With any other patient, this would have been a fastball smack dab in the middle of my wheelhouse, and I would have been the exemplar of cool, calm professionalism. I tried my best to be the same with her, but underneath, I found myself second-guessing my initial impressions.
By the following morning, her photopsia had increased, and I was starting to question whether or not I should even go to New Orleans, much less her accompany me. After all, we learned the hard way when my left retina detached while vacationing in California two years ago that our family doesn’t exactly have the best of luck when it come to travel and vitreoretinal traction.
I knew all the odds and statistics by heart—and they were in her favor. But when it comes to treating a loved one, there’s only a sliver of space between evidence-based and emotion-based medicine, and I was in a tight spot. I sensed I needed a second opinion, a sidewalk consult with a trusted colleague who would give me an objective viewpoint and feel free to call out my BS.