A Trip to the Eye Doctor

A few months ago, we started seeing Sarah's eyes go out of alignment at times.  I first noticed it when she played peek-a-boo around a door frame.  When she moved her head out to see, the last eye to appear would be pointing out.  It's happening more frequently, and in other situations, lately, so we brought her in for a check-up (even though Don was convinced she just had a special talent).  Since I was born with a lazy eye and have suffered with poor vision in that eye despite surgery at age 2 and wearing a patch, I wasn't going to take any chances.

I was dreading the visit, after the nightmare we experienced more than a year ago.  That time, they put drops in her eyes twice, sending her into hysteria both times.  When they wanted to do it a third time because her eyes are so dark and hard to dilate, we said, "No."  The doctor was able to get a quick look into her pupils, enough to rule out any disease, and that was it.  We were out of there.

To my immense surprise and relief, this time was completely different.  Sarah was slightly nervous about being there, but she didn't even flinch when the drops went in (as we learned on the day we became a family, she can be very brave).  We had a different doctor, who obviously is more in tune with kids than the last one, and she seemed intrigued by what he was doing.  He showed her a short video of a mechanical chicken, dog, and elephant, and she kept requesting to see it again.  She even gamely looked into the machine that measures your prescription and, with much coaxing, was able to look at the balloon long enough to get accurate readings.

While she was a model patient, the results of her exam were less than stellar.  She has intermittent exotropia, which means the muscles controlling her eyes are unequal in strength, causing them to turn out if she doesn't work at holding them straight.  If she's tired or not concentrating, they slip to the outside.  As she gets older and does more focused work with her eyes, she won't be able to override the muscles as easily, and it will happen more often.  At that point, she'll need surgery on the muscles.

The good news is that this condition doesn't usually affect the vision in the eyes, so she won't have a weak one the way I do.  The thought of surgery scares me, but, after doing some research on the Internet, I'm not as worried.  It should be outpatient and done through a small slit in the eyeball, so it's not too invasive.  Thank goodness Sarah has gotten over most of her fear of doctors.  By the time the surgery takes place, she should be even more calm.  We need to watch her, and when we notice her eyes turning one-third of the time or more, it's time to take action.

The other disappointing news is that Sarah will likely be near-sighted when she's older.  It has something to do with the depth of her eyeball.  I guess it's a certain depth now, and it will deepen as she grows, which will cause near-sightedness.  I'm almost more saddened by this news than the prospect of surgery.  I had hoped she'd avoid having to wear glasses.  I always hated mine.  It's only been in the last few years that I've felt comfortable with how I look in them.  She's such a beautiful girl that I dread seeing her face hidden behind frames.  Obviously, these are my own issues, and I won't share them with Sarah.  I also know that there are some very cute frames available these days, and she will be adorable regardless.  This is a small thing.

It's ironic that Sarah has a condition similar to one I was born with (they're two types of strabismus) and will likely be near-sighted like her father.  Because she lacks our genes, it's natural to expect her to be free from our physical imperfections.  The fact that she shares some of our weaknesses, while unfortunate, tends to reinforce our sense of family, however.  It's evidence of the invisible red thread that the Chinese believe connects those who belong together.  We were meant to be a family, flaws and all.