Earlier in March we finally had our much awaited visit with the specialist at Children's National Medical Center about Nemo's eyes. We had hoped for a clear answer, and there was one: he needs the surgery. If he's to have any hope of having any depth perception at all later in life, he needs the surgery, the sooner, the better. I wish it had been different, that he didn't need the surgery, but I feel confident that it's the right decision. We are continuing his patching, as many hours as possible, per recommendation from the specialist. He hates it. But he does it.
Last weekend I sat across from him at a restaurant as he ate chicken noodle soup, pretty much his favorite food on earth. I guess because I'm so close to him and see him so often, I really don't notice the magnitude of the problem. To me it's barely noticeable. But this past weekend, as he lined up his spoon sort of sideways and looked hard through one lens of his glasses as he approached, and missed, his mouth from the side, I had to face just how bad it is. How off his vision is.
It's a wonder we're not in the ER more often than we are.
He starts t-ball this weekend. Actually, he was supposed to start today, but rain made that impossible. He wants to play so badly. It's been a major chore to keep him off the field when his brother plays. Ever since he was two years old, whenever we watch baseball on tv, he stands in front of the tv, imaginary bat at the ready, and when the pitcher fires, he swings. He's so ready for this. We've been talking to him about his surgery, telling him he won't be able to play the whole season, but I'm not sure how we're going to keep him back. How can we hold him back? It's what he loves, it's what he's wanted to do practically his whole life.
He tells me he can't see. When I put his patch on, he protests, saying "Mommy, mommy, this eye doesn't work. This one does, but this one doesn't" as he touches his left eye, then his right, then his left again. He knows how bad it is. Yet he has vision in the left eye. He tells me about the things he sees when he has his patch on. We've made it a point, after the initial stumbling around while he adjusted, to make him move around with the patch on as much as he could. Not climbing, or playing baseball, but walking and running and going up and down the stairs. Forcing him to use the bad eye.
It's so obvious in photos. The light reflecting off different parts of each eye. The turned in eye, looking at you, but not quite the same as its partner. Why did we ever doubt?
May 12. D-day. The first day of his future.
he's a little trooper. :-)
Posted by: Uncle Orca | March 31, 2011 at 10:44 PM
Wow. I go through a lot with Noah and the worry and the wonder and the questioning so I can empathize with your personal inner struggles over this. It sounds like you have great medical care and that you are doing the best thing for his future. I'm here for you - anytime. I hope we can hang out a little bit this summer.
Oh, his love of baseball? SO ADORABLE!
Posted by: stacy | March 31, 2011 at 11:46 PM
He is just so stinkin cute! I'll be sending thoughts your way as you approach D-day.
Posted by: hokgardner | April 01, 2011 at 11:04 AM