(no subject)
Well, today I had cataract surgery on the left eye. Even when I know what is going to happen and virtually no pain is involved, I still find my body rigid as a board, my fists clenched, my jaw locked, and terror reigns. I do believe this is the result of an eye injury 30 years ago that almost cost me my left eye. Injury site erosion for 18 months included episodes of unimaginable pain.
I was scheduled to arrive at 9:30 to be prepped and have the procedure at 10:30. The team was backed up over an hour, so I finally went into prep just before 11:00.
A nurse first put drops in my eyes to numb them, similar to novocaine. Then drops to start dilation of the eye. These are repeated twice more at about 10 minute intervals.
I have a 'stand-by IV' mounted to my right hand, my left arm wrapped in an automated blood pressure cuff, and 3-4 contacts for EKG monitoring stuck to my chest. As a precaution, a sticker is placed on the forehead above the selected eye. This surgeon is not going to mistake on which eye to operate.
In all, prep takes about 30 minutes, mostly allowing time for the drops to work their magic on my eyes.
Then I am carefully walked by a nurse into the OR where I lay down on a special table that has a padded U shaped cup for my head to rest in, and this also helps to immobilize the head. A special microscope with a very strong light is adjusted over the designated eye. Then the eye is disinfected, the eyelid and surrounding area scrubbed and prepped.
A plasticized sheeting is placed over my face with adhesive encircling the eye to ensure that the sheet stays in place and to trap the eyelids in an open position.
While this is going on, the surgeon has situated himself comfortably beside my head; adjusting the table height, positioned my head to permit his easy access, adjusted the microscope to his satisfaction, ensured all tools are available and assistants in position.
Then the incision. That allows him to insert a tool that breaks up the natural lens of the eye, where the cataract is, and removes it. While this is happening, I am staring at a very bright light and trying to remain still, trying not to move my eye, but to stare on and on at this bright light. The light dances everywhere as the surgeon's action distorts the eye as he searches for all of the tissue involved with the cataract.
Once he has removed all the natural lens, he calls for the lens insert. All the time as he works, he is flushing the eye with a sterile solution that washes away any bacteria that may be present. He then inserts the lens into the 'wound', (as he calls it) positioning it carefully.
When he is satisfied that all has gone according to plan, he seals the 'wound', flushes the eye a last time, removes the covering sheet from the operating area and tapes a mesh cup over the eye to protect it from injury.
I am assisted in sitting up on the table and aided in transferring my now more relaxed body into a wheelchair and rolled out of the OR.
A few minutes relaxing, having a cup of juice, and waiting as the nurses finish updating records. Then I am wheeled out of the Surgical Center to a waiting car and chauffeured home.
I have an appointment tomorrow, as the surgeon does a follow-up check, then again in a week and in a month. By then, virtually all has healed and he can determine if I need a prescription for glasses.
I may need simple reading glasses, but probably nothing stronger or more complex.
I was scheduled to arrive at 9:30 to be prepped and have the procedure at 10:30. The team was backed up over an hour, so I finally went into prep just before 11:00.
A nurse first put drops in my eyes to numb them, similar to novocaine. Then drops to start dilation of the eye. These are repeated twice more at about 10 minute intervals.
I have a 'stand-by IV' mounted to my right hand, my left arm wrapped in an automated blood pressure cuff, and 3-4 contacts for EKG monitoring stuck to my chest. As a precaution, a sticker is placed on the forehead above the selected eye. This surgeon is not going to mistake on which eye to operate.
In all, prep takes about 30 minutes, mostly allowing time for the drops to work their magic on my eyes.
Then I am carefully walked by a nurse into the OR where I lay down on a special table that has a padded U shaped cup for my head to rest in, and this also helps to immobilize the head. A special microscope with a very strong light is adjusted over the designated eye. Then the eye is disinfected, the eyelid and surrounding area scrubbed and prepped.
A plasticized sheeting is placed over my face with adhesive encircling the eye to ensure that the sheet stays in place and to trap the eyelids in an open position.
While this is going on, the surgeon has situated himself comfortably beside my head; adjusting the table height, positioned my head to permit his easy access, adjusted the microscope to his satisfaction, ensured all tools are available and assistants in position.
Then the incision. That allows him to insert a tool that breaks up the natural lens of the eye, where the cataract is, and removes it. While this is happening, I am staring at a very bright light and trying to remain still, trying not to move my eye, but to stare on and on at this bright light. The light dances everywhere as the surgeon's action distorts the eye as he searches for all of the tissue involved with the cataract.
Once he has removed all the natural lens, he calls for the lens insert. All the time as he works, he is flushing the eye with a sterile solution that washes away any bacteria that may be present. He then inserts the lens into the 'wound', (as he calls it) positioning it carefully.
When he is satisfied that all has gone according to plan, he seals the 'wound', flushes the eye a last time, removes the covering sheet from the operating area and tapes a mesh cup over the eye to protect it from injury.
I am assisted in sitting up on the table and aided in transferring my now more relaxed body into a wheelchair and rolled out of the OR.
A few minutes relaxing, having a cup of juice, and waiting as the nurses finish updating records. Then I am wheeled out of the Surgical Center to a waiting car and chauffeured home.
I have an appointment tomorrow, as the surgeon does a follow-up check, then again in a week and in a month. By then, virtually all has healed and he can determine if I need a prescription for glasses.
I may need simple reading glasses, but probably nothing stronger or more complex.