![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Second Sight
Oct. 23rd, 2006 06:38 pmSight
n 1: an instance of visual perception; "the sight of his wife
brought him back to reality"; "the train was an
unexpected sight"
2: anything that is seen; "he was a familiar sight on the
television" or "they went to Paris to see the sights"
3: the ability to see; the faculty of vision [syn: vision,
visual sense, visual modality]
4: a optical instrument for aiding the eye in aiming, as on a
firearm or surveying instrument
5: a range of mental vision; "in his sight she could do no
wrong"
6: the range of vision; "out of sight of land" [syn: ken]
7: the act of looking or seeing or observing; "he tried to get
a better view of it"; "his survey of the battlefield was
limited" [syn: view, survey]
I
I awoke from the soft embrace of the sofa couch to the seductive commentary of the Golf Channel. It was about 3 o’clock in the afternoon. I cleared my head and immediately tested my sight on the television screen. The vision in my right eye was bright, but blurry. When I alternated looking through my right eye, only, and then my left, I noticed a sharp difference in contrast and detail, good in my left, bad in my right. I was beginning to panic. The doctor had screwed up. My medical plan had foisted a quack on me, and my sight would pay the price. I had pushed my luck too far, believing that a “perfect” second cataract operation was possible. I silently cursed my optic luck: I should have waited, I should have sought out my previous surgeon, I should of…... Then I decided to but this out of my head, for now, pretend that everything was going to be fine, and stop overreacting.
I spent the rest of that evening taking my post-operation medications and watching TV. There was one, small, nagging, hope left in my Pandora’s Box of post-surgical expectations. I was experiencing a small degree of itching, soreness, and discomfort in my new right eye. Was I expecting too much at this time? Was 20/20 vision in my new right lens an unreal hope? Was my discomfort a sign that my eye was recovering from a huge physical trauma and it was still hurt and swollen? It seemed hard to believe, because there was no real pain. But, I decided to sleep on it, and give my eye more time to recover before I made a final judgment on my plight.
II
The previous morning, at 7:30 a.m., I underwent cataract surgery for the second time. The experience was no less nerve wracking than it was three years ago, when I had no idea what to expect. Knowing the sequence of events and procedures leading to the oblivion of anesthetic did not make me feel safer or more secure. In fact, it was worse. I was anticipating things, like, the embarrassment of being unable to tie the strings of the surgical smock behind my back, the creeping coldness that covered me as I lay on the gurney waiting for the anesthesiologist, and the fear that statistics were always present in an operating room, and that surgery was fraught with possible disasters. I was scared then, and I was more scared now.
What calmed me was my wife’s nearby presence. She had awakened early, driven me to the surgical center, and patiently sat with me as I, silent and stoic in the lobby, waited to be “prepped” for surgery. Even when separated, I knew she was near, worrying and praying for a successful operation. Her thoughts would keep me safe. Mindful breathing, with my eyes closed, could not shorten the long, chilly, and distracting wait in the “prep room”. Eventually the anesthesiologist arrived, introduced himself, and left. Soon after, I was wheeled into the operating room, saw my doctor and a nurse, and fell asleep. I awoke, without bandages, to a nurse telling me that my wife was on her way. She was the first thing I remember seeing after the operation.
I knew what had happened in the operating room from my prior research of the procedure. An incision is made in the membrane of the eye, and the diseased cataract lens is extracted. Then a new and clear artificial lens is implanted. In all, the operation takes about 15 minutes, with another 30 minutes to recover from the anesthetic. It is a simple procedure, barring bad luck, infection, or error. The nurse assured us that everything had gone well, and she recited the litany of post-surgical medications and precautions I needed to follow.
With a weary sense of relief, I managed to walk steadily to the locker room and clothe myself. I retraced my steps back to K and the nurse who waited with the necessary wheel chair, and finally, I climbed into the passenger seat of the car. As my wife drove home, all I wanted to do was slip onto the family room couch, close my eyes to the sound of a golf tournament on television, and sleep. Everything would be fine with rest and sleep.
III
Today was a new day! What a relief it is to see clearly!
