and social distancing between each test.
- An eye pressure test, but not the ‘blow air into your eye’ one that you have at the opticians. Instead, it was one where they actually tap on your eyes with what looked like a little pen. That was horrible. Maybe the worst thing I’ve ever had done to me.
- The usual dilation of pupils with eye drops and a normal eye scan.
- The first meeting with the consultant to tell me I needed a dye test.
- The dye test began with two nurses desperately trying to find a good vein in either of my arms. I always struggle with this. Usually, I faint just before the needle goes in, my blood pressure drops, and my vision starts to disappear, darkness creeping in from the corners until I need to lie down. I never fully collapse but it takes a while for me to feel well enough to stand up. This time, I went even before a needle was taken out of the drawer! The one nurse said to me “boy, you are a bit clammy!”. “Clammy?!” I replied. I was sweating enough that it looked and felt like I’d had a shower! They checked my blood pressure and it was well down for me, but funnily enough kind of where I need it to get to naturally over the next few months!
- Eventually they found a vein, the dye was put into me and I had a 30-minute extensive eye scan to look at the back of my eyes. (By the way, the aftermath of the dye test was absolutely wild. Fluorescent, Simpsons-yellow piss for 48 hours).
- Another meeting with the consultant (see above).
I sat outside with a brochure all about RVO and the injection I was about to have (although the nurses then told me I’d been given the wrong brochure and would be having a slightly different thing injected). So as I was handed a brand-new brochure one of the nurses from the fainting episode an hour or so earlier started to clean out my eye in readiness for the injection. Iodine wiped directly around the eye and loads and loads of drops to anaesthetise the eyeball. Took about 10 minutes. Painful in itself. The nurse took some pity and took me to the guy who would be injecting me to let him know how I’d fainted earlier and to be gentle with me. (Which was very nice of her).
I walked into the room to see the most PPE’d person I’ve seen all lockdown. The nurse had about 5 layers of protective clothing on and a big shield mask covering her whole head and down below her shoulders. The man asked me if I was OK because of the fainting and I noticed that ‘Sting – An Englishman in New York’ was playing.
“Is this the radio or The Best of Sting?” I asked.
“Is there such a thing?! It’s just Smooth FM, when it gets to Sting playing, we know it’s about 4 o’clock.”
I was told to lie flat on my back, more drops were put in my eyes and a drape placed over the rest of my head, with only a small gap for my right eye. Clockwork Orange clamps prised my eyelids open and there was no going back now. I was asked to look down and left and they marked with a pen where the injection would go in the whites of my eye.
“Once this goes in you CANNOT move. It’ll take about 3 seconds in total. DO NOT MOVE.:”
A lot of pressure.
I look down, in my periphery I can see something coming towards me. Then the sensation of a little ‘pop’ and the pressure changing in my eye. Easily the weirdest sensation I’ve ever felt.
“How many of these do you do?” I asked the nurse.
“22 in the morning, 22 in the afternoon. Every single day of the week”
Just routine this. All these old people are getting injections in both eyes and it doesn’t faze them at all. It was better to have only a few minutes before the injection in the eyeball, rather than have a whole month to shit myself. And even though it was fine and now I know what to expect, I wonder whether I’ll start shitting myself in the run up to the next injection. Once a month for three months, then laser. With no guarantees that the sight will come back.
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September 2022
You never get used to the treatment. I’ve had loads of injections, the laser treatment, and after injections every 4 or 5 weeks for ages I’m now at a point where I’ve only had one this year so far (though I do expect to have one next time I go in November). Everyone at St Paul’s has been incredible and that’s why I decided to give something back with this charity head shave.
https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/mkheadshave – If you’ve managed to get this far, haven’t yet donated and want to!
mazzinisfatchildren 