Attack of the Psychedelic Hallucinations

It’s been a while, hasn’t it?

Lately, I’ve been having troubles with my eyes. Turning 40 took a toll on my immune system, metabolism, and also my eyesight. Although I needed only a small prescription, +1.00 in each eye, getting glasses really made me feel my age. I hoped that was the last of it. I’d have to change up my exercise and eating regiment, but so far, this getting old thing wasn’t so bad.

The next month came around. I sat in bed watching the news one Saturday morning when I started seeing things. The centre of my field of vision went white, outlined by an undulating black line. I thought perhaps I had glanced at something really bright and I had a light burn in my vision.

The longer I watched TV, the worse it got, so I turned off the TV and went back to bed. The vision issue kept up when I closed my eyes. In the dark, the blob of white slowly turned to an undulating or pulsing rainbow light, like TV snow but rainbow coloured. I thought something bad was definitely happening so I got up, opened up my laptop, and brought up Photoshop. I took an account of where my field of vision had been lost.

At this point, my son woke up and wanted breakfast. I became immediately distracted in making breakfast. By the time I thought to do something about my eyesight, the event had passed.

I chalked it up to stress and a poor night’s sleep, and went about my day.

Fast forward three months to yesterday.

A team member came to ask me about work-related issues. As I looked at her, I noticed a white splotch blotted out much of her face.

Here, The Boo stands in for my team member in re-enacting the attack.

I thought I had perhaps glanced at the sun shining bright outside my office window and put it aside. When the conversation finished, I turned to my computer and open an email. I was stunned at what I found.

I suddenly couldn’t read.

The white blob took up the centre of my vision. Closing one eye or the other brought no relief. The white blob had a black border that crackled like electricity.

Again, I thought I had just glanced at the sun. I turned to look out my office window to find an overcast and cloudy day. The fluorescent lighting is shaded, so it couldn’t have caused this light burn I’m seeing.

A few minutes later, I turn back to my computer. Lo and behold, I can read again! However, the white blob had turned psychedelic and moved a little bit to the left. It’s now a fat streak through my vision. I close my eyes, it’s still there. I close one eye or another, it’s still there.

This might have been a pretty cool phenomenon, had I not been freaking out at the time.

Panicked, I grab my cell and close the door. I call up my optometrist to see about an emergency visit, but all the doctors are out for the day. Instead of making an appointment, I hang up. I turn around and knock everything off of the left side of my desk. Picture one of those comedy moves in the movies where they just use their arm to clear off a table or something.

Now, my left-hand peripheral vision is absolutely gone. It’s similar to closing your left eye. I just can’t see left anymore. Instead, there’s an acid-trip-like rainbow blob churning and flashing where my left peripheral vision used to be.

Like one of those pictures where, if you stare long enough, an object appears.

I’m now feeling nauseous, whether it’s from the panic or the attack of whatever I’m having. I silently freak out in my office while I call up my optometrist again. There, I speak to the receptionist and make an appointment. As I’m studdering a little on the phone, she asks me what I’m seeing.

The more and more I talk, the more and more the attack starts to fade. Within 30-45 seconds while I’m on the phone, it’s gone and I’m able to see perfectly clear again. As the receptionist and I speak, she tells me. “Don’t worry. I think what’s happened is you’ve just suffered an ocular migraine.” I do a quick Google search and bam! That’s exactly what I just saw.

She calms me down and we make a ‘just in case’ appointment for Sunday.

As I get off the phone and frantically text my husband about what just happened, it dawns on me that I’ve had this experience before: my earlier account of sitting in bed and seeing a rainbow spot.

For the rest of the day, I pay close attention to my head. Other than a brief span of 10-20 seconds of sharp, stabbing pain behind one eye, nothing else happens.

According to Dr. Google, the scientific term is scintillating scotomas (try saying that five times fast). Other than reading up on a few different varieties of the ocular migraine, I stay away from Dr. Google as much as I can and go about the evening. That includes bothering my cat with my phone-camera-paparazzi skilz.

Perhaps if I blend in with the couch and wood floors, she can’t see me.

We’ll see how the appointment on Sunday goes.