When I awoke this morning and got into the bathroom, I noticed a big improvement. My right eye felt better, and the difference in visual clarity between right and left eye was smaller. However, precise vision in my right eye still seemed to come in waves, undulating from high to low definition, and back again. My eye felt more normal, less swollen, and without soreness, but I was still nervous and unsure. After breakfast at the local coffee house, I left to the “post-op” visit to my doctor.
It was so comforting to hear him finally validate what I had begun to suspect this morning. The clarity of detail in my recently operated right eye was slowly improving after yesterday’s operation; the doctor’s message was positive and affirming. He was pleased by the speed in which my vision was returning. It would take 6 weeks to heal completely, but detail would improve steadily. However, a question still nagged me as I drove home from his office. Why was this recovery so different from my first cataract surgery three years ago? After my first cataract operation, EVERYTHING WAS IMMEDIATELY BETTER! I did not recall experiencing any fear or panic then.
Then I got it. I had been diagnosed with cataracts in both eyes three years ago, but medical protocol dictated surgery in only one. So I had opted for the removal of the most diseased lens, my left, leaving my right for a later operation. After the first surgery, it did not matter that my left eye was sore, swollen, and blurry, my vision was better than it had ever been before. I was no longer seeing light and objects through a veil of thick yellow lacquer that obscured details in a dark golden glow. Everything was now bright. When I alternated between eyes, my new lens showed the promise of continuous light, while my right hid it through an opaque film.
I suppose I had been looking forward to another epiphany of light and clarity after this second operation. It did not happen. My new eye was not born in a flood of brilliant illumination. Instead, it only promised a steady revelation of detail as I recovered from trauma and soreness. Pretty soon my sight would seem ordinary and normal. It was sad, in a way. My roll coaster ride of emotions was ending; it had gone from uncertainty, fear, and panic, to joy, disappointment, and acceptance. I would finally be left with two cataract-free eyes and the potential of seeing clearly. What a challenge, and what a gift! Will I have the wisdom to see what is truly there, or just the ability to perceive light and objects? We will have to wait and see.
(Friday, October 20, 2006)
n 1: an instance of visual perception; "the sight of his wife
brought him back to reality"; "the train was an
unexpected sight"
2: anything that is seen; "he was a familiar sight on the
television" or "they went to Paris to see the sights"
3: the ability to see; the faculty of vision [syn: vision,
visual sense, visual modality]
4: a optical instrument for aiding the eye in aiming, as on a
firearm or surveying instrument
5: a range of mental vision; "in his sight she could do no
wrong"
6: the range of vision; "out of sight of land" [syn: ken]
7: the act of looking or seeing or observing; "he tried to get
a better view of it"; "his survey of the battlefield was
limited" [syn: view, survey]
I
I awoke from the soft embrace of the sofa couch to the seductive commentary of the Golf Channel. It was about 3 o’clock in the afternoon. I cleared my head and immediately tested my sight on the television screen. The vision in my right eye was bright, but blurry. When I alternated looking through my right eye, only, and then my left, I noticed a sharp difference in contrast and detail, good in my left, bad in my right. I was beginning to panic. The doctor had screwed up. My medical plan had foisted a quack on me, and my sight would pay the price. I had pushed my luck too far, believing that a “perfect” second cataract operation was possible. I silently cursed my optic luck: I should have waited, I should have sought out my previous surgeon, I should of…... Then I decided to but this out of my head, for now, pretend that everything was going to be fine, and stop overreacting.
I spent the rest of that evening taking my post-operation medications and watching TV. There was one, small, nagging, hope left in my Pandora’s Box of post-surgical expectations. I was experiencing a small degree of itching, soreness, and discomfort in my new right eye. Was I expecting too much at this time? Was 20/20 vision in my new right lens an unreal hope? Was my discomfort a sign that my eye was recovering from a huge physical trauma and it was still hurt and swollen? It seemed hard to believe, because there was no real pain. But, I decided to sleep on it, and give my eye more time to recover before I made a final judgment on my plight.
