Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

The Christmas that wasn’t December 30, 2024

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This shows a snippet of a Christmas card I received in 2023. To me it represents the gathering of family, all back home for the holidays. (Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo 2023)

I WANT A CHRISTMAS DO-OVER. Yup, 2024 marked the Christmas that did not happen. I’m not referencing the real reason for Christmas of celebrating Christ’s birth, but rather family time together. Due to illness, my core family could not gather.

I was over my COVID by Christmas, testing negative the day prior. But by that time, my son, a son-in-law and the grandkids were ill with influenza, which they presumably picked up at an extended family holiday gathering. Many others became ill, too, following that event. I didn’t attend due to my COVID. Our daughter is sick now and the granddaughter is still recovering.

Tis the season to spread viruses. And this Christmas seems worse than any I can recall in recent memory.

A plane arrives at Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

The hardest thing through all of this, besides missing celebrating Christmas, was not seeing my son until a week after he arrived in Minnesota from Boston. But I didn’t want him here while I had COVID. And then he got sick. Finally, by the end of Christmas week, my mama’s heart could hold no more sadness. Except for occasional coughing, Caleb was through the worst of his illness. I had to see him.

I bought flowers (not this particular bouquet) for my eldest daughter, who had been caring for a houseful of sick family all of Christmas week. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo May 2016)

So off Randy and I headed to our eldest daughter’s house late Friday morning, Christmas gifts stuffed into a cardboard box, banana bread packed and a bouquet of flowers in hand for Amber. Upon our arrival 35 minutes later, we unloaded the goods into the entry, the daughter, son-in-law and grandkids keeping their distance in the living room. Caleb watched the kids open their gifts from him while Randy loaded his suitcase and backpack into our van. I stepped indoors briefly, then waited outside.

Once we were all out of the house, Izzy and Isaac came to the front window and waved goodbye. There would be no hugs, only those sweet waves, which was better than nothing.

At this point, I was just happy to see my son and have some time with him before he flew out two days later. He worried that he might make Randy and me ill. I told Caleb that we were willing to take the risk because I needed to see him. I think most mothers would understand that. I cherish my time with my son given we see each other only once or twice a year. I am not one of those moms fortunate enough to have her kids all living in their hometown or nearby. That said, I am aware that some moms are grieving children who have passed or are estranged or cannot, for whatever reason, return home for the holidays. I’m sorry for the sadness and pain they feel at a time like Christmas.

The Boston skyline photographed from Tufts University. Randy and I traveled there in 2016 to attend Caleb’s graduation. He now lives and works in greater Boston. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo May 2016)

The time I had with Caleb was brief. But it was enough. There were meals together. Conversations. Tears. Laughter. Love, lots of love. An unexpected gift from him of a massive mandala he laser cut, stained and glued together brought me to tears. Hearts theme the art. To me it represents family love. And the love of a son. The son I had to see. The son I hugged good morning and goodnight and then goodbye early Sunday evening as we dropped him off at the Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport for his flight home. Home to Boston. Not Minnesota.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Health update December 23, 2024

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Graphic of the first coronavirus. Source: CDC

GRATEFUL. That sole word defines the state of my soul today. I feel gratitude for you, my dear readers, who care so much. When I blogged late last week that I tested positive for COVID, you responded with words of encouragement and kindness. I am grateful.

When I shared my disappointment in not immediately seeing my son, who flew in from Boston on Friday afternoon, and in missing an extended family holiday gathering on Saturday, you lifted my spirits. Whether you commented here, emailed, texted, or simply held me in your thoughts, thank you. Your words mattered to me. I am not surprised by your response. You have always given me so much love.

Today I am happy to share that I am doing well. That was not a given going into testing positive for the coronavirus given my history with viral infections. But getting on the antiviral med, Paxlovid, made all the difference, along with being up-to-date on my vaccinations.

Paxlovid helped immediately in nearly eliminating my horrible COVID cough. After a night of no sleep due to coughing, one dose of Paxlovid in my body and I slept fine with no coughing. As I write, I can’t recall the last time I coughed. Mostly, I feel near-normal. Not quite, but close.

ABOUT PAXLOVID

I have to pause here and write a bit about Paxlovid, which I’m taking twice daily (three pills at a time) for five days. The taste is beyond awful, something I can only describe as bitter and metallic. That repulsive taste lingers. I’ve found that chewing a strong, mint-flavored gum helps mask the taste. That tip came from my eldest, who got the tip from her brother-in-law. As much as I detest the horrid taste of the med, it’s a small thing to put up with if it means a shorter and less severe case of COVID. The drug absolutely is working for me.

