For Meghan

The lovely and amazing Meghan at AMomTwoBoys has this amazing ability to be there for the for the entire Internet. If you see that something was planned in the blogging world for someone in need, she generally has her hand in it. She runs like seventeen (am possibly counting wrong) websites. She is the shit. In a good way. The best way in fact. She is sweet and funny and the kind of friend, we should all be lucky enough to have. I adore her. So today I thought I'd see if I could maybe help her in some small way.





That beautiful boy up there is Meghan's son Zach (isn't he freaking adorable? I want to eat him up), who is having surgery on both of his eyes on Monday. It is a routine surgery, I mean if you are an eye surgeon. But it is scary. Meghan is scared, as all of us would be. The thought of having someone put your 22 month old baby under to do anything to them is scary, every parent knows that. But after what happened to Maddie, Meghan (and all of us) know that nothing in life is certain. Now it's even scarier than it would have been.

I can't tell Meghan not to be scared. If I thought it would help, I'd tell her a million times, but I know it wouldn't work and it just make her want to kick me at BlogHer. I can't tell her I wouldn't be scared, because I would be. I can tell her that Zach will be fine, great even, but I can't promise her. And unfortunately because I've never actually met the woman and I live oh about 1,200 miles away, it's not like I can give her a hug and some wine and tell her it's gonna be okay.

I thought I'd do the next best thing, I'd write a whole post for her.

And maybe, just maybe, this will help in some small way. Because here's the deal: I've had this surgery. The exact same surgery that Zach is having on Monday. On both eyes.

I was three months the first time my parents took me to an eye specialist. They knew that by then, I shouldn't be looking at my nose all the dang time. That doctor, told my parents I'd never see and that I couldn't be helped. My dad was livid and called a friend of his whose dad was a surgeon, who directed them to an eye surgeon at UCLA. This guy told my parents he could help. By nine months old, I was wearing an eye patch. Little baby pirate Issa. Basically the muscles in my eyes didn't really work, or as I like to say, they were lazy and bored. The eye patch was supposed to help strengthen one eye, make it work, because it wasn't doing a darn thing, except staring at my nose all the time. The other eye was better, but not great. I wore the patch for months, but it didn't really help anything.

Then they tried glasses. The cutest little glasses anyone has ever had. I had glasses from fourteen months old, on. They thought I wouldn't keep them on, that I'd always want them off. But you know? When you can one day see after most likely not being able too, I guess you decide you kinda like that, even as a toddler.

The glasses helped, but it wasn't a long term solution. They had to do surgery. Back then, which was in 1983, they waited until you were three to do this surgery. The theory was, maybe your eye muscles would suddenly learn to work in that time frame. Which sounds funny to me now, but whatever. So I was about three years old and a week when I had the surgery.

I remember it. Not the surgery obviously, but the before and after. I remember walking into the hospital with my parents. I remember putting on a little gown; drinking some grape tasting syrup and watching some Wiley E. Coyote on TV. Then I remember being pissed off at my mom because she wouldn't give me any juice. That was after. That's it, that's all I remember. Well that and getting to pick out a stuffed animal in the gift shop on the way out. Oh and needing to wear sunglasses any time I was outside for a few weeks afterwards.

To me it was simple and no big deal. That's not however what my mom would say. She was scared, as any mother would be. But you know, I was three.

Without the surgery as a child, I am sure I would not be able to see very well. I have been told this by every single eye specialist I have seen as an adult. I would not be able to drive, see the words on this computer screen or be able to tell you each line, freckle and dimple on my children's faces. That surgery changed my life. One guy called it a miracle that I could see at all.

Meghan, I know this doesn't really help you. It doesn't take away the fear. But I can't do that. You know I would if I could. The only thing that will do that, is it being over and you taking him home. This I know.

Also for you, I am putting up pictures. Pictures of me as a child. The before and after shots. Just so you can see the difference. A few show how bad my right eye was. A couple of my rad glasses, when I was fifteen months old and one from a few years after so you can see how straight my eyes were/are. Ignore the large 80's glasses in the last one. My mother swears I picked them out myself. After the surgery I didn't have to wear glasses until I was seven years old. But my vision is bad as well as the muscles being bad and I've worn glasses every since. I don't really know any different, so it's not a big deal to me. Most of the time, you can't see any difference in my eyes, except that my right eyelid is a tiny bit lower than the left. Also, when I am extremly tired, my right eye still gets a bit lazy and looks at my nose.

But just know my friend, that my heart and prayers will be with you until it's done and you are taking Zach home on Monday after the surgery. In fact, this post will stay up here until that time as well. For you and for Zach.

FYI - All photos of me were scanned out of a scrapbook my mom made. Quality is iffy. The worse eye one is the second pic. Click on it for a close up. Truly it was bad.

The photos of Zach were stolen, with permission, from Meghan.