So, anyway, we went to Riley in Indy. We got there just in the nick of time—there was construction and traffic and all sorts of nutsness. We didn't have to wait at all, which was awesome. I also had pre-filled out the paperwork, so I didn't have to deal with that, either.
The doctor examined a silly, cheerful Henry, and informed us that he has congenital ptosis (a droopy eyelid). She said that it takes a kid up to the age of eight to develop his vision, and she strongly encouraged us to wait until he's at least four years old to do the surgical procedure that would correct the lazy muscle in his eyelid. Here were her reasons:
- His vision is fine right now.
- His friends won't notice it for a long time (until he's probably at least four years old).
- If we wait longer to do this fairly simple, outpatient procedure, it apparently becomes easier to avoid scarring (cosmetically speaking).
So, Henry's okay. He's got a wonky eye, and I love him. We'll probably address it when he's around four years old unless they determine that his eyelid is causing issues.
She did reiterate that this droopiness will not go away on its own. I always ask that. Call me nutty.
Okay. I'm really tired.
I was all disoriented last night at the Brown (Scott and Mary's) house because I thought I was at my house, and I woke up in the middle of the night all sweaty and confused and yelling for Nora. I woke up Henry and Willis in the process. It wasn't pretty.
I don't even know what the dream was. I just remember wondering why our closet light was on (and it wasn't our closet light—it was the hall light at the Brown house).
Sleep, please! Thanks! Bye!