That said, I wish it was easier to get Paxlovid. When you need it, you need it. And, to be effective, it must be taken within five days of developing symptoms. I tested positive Thursday evening, too late to reach a doctor for a prescription. Friday morning I called my clinic when it opened, then waited another 1 ½ hours to talk to a doctor. After that phone visit, I waited for the pharmacy to fill my prescription. It wasn’t until late afternoon, when Randy got off work and could pick up my prescription at the busy pharmacy, that I finally got the med in my body. I lost nearly an entire day going through all those steps. It should be easier to get.

Then there’s the cost. Thankfully, Medicare covered the cost of Paxlovid for me. But I was shocked to see on the pharmacy receipt that the drug costs $1,707. Do the math and that’s $171 for each dosage. Now, if I didn’t have insurance or didn’t have insurance that covered that cost, I likely would not have taken Paxlovid. Price should not be a factor in whether you have access to treatment. But that’s reality, unfortunately.

GRATEFUL FOR HEALING & GATHERING

So here I am, on the end of COVID which, for me, proved fairly mild thanks to modern medicine. Whether my long haul COVID symptoms flare with this new infection remains to be seen. But I am hopeful.

Mostly I am grateful. Grateful that I will soon see my son and my daughter and her family. The plan now is to gather on Christmas Day. As long as I’m doing well. And I fully expect I will be.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Timing is everything December 20, 2024

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One of my favorite signs photographed in Crosby during the COVID-19 pandemic. I appreciated the Minnesota slant with the Paul Bunyan plaid. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2020)

BUMMED. That singular word describes my feelings just days before Christmas…because I’m sick. Thursday evening I tested positive for COVID, after testing negative the day prior.

This afternoon my son flew in from Boston. The plan was to pick him up at the Minneapolis St. Paul International Airport. Instead, Randy is at a local pharmacy picking up Paxlovid and cough medicine for me. Our eldest picked up her brother at the airport.

I haven’t seen Caleb since August. I was anticipating our reunion, how we would embrace quickly before placing his luggage in the van for the ride to our Faribault home. Instead, he’s staying with Amber and family a 35-minute drive away. He may as well be in Boston.

Tomorrow my extended family is gathering for Christmas. I, of course, will miss that.

These things happen. Illness is never convenient. Especially during the holidays. For now, my focus is on getting better. My body does not handle viruses well. I’ve experienced debilitating long haul COVID. I lost the hearing in my right ear due to a virus. I had whooping cough at the age of 48.

Coughing kept me awake last night. Just when I would be nodding off, the coughing would start. It’s not nearly as bad as the coughing I experienced during three months of pertussis. But it’s bad enough.

Hopefully in a few days I’ll be doing better…feeling well enough (and non-contagious) to gather with loved ones later next week. For now, I’m keeping my distance. I don’t want to ruin anyone’s Christmas by spreading COVID.

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FYI: I’d encourage you to click here and read a story on MPR about the current rise in COVID, RSV and flu cases in Minnesota. Whooping cough is also at a high in our state. Stay well, my friends. And stay home if you’re showing signs of illness.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Feeling especially grateful this Thanksgiving November 27, 2024

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I created this Thanksgiving display in a stoneware bowl. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

GRATITUDE. It’s a word that gets tossed around a lot this week as we observe Thanksgiving. And that’s good as we all need to pause, reflect and focus on reasons to feel thankful.

Health and family often top that list. And I’m staying in that lane of feeling especially grateful this year for restoration of my health and for my dear family—my husband, three adult children, two grandchildren and sons-in-law. And the soon-to-be-born second grandson.

This map shows the geographical distance separating my family. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

While my core family is scattered from Boston to eastern Wisconsin to Minnesota, we are never far apart, thanks to smartphones. So, yes, this mom and grandma, who once lived in the days of no phone service (not even a landline) and of typewriters, is especially grateful for technology that allows us to stay easily connected.

Still, that does not make up for in-person time together as a family. It doesn’t happen often that we are together. But in August, we were. All of us. For the annual Helbling family reunion. If ever my mama’s heart was full and happy, it was then. The son actually spent several weeks in Minnesota after flying in from Boston for the international unicycling convention in Bemidji and then staying until the reunion. To have that lengthy time with him, whom I typically only see at Christmas, was beyond wonderful. Technology allowed this extended stay as he could work remotely, although he did complain about my slow internet speed.

