How Double Vision Improved my Perspective

     In 1995, I was 26, living in Manhattan and working for an international consulting firm as a meeting and event planner.  My job allowed me to travel frequently throughout the US and Europe, something I always wanted to do.  It was an exciting time because while I was visiting new places and expanding my horizons, the internet, email and cell phones were just introduced, revolutionizing the capabilities of businesses and personal connections around the globe.  However, despite these monumental technological advances, nobody had yet conceived of the much simpler invention of putting wheels on suitcases, which probably improved the lives of just as many people.  So, although jet-setting often was thrilling, it was more strenuous than it is today.  And after hauling my luggage around Germany for a week I was ready to go home.

     After a long cab ride in traffic from JFK airport up the FDR to 34th Street, I arrived at my building AND TOOK THE ELEVATOR UP SEVEN FLIGHTS TO  my apartment.  UPON OPENING THE FRONT DOOR, MY EYES FIXATED ON My convertible sofa , WHICH never looked more inviting.  Feeling like I was twice my weight, even without my baggage, I sat down, settled my weary body into my favorite corner, and turned on the 11 o'clock news.
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     While watching the anchors recount the day's typical New York City atrocities that now unfazed me, I STARTED TO DECOMPRESS.  but, AT THE SAME TIME, slowly began seeing two of everything, as if I were crossing my eyes.  I could clearly hear the reporters' voices as they bantered back and forth, but saw two of their faces, bodies, set fixtures and backdrops.  I tried closing my eyes for a while, rubbing them, using eye drops, changing my contact lenses, and wearing my glasses but none of these remedies worked.  Also studying for my MBA at NYU at the time and working out religiously, exhaustion was hardly A foreign CONCEPT to me.  I assumed I was just overtired and, after a good night's sleep, my vision would return to normal in the morning.  Unfortunately, when my alarm clock rang at 6:00 am and I rolled over to silence it, I saw two of them and everything else around me.  I began to worry I had a more serious problem than fatigue so I called my eye doctor who agreed to see me that day.

     Placing my hand over one eye to prevent me from seeing double, I struggled down TO AND ACROSS THE GROUND FLOOR TO TAKE the subway to my appointment.  Luckily, the stations were only a block from my apartment and his office, which helped offset the challenge of functioning with impaired sight.  After I arrived and waited for the receptionist to announce that the doctor would see me, I took a seat in his examining chair.  When he entered, we exchanged pleasantries and I explained my problem.  He then proceeded to dilate my pupils and shine brightly colored lights into them, which worsenED my vision, NOT TO MENTION my crushing headache.  After about 45 minutes of CONDUCTING exams with the lights on and in total darkness, he said, "There is nothing physically wrong with your eye.  I think you need to have an MRI and see a neurologist."  Not familiar with either of those things, he directed me to his assistant who gave me further instructions on how to proceed.  I then went home to call the diagnostic center and schedule my first MRI exam.

     Two days later, again placing my hand over one eye, I took the subway to the medical center.  Upon arriving, I gave the receptionist my personal information and insurance card and took a seat in the waiting room.  The assistant led me to an area where I was to relinquish my clothes, personal belongings, and anything metal on my person, store them in a locker, and don the ever-glamorous hospital gown.  I then waited with the other patients until it was time for my scan.

     Sitting in a diagnostic center with a group of people looking powerless in hospital gowns is deflating and gave me my first exposure to patient dehumanization.  I am dumbfounded why nobody has created a better garment to wear while being examined.  Is it that hard?  Hospital gowns fit no one nor keep you properly covered.  Plus, I am convinced they are coated with some invisible chemical that surreptitiously extracts all your personality, skills, confidence, and strength.  Like Kryptonite does to Superman.  I determined they must be designed by doctors as a way to make patients think they are superior to them.  I had no idea what to expect but, based on the current situation, I was not enthused.  Then the assistant led me to the room that housed the all-powerful God of diagnostic machines.

