Russian Roulette

Every time I step into a doctor's office these days-- whether it's about me or one of my kids -- it feels like I'm stuck playing this horrible game yet again.


A six-chambered cylinder -- loaded with one deadly (or potentially maiming) round -- is spun.

And the damn thing doesn't stop spinning for hours, days, weeks-- sometimes months.

Thankfully, the chamber has always been empty.

So, yes-- I win again.

Still have narrow angles.

Am still gonna need laser surgery at some point.

But-- there's no sign of any damage.

Visual field test-- perfect.

Corneal thickness test-- better than perfect.

People, I got me some mighty thick corneas -- which bodes extremely well for anyone at risk for any form of glaucoma.

What this all means is that we can rule out those scary, low-level narrow-angle attacks the doc was concerned I might be having.

(Thank. God.)

In the meantime -- though narrow -- I've still got a good amount of space:

On a scale of 1-4 (with 4 being "wide open" and 1 "needing surgery now") -- my angles are a whopping 2.

I wasn't exactly thrilled when the doc shared this rating with me-- but then she went on to describe the rather nasty sounding, four-tiered 0 to 1 scale...

So what's next?

We monitor it.

I go in at least once a year-- or if I experience any symptoms of an angle-closure attack.

Of course, I didn't leave this all sit without asking a boatload of questions-- ending my barrage with this one:

"If these were your eyes, and you got these test results-- would you just have the surgery?"

"Sandra, I'd wait. Though it's a pretty benign procedure, you likely won't need it for quite some time. Of course, as you get older and develop cateracts, your angles will certainly become more narrow, regardless-- simply because of the aging process."

"Cataracts? Wait-- I'm gonna get cataracts."

Eyes roll, a hint of a smile, and then:

"Sandra, everyone gets cataracts."

"Oh."