A sampling of some of the exercises I did while in vestibular rehab therapy at Courage Kenny, Faribault, from April to September 2023. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2023)

And then there’s my health. This past year marked the year I reclaimed my life after spending 2023 dealing with issues caused by long haul COVID. I spent six months in vestibular rehab therapy to retrain my brain. I learned to feel comfortable walking without feeling unbalanced. I learned to manage sensory overload (which remains a residual problem). And much more. I shall be forever grateful to my healthcare team, specifically my physical therapist Ryan, and my family for getting me through an incredibly difficult health challenge. My symptoms were debilitating. Few understood then and few understand now what I experienced.

But because of that experience, I’ve been able to encourage and support others who are in the throes of debilitating long haul COVID. I understand. I empathize. And my compassion for them runs deep. This is real and life-changing.

Information about the eye muscle surgery I underwent in Minneapolis under the care of a neuro ophthalmologist. I had this same surgery performed at age four. These are my pre-surgery eyeglasses, without mega prisms. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2023)

In January, I underwent bilateral strabismus surgery to realign my eyes. Although that surgery failed (as it does up to 20 percent of the time), I remain grateful for one thing—my vision. It’s certainly far from perfect. I still see double if I’m not wearing my prism-heavy prescription eyeglasses. I struggle to tell if photos I am taking or processing are clear. But the bottom line is that I can see. And that is reason to feel grateful. I. Can. See.

This tag of reasons to feel grateful hung on a Gratitude Tree outside the Northfield Public Library in 2019. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

In all of the challenges of life, reasons exist to feel thankful. It’s easy enough to fall into complacency and take good health, family, friends and life in general for granted. Don’t. None of those are a given. No matter what, we can choose to feel grateful, even in the midst of struggles. Something positive can come from negative. Life brims with reasons to feel grateful. I am.

Happy Thanksgiving, dear readers! I am grateful for all of you, for your support, for your friendship, for the light you shine in my life.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Operation: 23 to 0 supports veterans, raises awareness about suicide November 11, 2024

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Each pair of boots displayed at the vigil represents a veteran who lost his/her life to suicide. Here, PV1 Damian Wilson of Connecticut. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2024)

CODY, DAMIAN, NICOLE…and 20 others. Twenty-three military veterans recognized, honored, remembered during a 23-hour vigil beginning at noon Sunday and ending at 11 a.m. Monday. Twenty-three, because 22 veterans and one active military duty member, on average, lose their lives via suicide in this country every single day. The average age is 59 ½. Twenty-three because the veterans’ support group Operation: 23 to 0, southern Minnesota chapter, organized this event at the Rice County courthouse in Faribault.

At the vigil late Sunday afternoon, supporters and those holding vigil gather. Boots edge the veterans’ memorial and the courthouse steps in the background. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2024)

That organization aims to reduce the number of deaths by suicide via providing a network of support and by raising awareness. As the daughter of a Korean War veteran who suffered from post traumatic stress disorder, I fully understand the need, the cause. This resonates with me on a personal level.

The Operation: 23 to 0 flag flew beside the American flag. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2024)
A bucket of roses, with roses placed in each deceased veteran’s boots, sits at the vigil. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2024)
Donated food and beverages for those holding vigil. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2024)

Because of that and because I care, I stopped by late Sunday afternoon to pay my respects and to show my support for Operation: 23 to 0 and for the veterans holding vigil. Those included Kirk Mansfield of Faribault, whom I’ve come to know through the years as an incredibly caring and compassionate individual dedicated to helping veterans. Mansfield is quick to point out that this is a team effort, that it takes a whole network of people, including the American Legion family, to make a difference.

The photos, the stories, the boots, the messages…personalize the loss. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2024)
Images and words identify veterans who died via suicide, who are missed deeply, who were recognized. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2024)
He was not only a soldier, but a violinist. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2024)

He shared stories of a struggling young veteran in Iowa who needed a place to live, of a pregnant woman who lost her partner (a veteran) to suicide and who brought her now young daughter to the vigil in Faribault. He mentioned, too, a young veteran he was expecting later. Someone who is struggling.