     For those unfamiliar with the MRI, let me enlighten you.  It is a large tube about seven feet long with a table in the middle that wheels the patient's body inside it through a narrow, two foot-wide opening.  The machine then emits a strong magnetic field and radio waves to generate images of your inner organs, tissues, and structures.   IT is intimidating not only because of its size but because its flashing lights make it look like something out of a science fiction movie that aliens would use to alter the minds and bodies of people they abducted.

     After you lie flat on the table, the technician secures you with RESTRICTIVE barriers and injects you intravenously with a contrast liquid that improves the visibility of the area being examined.  This was disconcerting because I  already assumED thE machine WAS going to brainwash me in some way and the injection was to help facilitate the process.  Then the table wheels you backwards into the tube where you must remain motionless for the 45 - 60 minute scan so the images are produced accurately.  MRIs of the brain, which is what I needed, are even more uncomfortable because the patient's head must be completely immobilized by a brace that resembles an oversized football helmet.  Although the scan itself doesn't hurt, while you are in the machine, there is, at most, six inches of space between your face and the top of the tube and you can only look straight ahead at it.  Also, the scanner produces loud buzzing and knocking noises, which are distressing to your ears.  I hope I've conveyed the procedure accurately enough to evoke the sense of the most uncomfortable and claustrophobic experience on the planet.  Regardless, I managed to relax.

     When the scan was complete, the technician wheeled me out of the tube and helped me off the table.  Tears started streaming down my face.  The radiologist came out of the control room and asked why I was crying.  I told him I had been seeing double and was worried I had a brain tumor or something worse.  After looking at the images and seeing how upset I was, he said he was not supposed to discuss what the scan revealed but assured me there was no mass in my brain to be concerned about and the neurologist would explain everything.  Relieved I didn't have a brain tumor but still concerned that I couldn't see properly, I changed back into my clothes, slammed the Kryptonite-coated hospital gown into the hamper, and left.

     With mascara bleeding down my cheeks FROM MY TEARS, I carried my MRI films in one hand, covered an eye with the other, and took the subway to the neurologist's office to share my results with him.  After ascending to the street and walking a few blocks, I arrived at a stately, old New York building that had a large crimson awning adorned with gold numbers, confirming I had reached the correct destination.  I pushed through the heavy glass and wrought iron doors and entered the lobby which had a shiny, black and white-checked marble floor.  I then took the elevator to the 10th floor and found the doctor's suite.  His office was decorated conservatively with dark green and pink floral fabric as well as generic wall art that conveyed no originality whatsoever.  I gave the secretary my information and waited in the lobby.   

     The nurse called me in to the examining room and asked me to put on a hospital gown.  I thought, is that really necessary?  When the doctor entered, he introduced himself.  He was friendly but uninspiring, like his office decor.  I explained my symptoms and gave him my films which he authoritatively tossed up on the light board, giving the impression he does this routinely.  After viewing them through his thick glasses, he asked me to perform various physical tasks so he could determine my visual, mobile, and sensory acuity.  For example, he asked me to walk back and forth, stand on one leg, and follow his finger with my eyes as he moved it up and down, side to side, and towards my nose, which I'm sure caused me to cross my eyes but I was already seeing double, so I saw no difference.  He whacked my knees and elbows to test my reflexes, asked me to squeeze his fingers as hard as I could with each hand, then proceeded to stick me repeatedly with a pin all over my body and asked if I could feel it, which I could.  Ow!  This made me dislike him even more than I already did.  He then looked at me and said I had Multiple Sclerosis.

