The Eyes Have It

The pressure started early: "Perfection." The teacher wanted it. The parents demanded it. But my body was a screwup. First, the eye doctor. Read the top line. Cover the left. Cover the right. The verdict: a prescription. They weren't "Four Eyes"; they were glasses. "You look like a Brainiac." Okay, I'd lean into that, just to spite the jerks.

Later, the glasses became a liability. The solution: radial keratotomy. An Olden Days procedure—before LASIK—where the eyeball was scored to correct vision. Removed the restriction from my driver's license. Perfection.

Much later came cataracts. I opted for the "Cadillac of implants": a premium lens with three focal planes. More pirate patches. Arrgh. More perfection.

The breakdown

Then the trouble began. Double vision. A drooping eyelid. Was it third nerve palsy? Slurred speech. Mini-strokes (TIAs)?

The barrage of tests was relentless: MRI, MRA, CT, EEG, EKG, X-rays, and a cerebral angiogram (a "roto-rooter" trip up through the groin). I saw every kind of healer: allopath, osteopath, homeopath, acupuncturist, hypnotherapist, neurologist, neurosurgeon.

My sight and balance deteriorated: double vision, poor depth perception, limited peripheral vision. I was staggering, lurching, and stumbling like a drunken sailor. Desperate, I even tried a friend’s off-label suggestion—ketamine therapy, aiming for the K-hole—to clear the double vision. It failed.

My body was failing: cold hands, constant exhaustion, facial weakness. The exacerbations were terrifying.

The diagnosis and the cost

Finally, after three years, a neuro reluctantly provided the diagnosis: Myasthenia Gravis (MG).

The financial reality hit hard. Expensive treatments. No one tells you retirement will cost this much when "shysters" are taking from your paycheck. The IRA is a joke. And Medicare isn't free, especially once you get past the "A" part of the alphabet soup.

Now, the question is stark: Is it worth sinking even more money into keeping this worn-out wreck of a body functional?