My cataract surgery
I began writing this column with great difficulty. My typing which is typically bad, was worse than ever. Aside from employing only six fingers as a self-taught user of old upright and heavy Remington typewriters in the newsroom, I was using only one eye to find the keys.
Last week, I underwent surgery on my left eye for the removal of cataracts. The cataracts, which have been under observation for four years, finally ripened and had to be scraped off. My doctor assured me that it was age appropriate. Thanks to my HMO and Philhealth, the cost of the procedure didn’t hurt at all.
I had heard so many who have been through it say that a cataract operation is no big deal. It is an outpatient, 15-minute procedure after which one could go home and resume normal life with near perfect vision restored.
Well, it wasn’t that simple. Once diagnosed, I had to get a cardiac clearance from a cardiologist. The elderly doctor I chose from the roster at my HMO’s desk was very thorough. He made me go through an entire gamut of tests that to me seemed unrelated to my eyes — ECG, complete blood exam, lipid profile, chest x-ray, abdominal ultrasound, urinalysis. It felt like a complete executive check-up, which I went through willingly since everything was covered by my health insurance.
The next step was to schedule the operation. I had out-of-town trips lined up and tight deadlines to meet, but the procedure had to be done within a month after the cardiac tests or I’d have to go through them again. So a date was found — last Monday, after my doctor’s clinic hours.
The surgery was done in a sterile operating room. I was plugged to an IV, a heart monitor snd blood pressure equipment. An anesthesiologist was in attendance, ready to inject through the IV line an antidote to any possible complication during the operation. Above me hovered something that looked like a microscope and on my right was a screen that must have been the source of the electronic voice and what sounded like the screeching of a vacuum cleaner that scraped the cataract from my eye. I was given oxygen so I wouldn’t suffocate under the thick sterile blanket that covered my face while the doctor worked on my eye. All this for absimple eye operation!
The doctor walked me through every step of the procedure. All throughout, my eye was held open with a speculus, that allowed him to work without having to deal with my constant blinking. He told me to look down or up or straight ahead to the light that flickered and glowed and faded as he worked. It was quite a spectacular show. From under the sterile blanket, I saw my disembodied eye up close, and a sea of silver fish that turned into tiny bubbles.
Considering that I had actually consented to have my eye sliced open and cleaned inside out and a microscopic lens planted into it, I thought I was doing fine, relaxed and joking with the anaestheologist. The procedure was painless, the doctor’s hands were light and sure. But when I felt some pressure, I realized that I wasn’t relaxed at all. My back, which was supposed to be flat on the table, would arch and my shoulders would tighten. I was totally aware of everything that was happening, including the anesthesiologist injecting a sedative into my IV line. I wanted to tell him to stop because I was all right, but I was afraid I would disturb the surgeon who was inserting microscopic instruments into a hole on my left eye.
The operation took longer than I expected. The doctor said my cataracts were thick and hard. He removed the speculus but I was not to close my eyes hard, which, of course I did, quite automatically, causing the wound in my eye to open. But no worries, the doctor poured some liquid in my eye and I was ready to go.
He covered my eye with a thick wad of sterile gauze and fitted what looked like a welder’s mask over my eyes. I was to wear the protective glasses even in my sleep. Because of the sedative that was injected into my bloodstream, I had to stay in the recovery room until my blood pressure, which hit 170 during the operation, went down to below 140, which didn’t take long.
My first thought when the awesome high tech procedure was over was, how did Rizal manage to perform such a delicate operation under primitive conditions while in exile in Dapitan? My doctor was very particular about keeping the eye sterile to prevent infections. He put me on a regimen of antibiotics — oral and eye drops. In the squeaky clean operating room, I wondered about the standards in place when Rizal was performing eye operations. How many people actually became blind due to infection? And I thought of the people who testified in a congressional hearing about cataract operations in fly-by-night clinics that went wrong, all charged to Philhealth.
I have to go around for a few days wearing the ridiculous plastic glasses that make me look like Bono or Chavit Singson and the eyedrops continue every four hours. But already my vision is clearer, the world looks brighter, like it has just been given a good bath after a strong cleansing rainfall.
I will have to go through this procedure again when the cataract in my right eye is ripe enough. For the reward of clear vision, I will go willingly.
