P's eye

We had a fantastic Saturday with Seth and Alicia, pics and details to come, but I just wanted to write first about P's bravery and recent trauma. (This story will probably include more detail than most are really interested in. But since it was so traumatic for P, I thought I'd go all out in journaling it for his future therapist :). Sunday evening I noticed P had something stuck in his eye. (This actually happened almost two weeks ago too. The first time we went to our lovely doctor, who gave us some antibiotic drops and an optimistic plan that included the foreign body removing itself. The drops were quite a trial for P and I, but it all went well and the metal chip came out as planned...)

So I was really surprised to notice a shadow on his pupil on Sunday. Same eye, different spot. This time our doc thought it was a bit more problematic and referred us to NY Eye and Ear. Its a huge clinic in the city. P was devastated. He cried all the way home from the doctor's office, declaring he would Never Go.

We came upstairs to our freshly baked bread (it was just finishing, a wonderfully relaxing gift from the universe!) and a very long, very exciting story about Magic Opthalmologists. If you recall my slant on Santa, you know that facts and truth reign supreme in my mothering. Alas, at this point I was seriously above nothing. Call it supreme parental stooping. Call it a welcome to the real world. Call it lying if you must :)

The general gist was the history of my own horrible eye sight. How I was quite little when I first got glasses. How, upon leaving the doctor's office with my first pair of goggles, er glasses, I was amazed to see that trees had individual leaves. No more big, billowy greens for me, there were veins and stems galore. P loved this. I told him how the eye doctor had Magic Hands. Hands that were so steady, they could put contacts in my eye without even hurting me. How, many years later, when I tired of being blind without glasses, I was given Magic Drops that take away all pain. And then the eye doctor used his Magic Goggles and lasered my eye into the Right Shape. How my eye kinda hurt after the Magic Drops wore off, and I went to sleep, wondering if I'd ever see. And when I woke up, I saw everything, perfectly. How the doctor would use his Magic Goggles to see into P's eye, and then use Magic Drops to make P's eye feel no pain. And then use his Magic Hands to be so steady he could just pluck the metal right out of P's eye without it hurting.

By the end of my cheesy tale, P was smiling. But it wasn't enough. I figured the clinic would have paperwork and lines and a wait and combined with a child who worries, I was worried we wouldn't make it to the Magic Goggles stage of my plan. So, I stooped even lower. I tossed in a new toy.

As luck would have it, to reach the clinic we'd have to use the craziest of all subway connections. The uptown F to the uptown 6 at Broadway/Lafayette. For some inane reason, one has to actually Leave the subway system, go above ground for 2 blocks and then go back down to catch the 6 train. This stop is P's favorite stop. The gelato shop, Mulberry street library, his favorite pizza place, they all reside within a few blocks. So does the toy store that has the airplane P has been lusting after. So, for the sake of our sanity, I mentioned we'd be just down the street from the toy store, perhaps we should grab that plane to help wile away the wait?

The kid practically Skipped out the door.

He was amazingly resilient as we schlepped from one floor to another, filling out paperwork, waiting in lines. The airplane seriously saved the day as he revved its engine and flew it around waiting space after waiting space. This is what I told myself as that nasty word "bribe" kept reappearing in my brain :)

A few hours later, just as Ethan showed up after work, P sat in the optometrist's chair. He'd had dilation drops in the waiting room from a stranger who barely said hello (they were busy, I understand) and I was shocked at his composure. He continued with his strong face while the new doc shined lights in his eyes and looked at him through Magic Goggles. Then the doctor explained to P that he'd be given some drops (Magic Drops P!) and, while he sat rrrrrreally still, the man would gently rub his eye to remove the metal. P was Not interested in this. He said "no thank you." We talked about it for a while and he accepted the drops, which apparently stung quite a bit, and then placed his chin bravely in the headset. He sat there whimpering while the sterilized tip came towards his eye and really, really tried to hold his eye open, but apparently, countless years of evolution leading us to Close our eyes when something is aimed at it, was too hard for him to overcome.

We tried this a number of times, P becoming more and more upset each time. He told us he was too scared and was crying. Another doctor came in, this one fairly rough and unfriendly. He suggested bribery, what did Phoenix love most in the world? P said no way, jose. E offered a train as a trade. P said he'd take the train, but no thanks on the surgery. The gruff doc told us we should plan for surgery and anesthesia the following day. Then he said he was going home to dinner.

Then two female doctors joined us. We chatted about the risks of anesthesia, the risks of leaving the foreign body in, the risks of jabbing at a moving child. The three docs in the room were obviously dedicated. The place was clearing out (we were the last patient accepted for the day, so the last to be seen.) They felt the risks of anesthesia on a small child for a procedure that would only take 10 seconds was too high and unnecessary. The nicest of the three suggested we help P hold still (she also told me she's seen grown men cry during the same procedure:). E agreed. I said I couldn't imagine the effect of strangers holding him down against his will.

