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| It's the one on the left, it works better than it looks |
Monday saw the second eye op. This one was free, on the NHS. The first, due to various exigencies, cost two grand. The same consulting surgeon did both.
Car driving was out. As I taxi-ed to the hospital, I chose to be blasé: been there, done that. Hardly worth a half-post. But I was wrong.
In the waiting room they were handing out Rich Teas, quite an austere, certainly adult biscuit. Americans must Google I fear.
A nurse holds your hand, allowing you to signal if you're about to cough. Eye ops are delicate; one wouldn't wish a 0.5 mm incision to morph into one 5 mm long. I was struck by the quiet, unforced sympathy of the hand-holding nurse who prepped me. There was no way such a manner could be taught. She explained hand-holding has a secondary function - human contact for the conscious patient in the operating theatre.
During the op I sensed a mild stinging and realised it was the blade doing the cutting. The anaesthetic is local and of shortish duration.
I was required to concentrate on a pink light which ebbed and flowed. I referred to this as "psychedelic" but the surgeon misheard. "Like magic mushrooms," I explained. He complimented me on my knowledge and I said I'd got it from a friend – “a good friend”. General laughter.
That night I woke up and found vision horribly blurred in the treated eye. Knew I wouldn't be able to sleep. Got up and edited the novel, two-ish in the morning. Went back to bed after a couple of hours, fatalistic and depressed, but slept well. This time when I woke the blurring had gone. Like being reborn – as an optimist.
Ah. I'm so glad it went well, after all!
ReplyDeleteI've had many parts of me cut, had things poked into most orifices, and endured years of complicated dentistry, I won't say without fear and trembling, but I have usually managed to keep myself under control.. I'm not sure how I would endure what you described even with the held hand.
ReplyDeleteBravo !
I think because it's such a frequent and overwhelmingly straightforward op it's easy to assume it will never be problematic or painful. But even those which might be called horror stories seem to come out all right in the end; we've had a few bad moments but the final conclusion is it's been well worth it. It sounds horrid, but I'm glad it's feeling better now. Good to be able to distract yourself with the novel, but not too much computer yet perhaps?
ReplyDeleteAll: The three of you know me well enough to be aware I'm rigorously anti-sentimental. But sentimentality seems to be the residuum of surgery (it was with the first op too) and even now, three days later, I'm warmed by your responses.
ReplyDeleteVR volunteered to come with me. I hivered and hovered, thinking it would be a burden for her. Now I'm glad she did, even if she did almost wear out her Kindle in the waiting room.
Anon: I deliberately put in that bit about "stinging" not to horrify readers but to show that the anaesthetic not only suppresses pain but induces a very welcome sense of detachment. I felt proud of being able to arrive at the conclusion I described. I suspect you would have behaved the same way.
Lucy: What else would you have me do? Garden? J'existe parce que j'écris.
That "anonymous" was me. Don't know why that happened.
ReplyDeleteNow both eyes can see the world in all its glory! And of course all its....non-glory.
ReplyDeleteI hope the former exceeds the latter wherever your newly sharp gaze focuses.
Glad the op has turned out well and praise be to the blessed hand-holder.
Natalie: Got to have bad stuff as well - good for writing. Hand-holder a deeply attractive woman yet the experience was non-erotic: a comfort in the widest sense. And a sort of beneficent confirmation of the decision I took, several years ago now, that my novels from then on would concern themselves mainly with women.
ReplyDelete