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Better Than A Poke In The Eye With A Sharp Stick

Baby Stella, now eight months old, was born with clogged tear ducts. Not the upper-lid set that produces tears, but the lower set by the bridge of the nose that allows them to drain. As a result, her eyes and surrounding areas have been chronically teary and frequently infected, with a resulting discharge that could earn a cameo role in a George Romero zombie movie.

The condition is common and usually self-correcting. It is not considered serious, unless the self-correcting feature fails to engage, as in Stella's case.

A quick scan of the "Troubleshooting" section in the Baby Owner's Manual came up negative for tear ducts. I was hoping for a quick fix; something along the lines of "make sure unit is plugged in." Unfortunately, the Eye chapter suggested seeking medical attention, which is as bad as finding out you have to call customer service.

The pediatrician started us on a six-month course of redundant and self-contradictory paperwork, with some antibiotic eye drops thrown in as a little party favor for Stella. The only instruction was to make sure that nothing ever touched the tip of the dropper and contaminated the medicine. Here are three things I learned: 1. Babies do not like eye drops, especially if they sting; 2. If you want to be sure that nothing ever touches the tip, you have to apply the drops from a height of three feet; and, 3. Annie Oakley couldn't get drops into the eye of a thrashing baby from that distance.

With persistence and wrestling technique, we managed to get some of the drops into her eyes, although there was significant runoff waste. The antibiotics did clear up the infection, but the ducts would remain clogged, and we'd still have to go after her crusty little eyes with a damp cloth several times a day, a routine which proved to be as unpopular as the drops.

When the condition had still not improved after three separate rounds of antibiotics, we were finally sent to a specialist, who took approximately five seconds to recommend a surgical procedure. No big deal, he assured us, we just run a thin wire down through the duct to open it up. He drew us a picture to describe the process, at which time we realized that he was talking about a four-inch wire that would emerge somewhere back in Stella's sinus cavity. Striking my best "I knew that" pose, I attempted not to pass out. Call me a wimp, but there is something about this whole wire-through-the-baby's-eye deal that was a bit outside of my comfort zone.

As if to put us at ease, he showed us the tool he would use. I expected something thinner, like a hair's width, but this thing looked more like an unfolded paper clip. It wasn't what I'd call a slam dunk presentation, but what the heck, he's an eye doctor, not a salesman.

So of course we went ahead with it. The procedure took about five minutes, and the anaesthetic, which was gas, wore off right away. Stella woke up crabby and disoriented, but she calmed down quickly, which is more that I can say for a number of adults I know, for whom crabby and disoriented is a way of life. Besides, she needed some time to get over this annoyingly realistic dream where some geek in a pale green Klan outfit had dental-flossed her skull with a ukulele string. Cripes.

It seems to have worked. No more infections from clogged tear ducts. Of course, we need to keep administering eye drops for another two weeks to make sure there's no infection from the procedure, but we've become pretty good at that.

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© Todd Pinsky 1998-2002. All rights reserved.