“Awww, look at you,” said the technician gazing at my scan at Vitreous Retina Macula Consultants of New York, “You’re Lucky Lefty. You have lots of blood in your left eye.”

“Lucky?” I panicked as she scurried out of the room. How is that lucky?

Over the Labor Day Weekend, of course, because emergencies always happen on holidays, I woke up with sudden flashes in my left eye, and then boom! Or shall I say, splatter! The eye went fuzzy with millions of tiny peppered black dots. I called VRMCNY immediately, and spoke with the emergency Dr. M. 

“What’s the emergency?” he asked as I imagined him munching on potato salad and corn-on-the-cob.  

“The vitreous has finally detached from my left eye,” I said. How did I know this? It happened four years ago in my right eye, and I believe I wrote a column about it. Instead of looking for said column, I’ll just tell you. According to the Cleveland Clinic: “A Posterior Vitreous Detachment (PVD) is a natural process that occurs [in all humans] when the vitreous, a jelly-like substance in the eye, separates from the retina. It’s a common condition that usually happens with aging, and almost 75% of people develop it by age 65.” I’m 68 going on 120.

My PVD came with a hemorrhage because the vitreous humor pulled away from the retina aggressively, and tore a blood vessel, which caused bleeding behind the eye. Symptoms quickly ramped up to include swelling and what appeared to be long black eels swimming across my field of vision. It was bound to happen because that vitreous was “hanging on by a thread” for the past four years according to Dr. Englebert, my surgeon. 

Over the course of the weekend, I called Dr. M three times, and in each call imagined him at a different point in his holiday weekend; eating, playing cards or badminton, watching TV, hanging with the family. Oh well, it was his turn on-call. 

On Tuesday, at the office of VRMCNY where the name of the group looks like an eye chart that I can’t read. Why? Because I don’t have my reading glasses is what I told the technician.

“Aren’t you wearing bifocals?”

“No.”

“Progressive lenses?”

“No. I have a separate pair of glasses for reading, a gas stove that lights with a match, and a landline. Is there any part of this you don’t understand?”

“How about if you take your glasses off?”

“What?! Then I’m legally blind.” It didn’t take long for me to figure out that this technician only takes down numbers, and doesn’t really know how lenses work. But oh well. There I was.

Dr. B arrived all in black. No lab coat. I had to ask, “Are you the doctor?” 

“Yes.” She seemed to be in a hurry perhaps because I waited three hours to be seen, and now it was time to go home. But that’s how it always is in this place where the surgeons get five stars across the board.

Dr. B did things to me I didn’t think existed. She even did an ultrasound on my eye. 

“Good, good, good,” she said, and then paused. 

“No good?” I asked.

“Well, there’s still a piece hanging on one edge. Everything else looks good. You’ll have to come back next week. We have to keep an eye on it.” The irony, or shall I say “eye-rony” was not lost on me.

Of course, there’s still a piece of gunk or shall I say, vitreous fluid, hanging on for dear life in the back of my left eye. Has to be because I’m Lucky Lefty. And isn’t that how it works?

RAMONA JAN is the Founder and Director of Yarnslingers, a storytelling group that tells tales both fantastic and true. She is also the roving historian for Callicoon, NY and is often seen giving tours around town. You can email her at callicoonwalkingtours@gmail.com.