AN EYE (LENS) FOR AN EYE!
“Time to go in for a cataract surgery!” The doctor’s
cheery words sank in and there I was once again, following the self-same routine
of eye drops at fixed times during the day. Around eight years back, I had got
a cataract removed from my left eye in a tiny hospital in Chennai. Despite all
my apprehensions, it had been an almost pleasurable experience with a kaleidoscope
of colours and a sensation of water flowing into my eye. I came out of the
surgery smiling for all I was worth.
I hoped that my second surgery would be as easy and as
pleasurable. Surprisingly, I was more tense this time, even though I did not
anticipate any pain or discomfort. My husband and I made our way to the
hospital in the morning. After my eye had been dilated, the pressure taken and
the usual tests done, I was taken into the inner room where I had to don a pink
hospital gown over my clothes. There was an older gentleman who was promptly
given a blue gown. Colour-coded according to gender, no doubt.
We waited outside the operation theatre, eyes doused with
drops, as scurrying shadows went by. Finally, it was time to walk into the
theatre.
Uncle was the first to be operated on. As I lay by, I
could hear the doctor asking him to put his chin down and open his good eye… he
was obviously a trifle hard of hearing and had to be constantly instructed.
Maybe that is what made me a wee bit apprehensive. The nurses had briefed us
outside.
“Please let the doctor know if you feel a sneeze or a
cough coming on! No sudden movements!”
After ten minutes, as I lay waiting, the clear voice of
the doctor still saying, “Chin down, Uncle!” my earlier bravado seemed to have
deserted me. In this scenario, “Chin up!” seemed out of place.
The doctor said, “It’s over, Uncle!” There was a hint of
relief in her voice, and I have no doubt that Uncle was even more relieved. I
could sense the doctor coming towards me.
“All set?” she asked me cheerily, her face masked in
green. I smiled nervously and nodded. She turned to the nurses. “Play some
music!”
The lights were bright, my left eye covered, and a clamp
set on my right eye so that it would not move. “Keep your left eye open,” she
instructed me. I was so determined to keep my chin down and my eye open that I
froze, hardly breathing, as the surgery got under way. Water trickling into my
eye, I felt the bright light that glared at me, a few colours though not as
many as my earlier surgery, and a pressure that indicated that the new lens was
going in… many sensations and emotions went through my mind, as I lay there
like a block of stone.
Finally, it was done, and the music suddenly came on. The
old Hindi number – ‘Likhe jo khhat tujhe…”
The doctor smiled down at me. “We’re done!”
Sheer relief engulfed me, and I said the first thing that
came into my mind.
“The music came on only now.”
She laughed and admonished her nurses jokingly.
“Girls, I told you to put the music on earlier!”
By then, I was in seventh heaven. My surgery was over,
the cataract removed and my vision back to normal. I thanked the doctor and
walked out to the recovery room, where I had to stay for an hour’s observation.
When my husband came in, he was expecting me to smile as
widely as I had done the first time. My smile may not have been as wide, but my
relief was palpable. A final check-up and I was ready to go home.
Back home, we checked out the eyedrops and medicines. A
schedule had to be made, and adhered to!
The first five days were the toughest, and, in another
sense, the easiest. Though I had been told I could watch TV and read, I
desisted. My better half did not allow me to move a limb. No straining, no
cooking, no washing dishes, or my face! I sat on the couch and listened to the
classic short stories of Somerset Maugham on YouTube Music, a wonderful
collection with brilliant narration.
During my earlier cataract surgery, I had got acquainted
with ‘Cold Play’. This time, I savoured all the music I loved. It was a period
of relaxation and rejuvenation… and thorough pampering!
When my niece asked me how I was
feeling, I replied,
“Well, I have never felt better, and never looked worse!”
For the one thing that I had to forgo was using kajal in
my eyes and cream on my face for a month. I was so used to looking like a
racoon all the time, and I now looked like a dying duck.
A fortnight has gone by, and I have almost got back to my
normal activities, including going to school with my white goggles that shield
my eyes from dust and water. Many are the curious glances thrown at me, but most
people are aware of the reason I look like a scuba diver, albeit a rather
unglamorous one!
I can only applaud the expertise of the doctor who worked
on my eye, and that of the courteous hospital staff members who strive every
day to ensure that patients get the best treatment. There is a counsellor who
explains the whole process of the surgery, the insurance and the healing
process. A retina specialist came into the picture, as there seemed a minor issue,
but she too was reassuring. Luckily, that issue did not come up at all during
the surgery.
My friends and my family have been sending me messages, off and on.
Some are in the process of having their own cataract surgeries as well. Like I have
often said, “If you do need to have a procedure, the best one to have is a
cataract surgery. It is painless and there is no discomfort.” I have been
lucky, both times, and I thank God, the surgeons and my husband for that.
To end on a jocular note, I am relieved that I have only
two eyes, unlike Ravana, with his ten heads and twenty eyes. Can you imagine
the time it would have taken to perform twenty surgeries, and the deluge of eye
drops to follow? Gosh, that would have been the height of tedium, and would
have left the Lanka ruler with no time to think of abducting Sita. Putting eye drops
at regular intervals during a heated battle is no easy task, I imagine.
As I go around seeing a brighter world, it is time to don
my rose-coloured spectacles all over again!
Wonderful. Loved the end
ReplyDelete