Anyone who stopped by the vigil could see this message, that they are valued. They matter. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2024)

As I stood next to Kirk, the cold November wind sweeping up the hill, chilling me, and darkness descending, I saw the light of hope. That comes across not only in this vigil, but also in a message posted between stones honoring branches of the military. The poster reads: “If you are looking for a sign to NOT kill yourself today—This is it. You are loved. You do belong. You are worthy.” What a powerful message of hope.

An eagle and eternal flame center the Rice County Veterans’ Memorial by the Rice County courthouse. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2024)

On this Veterans Day, when we honor all who served our country in the military, those caring words matter. They matter because people (whether veterans or not) are struggling. Perhaps struggling with finances, relationships, mental health or any myriad of issues that create feelings of hopelessness.

Loving messages on a veterans’ boot. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2024)
Flags, boots, roses, all honor the veterans who died via suicide. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2024)
Love and grief on a pair of boots. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2024)

Each pair of boots placed at the Rice County Veterans Memorial or at the foot of the courthouse steps represents someone who loved and was loved, but who now is among the twenty-three.

I really like this message spotted on a dog tag on a veteran’s boot. “His story isn’t over.” (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2024)

Operation: 23 to 0 is dedicated to being there. To listening. To supporting. To networking. To doing. To raising awareness. I see that. And I am grateful.

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FYI: If you or someone you love is feeling hopeless, know that someone wants to help you. Talk to a friend, family member, professional. Call or text the 988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline. Learn more about Operation: 23 to 0, which is based in Stillwater and has three chapters in Minnesota. You are loved.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Whooping cough warning & my story November 8, 2024

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CONSIDER THIS A PUBLIC SERVICE announcement. A warning. A firsthand account of a disease you don’t want to get. That would be pertussis, also known as whooping cough.

Nineteen years ago, I experienced a severe case of whooping cough which left me coughing uncontrollably, gasping for air and using an inhaler. I would not wish this bacterial respiratory tract infection on anyone. It’s that bad. I was sick for three months. Terribly sick. It isn’t called the 100-day cough for nothing.

NUMBERS ARE HIGH

So why am I writing about something that infected me nearly two decades ago? Well, because whooping cough cases are raging across the country, including right here in Minnesota. We are at an eight-year high with 1,622 confirmed and probable cases reported to the Minnesota Department of Health as of November 7. That compares to only 61 total cases in 2023.

Right now, my county of Rice has 11 of those cases. As one would expect, densely-populated areas rack the most reports of pertussis. In the eight metro counties in and around Minneapolis and St. Paul, 1,308 people have had whooping cough thus far in 2024, according to MDH stats. That’s just reported cases. The southeastern section of Minnesota, where I live, is also seeing plenty of pertussis.

I can throw more statistics at you. But I won’t. Rather, I’m attempting to increase awareness, to suggest you check your vaccination record. That shot you got as a kid does not last forever, as I obviously learned in 2005. I have a message in to my doctor right now checking my vaccination status for a possible booster.

UNCONTROLLABLE COUGHING, EXHAUSTION & FIGHTING TO BREATHE

Looking back to the summer of 2005 when I was infected with pertussis, I remember how awful I felt. I laid on the couch, coughing uncontrollably, beyond exhausted because I couldn’t sleep for all the coughing. The worst was the night I felt my airway closing. I gasped for air, struggled to breathe. In hindsight, my husband should have called 911.

It took three visits with my then doctor to get a correct diagnosis. Only when I coughed in his office (whooping cough has a distinct sound, thus the name “whooping”) did my physician suspect I had pertussis rather than bronchitis. I was his first diagnosed case in his 30 some years of practicing medicine. Early symptoms of runny and stuffy nose, low-grade fever, and mild cough mimic the common cold.

HIGHLY CONTAGIOUS

How do you catch whooping cough? The answer my doctor gave me back in 2005 was this: “You could have gotten it waiting in line at the grocery store.” He’s right. It’s that contagious.

Once diagnosed a month out from symptom onset, I went on an antibiotic, although it was a little late to gain the full benefits of that. My entire family also got on antibiotics. Still, two of them got pertussis, albeit much milder cases.

The gravestone of Deloris Edna Emilie Bode in Immanuel Lutheran Church, rural Courtland. My aunt died of whooping cough. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

DEADLY SERIOUS

Pertussis can be serious, especially for the little people in our lives. My Aunt Deloris died of whooping cough in 1935 at the age of only nine months. Granted, more medical intervention is available today. But still, this darling baby, daughter of Lawrence and Josie, died of pertussis. My heart breaks every time I think of baby Deloris.

