Recovery Update: The Mystery Dot Is on the Move

Another day, another episode of “What Is My Left Eye Doing Now?”

The good news is that there seems to be some movement — literally.

For the last several days, I’ve been talking about the translucent dot in my vision. At my one-week follow-up after the silicone oil removal, the doctor couldn’t actually see the dot I was describing. His thought was that it might be an air bubble.

When I looked straight ahead, it had been sitting near the very bottom of my field of vision.

Today, it has moved.

The dot — bubble, UFO, freeloading tenant, whatever it ultimately turns out to be — has risen a little farther into the bottom portion of my view.

And it’s getting smaller.

At this point, I’d estimate it’s about the size of a 1-cent euro coin in my field of vision.

So apparently my eye has its own European currency now. 🇪🇺🪙👁️

I’m taking the fact that it’s getting smaller as something worth watching. I’m certainly not declaring victory, especially after the doctor told me there’s a possibility I may need injections because of the blood vessels in the back of my eye.

For now, though, I can report:

Mystery dot: smaller.
Mystery dot: moving.
Eye: still red.
Me: still watching everything like a hawk.

Meanwhile, the arm continues doing its impression of something discovered during an archaeological excavation.

It’s crustier, darker, and still looks considerably more dramatic than it feels. Every day it seems to find a new way to look disgusting while apparently continuing to heal.

Between the eye and the arm, my body seems determined to make sure I never run out of material for these updates.

Tomorrow?

Who knows.

Maybe the bubble will shrink again.

Maybe my arm will finally stop auditioning for a zombie movie.

At this point, progress doesn't necessarily have to look pretty. It just needs to keep moving in the right direction.

Apparently, My Eye Is Climbing Now

Another day, another update from the cockpit of Left Eye Airlines.

Yesterday, I discovered that my vision now comes equipped with what looks like an airplane’s horizon indicator.

Today?

Apparently, we’re climbing.

The line across my vision is no longer level. It’s tilted, making the view through my left eye look like an aeronautical instrument telling me the aircraft is headed upward.

This would be significantly more exciting if I were actually flying somewhere.

Instead, I’m sitting here looking through an eyeball that has apparently decided it wants its pilot’s license.

The view itself is still divided into two distinct classes of service.

Above the horizon: blurry and out of focus.

Below the horizon: we are STILL serving vinaigrette. 🥗

So, if my eye were an airplane instrument panel, I believe the current message would be:

CLIMBING. VISIBILITY POOR. SALAD DRESSING BELOW.

Meanwhile, my arm continues healing from my disagreement with my prosthetic, gravity, and the carpet. It still looks considerably worse than it feels, but it appears to be moving in the right direction.

The eye is looking a little less dramatic from the outside, too.

From the inside?

Captain Niel is apparently gaining altitude.

At this point, I'm just waiting for my eye to announce:

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached our cruising altitude. You may now move about the cabin."

Until then, tray tables upright, seat belts fastened, and please keep the vinaigrette securely stored below the horizon.

✈️👁️🥗

My Eye Now Has Its Own Horizon Indicator

Another day, another update from the ongoing adventure known as my left eye.

The good news? My vision is changing.

The strange news? Apparently, my eye now thinks it’s an airplane.

When I look through my left eye today, there is a very distinct horizontal line across my vision. It reminds me of the horizon indicator in an airplane cockpit—the instrument that shows the pilot where the horizon is.

Except I'm not flying a plane.

I'm sitting here trying to see.

Above my personal horizon, things are blurry and out of focus.

Below the horizon?

We’re still serving vinaigrette.

That lower half of my vision still looks like I'm staring through cloudy salad dressing. So apparently my eye has divided the world into two viewing options:

Top half: blurry television.

Bottom half: vinaigrette.

At least there’s variety.

Meanwhile, my arm from last week's disagreement with my prosthetic, gravity, and the carpet continues to look far more dramatic than it feels. It's scabbing over and healing, although judging strictly by the photo, it appears my arm has been through considerably more than I remember.

So the recovery continues.

The eye is still red. The arm is still ugly. The steroid drops have still failed to turn me into the Hulk.

But every day, something changes.

And today, apparently, Captain Niel has a horizon indicator.

Please return your tray tables to their upright and locked position. ✈️👁️🥗

The Silicone Oil Has Left the Building

This morning, I had the silicone oil removed from my eye—the same stuff that's been hanging out in there since my retinal surgery in February 2026.

Six months. Apparently it had finally overstayed its welcome.

The procedure required anesthesia, which means they put me to sleep, did whatever horrifying eye-related things I'm very happy I didn't witness, and woke me back up.

Now I'm home.

I'm still a little anesthesia drunk, my eye is recovering, and I'm officially a pirate.

🏴‍☠️👁️

All I need now is a parrot, a questionable treasure map, and someone to explain why the room occasionally feels like it's moving.

For today, however, the plan is simple: rest, recover, and make absolutely no major financial decisions until the anesthesia wears off.

The silicone oil era is officially over.