N=1

A week ago I got a surprising diagnosis, so what happens next?

For a few months now I’ve had floaters in my eyes. They’ve been bothering me. So I did what I often do when I have a health problem: I ignored it, telling myself the problem would go away by itself.

But when the vision in my left eye started to get occluded, I suspected I had a more serious problem.

It takes a lot to get me to go to the doctor. But the floaters weren’t self-resolving and my vision was getting noticeably worse.

Reluctantly, I made an appointment to see an ophthalmologist. The eye doctor wanted to see me ASAP.

“I either have a brain tumor or I need surgery,” I said to my husband before I left.

I couldn’t see there was a letter on the screen

The tech at the eye doctor’s had me do an eye test. My right eye got an A+. But when she asked me to read the largest letter on the screen with my left eye, I couldn’t even see that there was a letter on the screen. It was a black smear that may or may not have had straight lines.

Turns out it’s not good to be nearly blind in one eye.

The ophthalmologist believed I had a “detached retina,” which would likely require emergency surgery—laser if it were straightforward, non-laser if not—and that the procedure needed to be done immediately to keep the retina from detaching further. He referred me to a retinal specialist who wanted to see me right away.

On the one hand, it’s rather wonderful when medical doctors find you interesting. On the other, you don’t ever want to have anything going on with your health that actually interests a medical doctor. Believe me on this.

So my left eye and I drove to the retinal specialist. We may have cried the whole way. Crying is good for your eyes.

At that point in my day, the idea of taking a knife to my eyeball was terrifying.

Hence the crying.

Little did I know that I would’ve been lucky to have that be my eyeball’s only problem.

Did you know you can ultrasound an eye?

The retinal specialist came in wearing a mask. He took it down to talk to me. “He has a face,” I said happily.

Then he shoved an ultrasound wand into my eyeball.

I didn’t know you could ultrasound an eye. I’m a science writer who focuses on health and wellness.

I found the ultrasound part really interesting. I should write an article on ocular ultrasounds, I thought. The thought made me chuckle. But the doctor was not smiling.

Melanoma of the eyeball?

After all the exams were completed and the husband had been dropped off by a dear friend (we only own one car), the doctor made his diagnosis.

“I think you have melanoma. In your eye,” he said. “I can’t be one hundred percent sure but that’s what it looks like to me. I see a greater than 10 millimeter tumor.”

I hadn’t seen that coming. Get it?

Apparently there’s a five in a million chance of this kind of cancer. For the past five years, my husband has been dealing with a life-threatening heart condition so rare it only affects one in a million people.

What are the odds? Wait. We know the answer to that question already.

It feels philosophical … that I may have a tumor in my eye

My eyes have always been one of my best features. They’re green, like my mom’s were and my grandma’s. When I wear any shade of green, people often compliment me on my eyes.

Plus, I’m a writer who strives to open people’s eyes to injustice and hypocrisy, especially when it comes to how corporate greed and for-profit medicine put profits over people.

So what am I not seeing? What have I turned a blind eye to? Why a tumor in my eye?

If I go the allopathic medical route, first I need to confirm the diagnosis via an MRI. If it’s cancer and it hasn’t spread, my options are to have a radiation patch sewn onto the white of my eyeball and then radiate the heck out of my eye or the doctors may recommend that we try shrinking the tumor via proton beam therapy. Either way, according to the retinal specialist, even if they get the cancer, I risk losing my sight in that eye. And/or losing my eyeball.

This kind of cancer can metastasize and spread, via the bloodstream, to the liver.

“Then it’s a whole different ballgame,” he said. Metastatic ocular cancer isn’t a walk in the park. Here I am, a woman who makes a living as a science writer, using clichés and mixing metaphors. It must be serious.

(You may not be vibing with my weird sense of humor. If you aren’t, I don’t blame you. But laughing is good medicine and I’m not quite ready to be all gloomy and doomy like the doctor was.)

Chris beat cancer, so can I

I know a lot of people who have died of cancer. Our neighbor’s son (brain); my mother-in-law’s ex-husband (prostate); my grandmother (lung); the owner of Picadilly’s bikes in Ashland, Oregon whose daughter did gymnastics with my daughter (brain); my dear friend Debbie’s young husband (colon); Dr. Toni Bark (esophageal).

In November of 2020, a friend died seven days after she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. She was younger than I am. Her death was sudden, age-inappropriate, and devastating.

I also know a lot of people who have beat cancer. My friend Iris (breast); my friend Jane’s mom (stage 4 metastasized cancer in four of her organs); my dear colleague who’s a homebirth obstetrician (prostate); my father-in-law (throat); Chris Wark who wrote a spectacular book called Chris Beat Cancer; and many other friends and relatives and acquaintances.

Maybe I should be sadder and more scared but I’m not. This feels like a growth opportunity. It’s fascinating to me that I have cancer, to be honest.

In scientific studies n refers to the sample size. That is, how many participants are included in the experiment. In this case n=1. I am the n. A case study of one person.

Game on. We’ll see what happens next.

If you made it this far, thanks for reading.

Love,

Jennifer

About the author:

Jennifer Margulis, Ph.D., is an award-winning science writer. She’s the author/editor of eight books and the mother of two young adult children and two teens. Support her work and the fight for medical freedom by becoming a paid subscriber to Vibrant Life. Or buy her a cancer-healing organic wheat grass shot via Venmo: @Jennifer-Margulis-2.

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