So that’s my health spiel for today. Be aware that whooping cough is out there. And you really don’t want to catch it.

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NOTE: If you are anti-vax, know that I am not and I will not publish that viewpoint on this, my personal blog. I moderate all comments.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

An unexpected refrain of a pop hit September 20, 2024

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My booted right foot. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2024)

OOPS!…I DID IT AGAIN. The title of Britney Spears’ 2000 hit fits the latest verse in my life song. Nothing else about the song relates, only the title.

Late Wednesday afternoon, while skirting a tower fan partially blocking my home office doorway, I stubbed my right little toe on the door frame. Hard. Like I may have heard a crack hard. Instant pain shot through my toe as a censored version of “Oops!…I did it again” shot from my mouth.

I knew this was not good. I hobbled my way toward the kitchen where Randy was preparing supper. And, yes, I still call the evening meal supper. “I think we have to go to the clinic,” I said, explaining why. I don’t recall Randy’s reaction other than informing me he was half-way into cooking our meal so the urgent care visit would need to wait. One plate of broiled salmon, seasoned potatoes and orange slices later, we were heading for the clinic.

Two years ago I severely bruised the little toe on my left foot and wore this boot. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo August 2022)

But not before I asked Randy to search the back of our bedroom closet for a walking shoe. You see, almost exactly two years ago, I jammed my left little toe into the baseboard corner of our kitchen peninsula. That time I severely bruised my little toe. “Oops!…I did it again.” Except with the right foot.

Upon arriving at the clinic, I limped inside, waited in line to register and then sat down in the waiting area. It was 6:05 pm. I propped my injured foot atop a round coffee table to keep it elevated. I worked a crossword puzzle. A text message alerted me that I was seventh in line. I noted the worn out furniture, the stale air, daylight shifting into evening.

I am not good at waiting. Multiple texts were not encouraging. There were “unexpected delays,” the apologetic messages read. My appointment time shifted from 7:10 to 7:20 to 7:50. I was not happy.

My eldest daughter texted at 7:18 pm. “How’s your toe?”

“Still waiting at the clinic. I should have stayed home,” I replied. “Too many coughing people here. Toe hurts & starting to turn purple.”

Shortly thereafter, a nurse called my name. Finally. I was getting my vitals taken, getting quizzed about my injury and on my way to answers. That meant a trip upstairs to x-ray. I accepted a wheelchair ride. Much quicker and less painful than limping along. Three x-rays later and I was back in my room awaiting an official diagnosis.

This time around I did not have a badly-bruised little toe, but rather a fractured one. Officially: There is an undisplaced fracture present along the distal aspect of the 5th proximal phalanx. Undisplaced is better than displaced. That diagnosis was confirmed on Thursday by a podiatrist, whom I will see in four weeks for more x-rays and a healing check. In the meantime, I’ll wear that unattractive sandal-like shoe with the rigid bottom, tape my little toe to its neighboring toe, ice, elevate and pop OTC meds as needed.

A broken toe is certainly not a major injury when the fracture is simply a crack not requiring surgery. I’ve broken a shoulder and shattered a wrist (that requiring a surgical implant). There really is no comparison. This toe break is more of a tolerable inconvenience.

Yet…the timing is bad. Is any time ever good to break a bone? Probably not. But my eldest and I are co-hosting a baby shower for my second daughter this weekend. A niece is getting married in eight days and that includes a wedding dance. I have things to do. Enter Randy. I made a list of jobs for him to do, work I would typically handle such as carting laundry up and down the basement stairs. If I could read his thoughts, they are likely an updated version of Britney Spears’ song, rewritten as “Oops!…here we go again.”

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Reflections & updates June 10, 2024

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Photographed at the Rice County Master Gardeners garden in Faribault on one of my meandering walks. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)

WHEN I GO FOR A WALK, I’m either walking to primarily exercise or to photograph. One involves fast-paced movement to increase my heart rate. The other entails a leisurely pace of observing the world around me.

There was a time when I always carried my camera. No more. I need to feel the freedom of just being, without thought of, oh, I need to photograph that. If I’m without my 35 mm digital camera and absolutely need to take a photo, I will use my smartphone.

