I am writing this with one eye, and a computer.  Had cataract surgery yesterday on my left eye. That could be a good title for a movie—-“My Left Eye.” My ophthalmologist has his own surgical facility across town, and every Wednesday, he pops out old cataracts and pops new lenses into the eyes of 30 patients.

His surgical hospital is across town, and my friends, Paula and Fay drove me there.  I didn’t know until the day before the operation when the procedure was scheduled. That was more stressful than the anticipated surgery, because I had to put my friends on hold.

Since I was ordered not to eat or drink anything after dinner, naturally, my surgery was scheduled for 12:45 the next day. It was Yom Kippur (the Jewish day of fasting and Atonement) all over again. I really could have thought about being a better person with a cup of coffee. So, what did my selfless friends do? They went out for lunch and had fun without me, while I was wheeled into the operating arena, met the nurses and the 12-year-old anesthesiologist whose name was Dr. Holt. I winked at him because my eye was filled with assorted drops. He came back ten minutes later and introduced himself to me one more time, “I am Dr. Holt.” I winked and said, “Dr. Holt, it’s my eye that’s in trouble, but my brain is perfectly fine.” So, how smart is it to mouth off to the guy whose supposed to make you feel no pain?

Before being wheeled into the surgery room, my surgeon/doctor came in to check on me. At least I think that masked man was my doctor. I looked at him with my good eye and saw that he was dressed funny.  Finally, I was wheeled into the operating room, and a nurse strapped my head to the table. I said, “Are you sure this isn’t an electrocution? I really wasn’t that rude to Dr. Holt.” (I have seen reruns of those movies on HBO.) She didn’t laugh, but did prop my eye open, and a the masked man began the operation.

I was wide awake and watched the whole procedure as best I could through a propped open eyelid. I guess that Dr. Holt’s anesthesia worked, because nothing hurt as I watched three little blue and white balls dance above my eye. Later I was told those were lights.

My friends tossed a coin and lost, so they had to come back for me, and they drove me home.
That evening, I began my assorted eyedrops, and began to follow the instructions: “Don’t bend down.” I guess that meant that I could bend up.  “Don’t lift anything heavier than a bread box.” “Don’t swim.” It was 40 degrees outside. No chance of that. In other words, “Stay put, and don’t worry if your vision is blurry. That is normal.”

The last drop I put into my eye came out of the bottle like a clump of Elmer’s glue. No wonder it said, “May cause blurry vision.” Before going to bed, I taped the prescribed pirate-eye shield over my eye. The next morning my eye lashes were glued to the shield and my eye was glued shut. I wasn’t supposed to touch the eye, so I drowned my lashes and the eye in artificial tears, and unstuck everything. My eye was too blurry to drive, so my friend Paula took me for my post- op appointment. I bribed her by telling her she could come into the Doctor’s office with me and heckle if necessary. I told the ophthalmologist that he looked much better without his mask. Happily he was very pleased with the results of the surgery and told me that I might be blurry for another day or so, but that my vision would be excellent.  He was pleased with his work!

As a clumsy person, I now have to find creative ways to pick stuff up off the floor. I have rediscovered the versatility of my toes, and, since no one can hear me,  I swear a lot!

That’s the story.  One more eye to go!

Esther Blumenfeld