And there's the rub, really. We live our lives as consensually as possible. P's need for autonomy is intense and the respect he receives helps him make his way through life with love in his heart instead of a constant chip on his shoulder. When we've faltered in our parenting approach we've seen the immediate results in P and we redouble our effort and rededicate ourselves to respecting him. But, he's four and figures he only really needs one eye. Despite every explanation we could give him, he was satisfied to let his eyesight go to avoid this supremely scary experience. As parents we knew that decision wasn't doable. We figured he'd regret our respect in this situation when he was older and wanted to do an activity that required Both eyes. Nevertheless, making this choice felt like selling my soul down the river and I have yet to stop wondering what solution was there that I couldn't envision.

I'm not going to describe what happened next, I'm actively blocking it from my memory :) But I"ll include P's description, as relayed to the doctor he saw today for his check-up: "Mama and Papa sat on me and squashed me.... flat! Like a pancake!! And then they shoved a metal clamp in my eye - and it was open - and rubbed it, Hard! Over and over and over."

Which leads us to today. After removing the debris on Monday, they prescribed antibiotic ointment and a check-up on Wednesday. P flatly told the doctor he would Never return. The doctor smiled and told me we could have our check-up anywhere. P's poor eye was red and swollen and hurt. But he remembered the promised train and so we headed Back to the toy store... At dinner he did some serious play therapy with BB and the new train that took the monster to his own surgery, reenacting the situation, telling BB the story, over and over again. He even told BB he was soooo happy he'd had eye surgery. When BB asked why, P responded "Because it fixed my eye!"

Unfortunately, P was allergic to the prescription eye cream. But we didn't realize it until the second dose. It burned so badly for so long that, lying on the floor after his second dose, he murmured "If I was dead, I wouldn't have to do the eye cream anymore, right Mama?" There was no drama to this inquiry, he was just problem solving, a way out of something he really didn't like. But, of course, it was impossible to get ahold of a doctor at the clinic. So I found a specialty pediatric opthalmologist for our check-up and questioned them about the cream. They were wonderfully helpful and P was immensely relieved to find he would be cream free until his appointment.

As we left for his check-up this morning he double-checked with me that they wouldn't be hurting his eye again Oh, no, I told him, the metal was gone, we just needed to look at the rust ring and get some new drops. He marched into their office and easily did their eye tests. A very nice doctor came in and chatted P up, met BB, did some tricks, just really took the time to get the child comfy before sticking the kid's head into the same contraption that had scarred him on Monday. Seeing P push his little chin into the machine and glare into the bright lights while grasping BB was emotional. Even the doctor mentioned the enormity of the moment. But P had my word that it was just a check-up, just a little look-see.

And then the doc sat back and told him there was still a little metal in his eye, and if he could hold still, for just a few seconds after some drops, he could scrape it right out. P's face just crumpled. Seriously, if I'd had a picture of it, you could put it in the dictionary, right beside a wadded up piece of paper. He asked the doctor to explain it to him again, his voice pinched. The doc told him it would probably take 10, maybe 30 seconds and he would be all done. P said, "Or maybe 1 second? Or maybe even a minute?" And the doc laughed and said yah. It looked like P was going to go for it, but as soon as he leaned his head back and the dropper came near him he just fell apart. I can only imagine that everything that happened two days ago just flooded back for him. He shoved BB over his eyes and wouldn't come up for air.

The doc told us to take our time, he was going to get some wonder cream and then we'd try again. He turned Toy Story on the flat screen (yah, a leeeetle different than the clinic) and left us to chat. The nurse told P he could have a prize if he held his eye open. P told me he was too scared of the "scraping part" and that he couldn't, just couldn't do it.

His doc returned to see P still hiding beneath BB. He told me that he trains docs at Ny Eye and Ear and can only imagine how horrible Monday was for us. He promised P that it would be nothing like that, if P could trust him. P said he could not. The doctor said he completely understood. Then he suggested a different plan. The speck that is left is small, and its possible the body might expel it if cared for properly. P could use eye cream every night for a month to protect his eye while it works on healing and then we can come back in and reassess the situation. The risk of this plan is slight scarring on P's eye. But the doc said he'd rather P have a tiny scar on his eye than the emotional scar of another Monday. I agreed.

P was ebullient. "If its still there in a month, I'll let you take it out. IF its still there," he told his doctor. And so the child danced out of the office, ready to play in Central Park for the afternoon. As we left, he remembered the prize the nurse had proffered. He said he thought a prize was a grand idea. After four years of a reward free existence, learning and living for the mere sake of learning and living, we had ruined our child in a few short days. Great.

And as he played, I saw him periodically check his eye for flying debris. He wore his sunglasses the entire day. And after playing in the sand pit he asked me, in a very serious tone, to see if there was any sand in his eyes. Hopefully, with enough love and antibiotic drops, scarring of any kind from that tiny metal speck will be minimized.