An example of exercises I did in vestibular rehab therapy. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2023)

A NEW PERSPECTIVE

What prompted this change? My health. Last summer was, for me, the summer that wasn’t. I was primarily housebound from April through September due to long haul COVID. You’ve probably read my story, detailed here. I dealt with balance, sleep, sensory and other issues. All aspects of my life were affected. I left my house only for medical appointments because I couldn’t handle being out in the world of noise, light, sound, movement. I felt overwhelmed. I sat in my darkened living room, curtains drawn, lights low, no sound.

But here I am, a year later, with six months of vestibular rehab therapy behind me, and doing significantly better. Time and a lot of hard work on my part got me to this better place health-wise. I still deal with residual sensory issues. But mostly, I manage. And when I don’t, I temporarily sequester myself.

That I am back walking and photographing is, in many ways, remarkable. Last summer I couldn’t walk half a block due to imbalance. And I certainly couldn’t use my camera. I credit my physical therapist for patiently working with me, helping me regain my sense of balance and build my tolerance and ability to manage sensory overload. There is hope for anyone dealing with similar issues. But it can be a difficult road. There’s no denying how often I felt unheard, unsupported, without hope.

My new prism-heavy prescription eyeglasses. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo May 2024)

DEALING WITH VISION ISSUES

At the same time all of this was happening, I was experiencing increasing double vision. In late January, I had bilateral strabismus eye surgery to realign my eyes. It was successful until it wasn’t. In 10-20 percent of cases, the eyes shift back to misalignment post-surgery. Mine did. I opted to try prism-heavy prescription lenses before considering a third surgery. I had my initial eye surgery at age four.

Four weeks out from getting my new prescription eyeglasses, my eyes and brain are still adjusting. The prisms have mostly corrected my double vision. But I’m struggling with distorted close-up vision, specifically slanting. I’m hoping, with time, that will vanish. I also can’t see things clearly on my computer screen, which is problematic when writing and when processing photos.

But onward I forge. Sometimes I push myself too much, taking too many photos, doing too many things. That results in strained, aching eyes and headaches. Often I feel just plain tired due to all the effort it takes to simply see. My brain and my eyes are working hard to focus my vision.

A page from Eric Carle’s book, From Head to Toe.

TAKE NOTHING FOR GRANTED

Too often in life, we take things for granted—the ability to walk, to hear, to see. And then something happens to us or someone we love and we realize that, hey, none of these are givens. I recognize that I have a responsibility to take care of myself in the best way I can. Sometimes that means walking to stay fit and sometimes that means walking to feed my creative spirit.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

So my vision is a little distorted right now May 16, 2024

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My new glasses with added prisms have rather thick lenses (especially the left one) near the nosepiece. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted and edited photo May 2024)

“DO NOT WEAR your glasses when you leave here,” she warned. I listened. I didn’t want Heidi picking me up off the pavement outside the eye clinic.

“Be careful going up and down steps tomorrow,” Randy warned Tuesday evening. I listened.

A MAJOR CHANGE

Just hours into my first day of wearing new prism-heavy prescription eyeglasses on Wednesday, I understand why my optician and my husband issued those warnings. These new glasses, which are supposed to help me deal with double vision via prisms, are a big change. Make that a major change.

Time will tell whether I can handle the “5 base in” horizontal prisms ground into each lens. That’s ten total, which Heidi says is a lot. I don’t pretend to understand all of these numbers. But the neuro ophthalmologist who did recent surgery to realign my eyes said I really needed fourteen. He didn’t think I could tolerate that amount.

TRYING TO AVOID ANOTHER SURGERY

Hopefully I can manage the prisms added to my glasses. If not, I will need to consider more surgery, something I’m hoping to avoid. I’ve already had bilateral strabismus surgery twice—at age four and most recently in late January. Immediately post-surgery, my eyes were in near perfect alignment. But then they reverted to being misaligned in a “significant regression of surgical effect.” This happens sometimes.

So here I am today, trying a new prescription with more prisms in hopes it will help me achieve “comfortable binocular vision” and avoid a third surgery on my eyes.

AN OVAL DINNER PLATE

As I type, I am looking at a computer screen that appears slanted, curved. My world is distorted. I’d been warned, but didn’t think the distortion would be quite this bad. A dinner plate, when tilted, appears oval rather than round. And when I pulled a key lime pie from the oven, I nearly dropped it. I saw a pie that was sliding; it wasn’t. I feel almost like I’m up high looking down on the world. It’s weird and odd and disconcerting.

