Many Armenians accept blindness as inevitable. The Armenian EyeCare Project is trying to change that. |
I got my first pair of eyeglasses soon after starting school,
when it became apparent that I couldn’t make out the letters on the blackboard.
My near-sightedness worsened as time went on, and eventually
I needed glasses not only to see across a room but to walk across one. I took it in stride when I was young, and
even when I was not so young.
I was happy as long as I could see. If glasses made me look
serious and bookish—good! I thought they suited a journalist’s image just fine.
I took comfort in the assurance of every doctor I’d seen that
my eyes were healthy. I didn’t need a doctor to tell me when that was no longer
the case because I could see for myself.
I was helping our daughter move into her college dorm in the
summer of 1999 when I looked up into the sunlight and saw what looked like
black snow falling. In my native New Jersey, I’d have shrugged it off as soot
from a factory. In Tampa, Florida, this was no shrugging matter.
I should have gone straight to a doctor,
but I told myself the problem was eye strain. All through the four-hour drive
home, I kept seeing lightning-like flashes in my left eye. I blamed the
reflection of headlights in the side mirror, but the flashes continued when I
got home.
The eye doctor who examined me the next day diagnosed a PVD (posterior
vitreous detachment), a common event for the near-sighted in middle age. It
means the squishy middle of the eye (the vitreous) has shrunk and pulled away
from the retina. If the vitreous is a bit sticky, it pulls some fibers along
with it. You’ll see a few sparks and some bits of debris floating through your
field of vision.
It’s not a big deal, except when it is.
Usually, PVDs require no treatment but my sticky vitreous
yanked hard enough to tear a tiny hole in the retina, the crucial light-sensitive
layer at the back of the eye. The blood and tissue that spewed from the tear is
what looked like black snow. Those lightning flashes were the retina’s way of
shouting, “Ouch!”
Despite my delay, I reached a retina surgeon quickly enough
to prevent further damage. He used a laser to stop the bleeding. It was a good
rehearsal for both of us: six weeks later, the same thing happened to my right
eye.
Left untreated, my retinas might have continued tearing and
even detached. The consequences of such complications, including vision loss,
can be permanent.
Trust me on this: If you see flashes and floaters, get
examined right away.
The most serious consequence of my PVDs
so far is a swirling profusion of permanent floaters in both eyes. The effect is a lot like looking at the world through
a dirty fish tank.
In the long term, I’ll have to be alert for further retinal
deterioration but for now I can still see and I can still read—although, large
type helps because those damned floaters tend to settle in the curves and
valleys of small letters until each sentence looks like one wriggling smudge.
These distractions are a small inconvenience but they’re a powerful
reminder that I’m lucky to live in a place where
laser-wielding retina surgeons are a cell-phone-call away. I often wonder how
well I’d be able to see, or whether I could see at all, if I lived somewhere
else.
I think of Armenia, for obvious reasons.
That poor and tiny country wobbled into independence in 1991
just a few years after a devastating earthquake, and it quickly plunged into
war with neighboring Azerbaijan. Among the tragic consequences of both events
was a spiraling increase in blindness, particularly among children.
Dr. Roger Ohanesian, a California ophthalmologist, responded
by founding the nonprofit Armenian EyeCare Project (AECP) in 1992. The
organization has been ferrying American eye doctors and surgeons to Armenia
since then, reaching hundreds of thousands with its mobile hospital.
Now the AECP is joining the Armenian government in building five regional eye-care clinics, and it's looking for support.
These clinics are a necessity because the situation remains
dire. According to the AECP, “the accessibility and affordability of eye care
in Armenia continues to be extremely limited and disproportionately affects the
poor and those living in remote regions. Just four towns outside of Yerevan
provide basic eye care and most surgery is available only in the capital.”
The cost and hardships mean that many go without vital care.
I was stunned to learn from the AECP’s literature that cataracts are the country's leading cause of blindness, affecting nearly a third of all
Armenians over 65.
Cataract surgery is common in America, but it’s available to
only one in four Armenians who need it. As a result, “Armenians have learned to
accept blindness as part of growing older . . .”
How sad is that?
I get a hundred reminders of my good fortune each time I open my eyes. It's good to know someone is working to bring that same good fortune to people who so desperately need it.