ADVENTURES WITH EYEBALLS Part 2: Acting On Instinct
- 19 hours ago
- 4 min read
Trusting My Gut in a Medical Maze
If there's one thing I've learned throughout my medical adventures, it's that the only person who can stand up and demand answers is me. For years I used to accept the doctor's verdict as gospel. If they said it, it must be true. Then I started wondering and questioning. That's the beauty of second opinions. Everybody can't be right all of the time.
As my appointment to have my eyeball lasered loomed closer, I googled 'best glaucoma doctors in Los Angeles.' I needed a second opinion and fast. There was a group of specialists at UCLA, all within that 'great' range but in order to be seen, I needed to submit my records, like an application, to see if I would be accepted. I called Dr. Blue Eyes' office and asked that they be sent along. No resistance there. I felt like I was applying to an exclusive club. Currently, there are many medical practices in Los Angeles that don't accept new patients.
I waited two weeks, then rang the main office, gently asking if they had received my records. I was told to wait some more. Finally, I got the call: they had agreed to take my case. March 25, 2026 at 7:15 am was the first available appointment and it would be with with Dr Boss. I would have to get up at 5:30 to get to the eye center on time. No problem.
Acting Without Pretense: Where Expertise Speaks Louder Than Charm
At 7:15 on the dot, I was filling out new patient forms. Then the tests began. All the machines worked this time, there was no side-eye, no huffing and puffing like in Ole Blue Eyes' office. Vision test, visual field, retinal pictures. Then meeting the doctor. The Boss didn't try to fake smile, he focused on my tests, dilated my eyes and sent me back for some more retinal pics. No bedside manner but I already knew that--I had looked up his reviews. I didn't need a saccharine coating, I needed his expertise to get to the truth of what was wrong with me. One thing I noticed right away as he jumped and pushed call buttons for his assistants; he had kind, knowing eyes. My father used to be able to diagnose the person before he ever looked at the back of their eyeball. It felt like Dr. Boss had that same gift. He was corroborating evidence, not trying to figure out a mystery.
Acting on Truth: When the Diagnosis Finally Lands
Down the hall again for yet another picture, then back to the examining room. Dr. Boss came in and started to explain and gesticulate with his hands.
"When we are in the womb, the eyes form front to back. But once in a while, the back doesn't close, like a cleft."
"You mean like a cleft lip?" I wanted to visualize what he was saying.
"Yes, that's right. That's why it shows up as not closed. It's called a pit. You were probably born this way."
"And my eye being so oblong didn't help," I added, remembering what my father had told me.
"Yes."
"So this other doctor misdiagnosed me."
"He was concerned," Dr. Boss replied but I could hear the mistake that had been made in his voice.
"So I don't have glaucoma."
"No, because it doesn't coincide with your visual field, which is normal as well as your intraocular pressure. That diagnosis doesn't hold up."
"And I don't need the trabeculoplasty."
"No, you do not. Come back in six months to get your eye pressure checked. And please stop taking the Timolol."
Deep inhale. My glaucoma-free eyes were getting watery. I had spent months acting calm while quietly panicking inside. Dr. Boss was giving me a get out of jail free card.
I went home and googled it. "An optic pit (or optic disc pit) is a rare, congenital, and usually asymptomatic small depression or cavity in the optic nerve head, present at birth and found in about 1 in 11,000 people."
I wonder why my father, a world class eye surgeon, never dilated me to check my retina. He would have seen this immediately. Maybe it was because back then they took pictures with a camera. Or maybe it just didn't occur to him. I think of the time I developed appendicitis one long night in high school. My uncle, who was an internist in Colombia, was staying with us. The family got up periodically to discuss my condition of intense pain in my stomach. Neither my father nor my uncle could make a diagnosis. It took Dr. Foley, the family doctor(god bless him), to come over at six in the morning and declare it.
The Quiet Work of Forgiveness
My wonderful and flawed father. We had a tough relationship while he was alive. Now I like to think he's happy, talking eyeballs in heaven with other surgeon friends of his. And I got a heavenly nudge from him that directed me to Dr. Boss. Forgiveness is a powerful thing I've learned over the years. I'm happier when I do it immediately.I like to practice forgiving my father on a regular basis. It never gets old.
Last week I went to settle up my unpaid balance of $10.75 at Ole Blue Eyes' office. As I turned to leave, I saw his name and smiled. He's on my forgiveness list as well.
Moral of the story? Listen to your gut. If you're feeling squirrely, there's a reason. Be your own best advocate. In the end, you're all you've got. Gracias Papa.