But I’m trying. I intellectually understand that my eyes and brain are adjusting. I must give it time. Two weeks minimum, my surgeon said.

My optician, Heidi, who has supported me from pre-surgery through today, advised me to keep wearing my new glasses, as tempted as I am to pull out my old ones with fewer prisms. I stashed them in a drawer. Out of sight, out of mind. Well, maybe not out of mind.

HOLDING HOPE

I’ll check in with Heidi today. She asked me to do that, going above and beyond because she gets it. She also deals with double vision and prism eyeglasses. Her positive attitude and encouragement have helped me tremendously. The word “hope” runs strong in our conversations.

And that is my focus, along with being really really careful on steps and elsewhere as my eyes and brain adjust to these new lenses through which I view a currently distorted world.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

The eyes have it until they don’t May 7, 2024

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 5:00 AM
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My old glasses atop info about bilateral strabismus eye surgery. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo November 2023)

“SIGNIFICANT REGRESSION OF SURGICAL EFFECT.“ Those are words you don’t want to read/hear following any surgery. But, three months out from surgery to realign my eyes, that’s where I’m at with my vision.

During my second post-op check last week with my neuro ophthalmologist, Dr. Collin McClleland, I learned that my eyes apparently have a mind of their own. They are back to not working together. This came as no surprise. I’ve been experiencing ongoing double vision, although less than before my January 22 surgery.

What I didn’t expect was the word “significant.” I knew the possibility existed that my eyes would return to misalignment; I did my homework in advance of bilateral strabismus eye surgery. But who thinks they are going to be in the minority of that final surgical outcome? Not me.

Several days after my January surgery, I was smiling, happy to have surgery behind me, happy with flowers from my family. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo by Randy Helbling, January 2024)

Immediately after surgery, my eyes were in near perfect alignment. I was happy. My surgeon was happy. But then, as my eye muscles healed and my brain and eyes adjusted, the shift began.

Extensive testing during my recent appointment showed “significant regression.” I won’t confuse you with numbers and medical terminology. Suffice to say I’m frustrated and disappointed as is my surgeon. But, Dr. McClelland said, he wouldn’t have done anything differently during surgery. I needed it, and the surgery did improve alignment. I agree. Why my eyes reverted mostly back to their misaligned positions is unknown. I asked. There’s no answer.

I explained to my doctor that it takes effort sometimes to see just one, and not two. That exhausts me. And if I’m doing anything that requires a lot of visual back-and-forth, like shopping, my eyes feel like they’ve done calisthenics. They hurt. Whenever I have lots of sensory input or am doing multiple things, my double vision worsens. I was experiencing all of this before surgery, too.

In the recovery room after surgery on both eyes in January. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo by Randy Helbling, January 2024)

What to do next was the question of the morning. My surgeon offered two choices: One, add more prisms to my glasses and hope that alleviates some of my double vision. Or try surgery again. I was mentally unprepared for this. But I quickly opted for more prisms. I am in no hurry to rush back into an operating room, even if the 1 ½-hour surgery was not horrible and I have full confidence in Dr. McClelland. Surgery is surgery.

So here I am, no line bifocal prism glasses ordered. The lenses will take about two weeks to make given the extensive work required. Then I’ll be without glasses while the lenses are placed in my frames. Then the test begins. Will the added prisms, divided between both lenses, help with my double vision? Time will tell. Prisms bend light before it travels to your eyes and the brain has to sort it all out and create a singular image, or something like that.

The issue, my ophthalmologist explained, is whether I can tolerate more prisms added to my prescription lenses. I could experience distortion, what he calls “the fish bowl effect.” The goal is “comfortable singular binocular vision.” If I can’t handle the added prisms (which are actually less than they should be, but within the hopefully tolerable range), then I will need to revisit surgery.

That’s where I’m at today. Waiting for those prism-heavy lenses. I’m trying to prepare myself for what I know will be several weeks of adjusting to my new prescription. And hoping this non-surgical approach works.

These buildings house outpatient clinics, including the M Health Fairview Eye Clinic, on the campus of the University of Minnesota in Minneapolis. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)

As disappointed and frustrated as I feel about the final surgical outcome, I remain grateful for the vision I do have, even if far from perfect. Sitting in the waiting room at M Health Fairview Eye Clinic in Minneapolis puts my situation in perspective. I have watched little kids there navigating with the aid of a white cane…

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling