Eye Surgery …and Then!

It’s strange how we can go through days, weeks, months at a time without a single deviation from our routine. The sameness of our day to day happenings can devolve into boredom or even ennui. Occasionally and too infrequently the routine can be broken up by a life changing event, which granted aren’t always happy. If we’re really bored with our existence, we might be lucky enough to have a life changing situation happen at least once a year just to shake things up.

I was real, real lucky yesterday. I had two life changing events happen to me yesterday (March 19). Two in one day!

First, I had cataract surgery on my left eye. Since I would not be in any condition to drive home after the procedure, it was recommended, nay required, that I have someone drive me to and from the appointment. Warrior Queen graciously volunteered to take me to surgery. I was told to report at 6:45a for registration.  

I hope you can see where this is going.

I could not have anything to eat or drink after midnight, so our usual morning coffee ritual had to be postponed. I offered to make coffee for WQ, but she refused. After all, who could pass up the opportunity to grumble at intervals that she did not have coffee that morning, act miserable, and make sure everyone she came into contact that morning knew that she did not have her coffee and was miserable because of it.

I said, “Hey, how do you think I feel? I can’t have breakfast or coffee and I have to be there at 6:45a, and I’m the one going under the knife?”

WQ: “I didn’t have my (unintelligible) (unprintable) coffee!"

No empathy whatsoever.

I was told to allow three hours for the surgery, as if I were planning my whole day and would be able to do other things afterward to fill out the day. First, registration, or that process where you confirm you are who you are, and that you have adequate means (insurance) to pay for it all. Naturally, more time is spent on the latter determination then the former.

Then back to the prep area, where I donned a gown, vital signs were taken and recorded, a needle was stuck in my wrist for later anesthesia, drops of this and drops of that were applied to my upturned eyeball, placed on the center rack of an oven preheated to 425 degrees for two hours, and served with candied sweet potatoes and succotash…but still no coffee.

Sorry, I seem to have digressed…

Then waiting to be taken to the first procedure, a laser which would burn away the actual cataract. All I had to do was lie on my back, fitted with a special cup like device, through which I would see a light show. This took all of 45 seconds, or less time it took to type this description of the procedure.

Then back to the prep room where I was hooked up to my sedative and wheeled into another room. Here a blue sheet was placed over my entire head (my dear claustrophobic wife WQ would have been freaking out at this moment, but fortunately she was, I hope, downing cup after cup of java provided by the surgery center), and a bright light was aimed at my eyeball.    

Then, with what seemed like mere moments and constant reminders from the surgeon and the anesthetist to keep the eye wide open, the procedure was done.

In recovery, unhooked from the IV, stood up so I could get my bearings, dressed and given instructions for the next week. Eye drops of various medications every day: becavinase, somethingelseoranother, and ilevro (the latter named after the Marx Brother who ran away from vaudeville to become an ophthalmologist). Reunited with (at this point) a highly caffeinated WQ, we left the surgery center and made the three mile drive back home within seconds.

Apparently the coffee at the surgery center was that good, so good that it converted the gasoline in WQ’s car into some sort of high test rocket fuel...

Once home, we noticed that the light was blinking on our answering machine. The message was from my brother, who said he had some news about my Mom. I phoned him right away and got the message that I had been expecting for the last three weeks: Mom had passed away that morning at the nursing home. 

Mind you, it was only 9:30a at this point.

(Thank you for reading and TO BE CONTINUED…)