You'll Go Blind If You Keep Doing That (Part 1)

Can running cause blindness? In my unique case, the answer appears to be yes. "Too much bounce, bounce", they say.

A few weeks ago, I noticed that my left eye was having trouble focusing. No problem, I thought - it’s about time to update my eyeglass prescription anyway. For us 50-something aged people, this is a common ritual.

But then my vision got worse. Much worse. And in the strangest of ways.

While out on an early morning trail run, a constellation of small black dots appeared in my left eye, floating around the edges of my vision. When the sunlight was bright, the black dots drew like light pens, temporarily flashing white scribbles in my peripheral. After a few minutes of this, I came to a full stop. The black dots did not. They instead began growing in size, ever so slightly, moving towards the center of my eye like an eclipse.

Um, yeah. Can someone please tell me…WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK IS HAPPENING.

My brain spun up the denial engine right away. I just need rest. Maybe better sunglasses or new swim goggles. Too much screen time. Yeah, that’s it, too much screen time, for sure. But it was hard to ignore this black planetary system, present with eyes open or closed, darting around at will. The panic washed over me in increasing waves. I sat on the trail, anxiously fidgeting my phone, and booked the soonest ophthalmologist appointment I could find.

Not much later, I was at the doctors office in Vienna, a bit more composed, but still haunted by the ever-present celestial carousel. I had not seen Dr. Y before, but knew she is an Austrian doctor, so I was going to get a diagnosis today, in person, with absolutely zero sugar coating or bedside manner. They tell it to you straight in these parts, which can be annoying in social settings, but for medical treatment, it’s exactly what you want.

After 30 minutes of examination, she paused for what seemed like forever (uh, oh). She took my hand (oh, shit), and then drew a big circle with a scribbled out black part (not good), saying the German word “erblinden” far too many times (pretty sure I know what that means). Then she stood up, and nervously walked me out of her Vienna office, and pointed me to the emergency room at a hospital down the street.

“Surgery today. Do not wait until tomorrow,” she said bluntly. She shook my hand, said good luck, and walked away.

Jesus. This is really happening.

The next appointment was a flurry of tests, 3D eye photos, questionnaires, and consultation from multiple doctors. The doctors were incredibly kind, imperturbable with my English/limited German, but also nudging me along as fast as possible. My diagnosis was a retinal tear in both eyes, leading to a retinal detachment in my left eye. The retinal detachment was basically my eyeball peeling off of the back of the my eye, advancing quickly, and would result in blindness in a few weeks if not treated immediately. Daaang.

The black dots? Blood was filling the cavity caused by the retinal detachment. I was seeing the reflection of the blood drops.

What caused the retinal tear and detachment? Unclear, but likely a few bigger contributing factors. They referred to a pre-2005 Lasik surgery that didn’t age well, and a “history of head traumas” from cycling, trail running, and heavy metal concerts. The phrase “head trauma” felt excessive here, but they count anything that knocks you on your ass hard enough to see stars or lose your balance, and Lord knows I have a bunch of those, with a collection of broken helmets to prove it. Yet, this is still a rare condition (1 in 20,000 or so), mostly reserved for diabetics with a history of glaucoma, boxers, or car accident survivors.

Why was it coming on so fast? “Likely running. Too much bounce, bounce.”

How about that. Running is making me blind.

What next? Laser surgery was the fastest remedy, and time was of the essence (in Austrian medicine, this means “the room is being prepped right now, so you’ve got five minutes to visit the chapel if you want”). They would check on progress the next day or so, and if it doesn’t work, they put me under general anaesthesia, pump my eyeball full of gas, and cryotherapy the backside of my eye in the hope that it permanently scars into place. So, “stick a needle in your eye” like those kids rhymes, but also inject gas and freeze it…fuuuuck me. Some childish innocence lost in the realization there is a much more sinister version.

And, oh yeah, no reading, no screens, no flying on airplanes, no exercise, and minimal head movement for the foreseeable future. A.k.a., 95% of your daily life is over. “No more bounce, bounce for a while”. I thought about asking if the Boston Marathon could still be possible in five weeks to keep my streak alive, but could foresee the Austrian flat-mouthed response - Nein, Herr Dunlap. This is a full stop life moment.

The first round of laser surgery felt like a book of matches caught fire in the center of my skull. Such a weird place to feel pain, almost more madness than agony. The medical students enjoyed my parlour trick of meditating my heart rate in the low 30’s during the surgery, and I promise them all free adidas Sambas if their skills can help me avoid the needle-freezy thing. The docs said the laser surgery went well, but they wished they could have reached more, could foresee many complications, so let’s see. No sugar, no cream, Austrian style.

A second round of laser surgery a few days later had more success, thanks to a faster-than-expected healing that reshaped the cornea, and some masterful laser work by Dr. G. The black dots soon disappeared, and the matches reduced to embers. Time to take a few days off and let the body do its thing. The docs say this where being fit really helps, and given that “my blood vessels heal like a teenager”, Dr. G’s smile was particularly promising.

So here I am.

I spend the days sitting motionless in the dark, discovering newfound joy in the sounds and smells of a busy home. The dogs are at my side at all times, partly because I spill everything I eat, but also because I am closer to the hourly pet nap schedule than ever before. I don’t miss the screens at all, but I do worry what life would be like without them, should the surgeries not succeed. There is much fear to be found in the dark abyss as time compounds.

To all the running Substackers coming back from injury or sickness (Raziq, Sarah, Nico, and more), your motivation pulls me forward daily, even when spoken by the strange robotic voices of a text-to-speech translator. I thank you deeply and sincerely for sharing your words.

When Christi (my wife) holds my hand, a rainbow of colors shoot across the dark abyss, twirling like secrets in the wind, circling my pain with warmth and tranquility like a lullaby. I have much to be grateful for.

And I am getting better.

I will bounce, bounce again someday soon. ;-)