II
The previous morning, at 7:30 a.m., I underwent cataract surgery for the second time. The experience was no less nerve wracking than it was three years ago, when I had no idea what to expect. Knowing the sequence of events and procedures leading to the oblivion of anesthetic did not make me feel safer or more secure. In fact, it was worse. I was anticipating things, like, the embarrassment of being unable to tie the strings of the surgical smock behind my back, the creeping coldness that covered me as I lay on the gurney waiting for the anesthesiologist, and the fear that statistics were always present in an operating room, and that surgery was fraught with possible disasters. I was scared then, and I was more scared now.
What calmed me was my wife’s nearby presence. She had awakened early, driven me to the surgical center, and patiently sat with me as I, silent and stoic in the lobby, waited to be “prepped” for surgery. Even when separated, I knew she was near, worrying and praying for a successful operation. Her thoughts would keep me safe. Mindful breathing, with my eyes closed, could not shorten the long, chilly, and distracting wait in the “prep room”. Eventually the anesthesiologist arrived, introduced himself, and left. Soon after, I was wheeled into the operating room, saw my doctor and a nurse, and fell asleep. I awoke, without bandages, to a nurse telling me that my wife was on her way. She was the first thing I remember seeing after the operation.
I knew what had happened in the operating room from my prior research of the procedure. An incision is made in the membrane of the eye, and the diseased cataract lens is extracted. Then a new and clear artificial lens is implanted. In all, the operation takes about 15 minutes, with another 30 minutes to recover from the anesthetic. It is a simple procedure, barring bad luck, infection, or error. The nurse assured us that everything had gone well, and she recited the litany of post-surgical medications and precautions I needed to follow.
With a weary sense of relief, I managed to walk steadily to the locker room and clothe myself. I retraced my steps back to K and the nurse who waited with the necessary wheel chair, and finally, I climbed into the passenger seat of the car. As my wife drove home, all I wanted to do was slip onto the family room couch, close my eyes to the sound of a golf tournament on television, and sleep. Everything would be fine with rest and sleep.
III
Today was a new day! What a relief it is to see clearly!
When I awoke this morning and got into the bathroom, I noticed a big improvement. My right eye felt better, and the difference in visual clarity between right and left eye was smaller. However, precise vision in my right eye still seemed to come in waves, undulating from high to low definition, and back again. My eye felt more normal, less swollen, and without soreness, but I was still nervous and unsure. After breakfast at the local coffee house, I left to the “post-op” visit to my doctor.
It was so comforting to hear him finally validate what I had begun to suspect this morning. The clarity of detail in my recently operated right eye was slowly improving after yesterday’s operation; the doctor’s message was positive and affirming. He was pleased by the speed in which my vision was returning. It would take 6 weeks to heal completely, but detail would improve steadily. However, a question still nagged me as I drove home from his office. Why was this recovery so different from my first cataract surgery three years ago? After my first cataract operation, EVERYTHING WAS IMMEDIATELY BETTER! I did not recall experiencing any fear or panic then.
Then I got it. I had been diagnosed with cataracts in both eyes three years ago, but medical protocol dictated surgery in only one. So I had opted for the removal of the most diseased lens, my left, leaving my right for a later operation. After the first surgery, it did not matter that my left eye was sore, swollen, and blurry, my vision was better than it had ever been before. I was no longer seeing light and objects through a veil of thick yellow lacquer that obscured details in a dark golden glow. Everything was now bright. When I alternated between eyes, my new lens showed the promise of continuous light, while my right hid it through an opaque film.
I suppose I had been looking forward to another epiphany of light and clarity after this second operation. It did not happen. My new eye was not born in a flood of brilliant illumination. Instead, it only promised a steady revelation of detail as I recovered from trauma and soreness. Pretty soon my sight would seem ordinary and normal. It was sad, in a way. My roll coaster ride of emotions was ending; it had gone from uncertainty, fear, and panic, to joy, disappointment, and acceptance. I would finally be left with two cataract-free eyes and the potential of seeing clearly. What a challenge, and what a gift! Will I have the wisdom to see what is truly there, or just the ability to perceive light and objects? We will have to wait and see.
(Friday, October 20, 2006)