     Having never been diagnosed with anything before, especially a disease, I was shocked by this news AND immediately thought, multiple what?  What?  Me?  Oh no, no, no.  You have the wrong person.  I am not destined for a wheelchair.  Not me.  I am SupergirL.  I didn’t understand how he could make thE diagnosis so quickly but, apparently, my scans and symptoms were tell-tale signs of the disease.  Namely, nerve damage in my brain compounded by compromised body function.  I asked, “Are you sure?  Could it be something else?”  He recounted a few other possibilities, including lupus, but said they were unlikely.   I WAS CRESTFALLEN.  AND FELT LIKE THE LITTLE GIRL WHO LOSES GRIP OF HER BALLOON, CAUSING HER HEART TO SINK PROGRESSIVELY DEEPER WITH EVERY INCH SHE SEES IT ESCAPE INTO THE SKY.  

     He explained that Multiple Sclerosis is a disease affecting the brain and spinal cord where a person's immune system mistakenly attacks their nerves' protective coating, known as myelin, which causes them to delay, misinterpret, or block the brain's signals that dictate how the body should perform.  The damage can impede or completely debilitate any number of functions including vision, muscle strength, walking, coordination, balance, bladder control, thinking, and memory.  It can also cause sufferers to experience sensations of numbness, prickling, or “pins and needles” in their appendages and extremities.  He said I was experiencing an “exacerbation” or “flare up” which would probably resolve itself within a few months but there is no guarantee as to how long it will take or if the body will completely recover from the trauma.  He gave me some literature, recommended I join the MS Society, and told me to follow up with him in a few weeks.  
   
     With my life dreams shattered and, again, one hand covering an eye, my mind was suffering the psychological equivalent of having been in the ring with Mike Tyson.  I ventured back to the subway to go home, digest this news, and plan for my unfortunate future where I saw myself as an unemployed, dependent cripple that relied on the energy of others, instead of creating ENERGY OF her own.  I thought I would become someone THAT would cause people to think, what a shame, she was so talented. 

     Based on the recent course of events, I was not surprised to find the train completely packed with commuters and every seat taken.  So, for the next 20 minutes, I had to stand, grasp the hand rail, and attempt to maintain my balance while the train jostled back and forth and its lights flickered on and off.  During the ride, a group of young men were standing around the adjacent hand rail looking like they were seriously contemplating sexually violating my body.  They were also speaking loudly enough for me to hear the lewd things they were saying.  I turned to face the other direction and thought to myself, how on earth can you be looking at and thinking of me that way?  You have no idea what I am going through.  My life is ruined and you’re thinking about molesting me.  On the train.  I was disgusted.  And, in my vulnerable state, began to feel uncomfortable and a little afraid.  i mIght as well have been wearing a hospital gown . 

     When we arrived at my stop, I tried to get off as quickly as possible but a large, heavy-set woman in front of me was moving at a snail's pace and blocking my exit.  I thought, come on, come on, come on.  Pick up the pace!  I'm seeing double, have just been diagnosed with a disease, and need to get home!   Suddenly, I realized I was doing the same thing to her as thOSE men were doing to me-- judging by external factors with no knowledge of her situation.  Much like I did to the doctor.  I had no idea what this woman was experiencing and it dawned on me that her situation might be more traumatic than mine.  Maybe she was terminally ill and was just told she had a month to live.  Maybe she was a single mother who just lost the job that supported her entire family.  maybe she got evicted from her apartment, lost all her belongings, and was now homeless.  OR MAYBE HER SON OR DAUGHTER WAS JUST KILLED IN A CAR CRASH.  I hated myself for assuming my circumstance was more important than hers and I felt badly.

     This first real lesson in empathy forever changed me.  I realized that everyone is dealing with some degree of suffering and that making snap-judgements and assuming my needs are greater than THE NEEDS OF others is not only shallow but counter-productive.  It encouraged me to be more patient and understanding.  I concluded that offering to help people, even strangers, has the potential to create more good than competing with them.  And few things improve your self esteem more than assisting someone less fortunate than you.
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     I am thankful I was able to grasp these concepts during one of my most trying times and for the perspective and, ironically, the clarity seeing double afforded me.  It caused my heart and mind to expand beyond what I thought was possible.  And made me appreciate that we're all in this journey together and can accomplish more as team than as individuals.  We are not as alone with our struggles as we may think. ​