As incongruous as it sounds, I have not been able to write lately because I've been putting together a book. For most people making a book would involve writing, but I am doing with previously written materials what I also do with leftovers--combining them in new, preferably palatable, ways to use them up. Having launched another of the Lamb book into the Amazon, Life Lines of the Lamb, and putting another, Legacy of the Lamb, into a Word document, I finally have time to write about my cataract surgery.
I already knew I did not like anything touching my eye. I could never have managed contacts. After getting drops for eye exams, I noticed I could feel my body oozing out of the exam chair where it had partially embedded itself to get as far away from the drops as possible. When I was 19, I got a paint chip in my eye when scraping a wall for painting and was willing to leave it there the rest of my life rather than have it removed. My fiance had to back me into a corner and hold my arms down while a coworker scraped the chip off my eye with the corner of a soft dollar bill. What I didn't know before today is that there is actually a name for that fear--ommetaphobia. The information said it could spring from a bad experience. The only eye-dea that comes to mind, is when my older brother accidentally shot a rubber tipped arrow into my eye while attempting to hit the balloon I was stupid enough to hold for him at what I considered a safe distance from my body.
I wish I had known I had ommetaphobia when I went to my cataract appointment. It sounds more clinical than wussy. But I was willing to subject myself to eye surgery in order to be able to drive after dark. Northwest Montana in summer has long hours of daylight, but the bill for that comes due in the winter through long hours of darkness. My driving day ended at dinnertime. Oncoming headlights looked like sparklers, but not in a good way. More like aiii! than aah. My doctor assured me that meds would have me nice and relaxed for the procedure. That proved to be a lie almost on the level of a state of the union speech. Driving to the surgery center in a white out blizzard turned out to be the relaxing part of the experience. For one thing I spent two hours in the back anticipating the surgery because a general anesthesia patient required extra time. I knew I was nervous because I could not recall any scripture or even songs to comfort or distract myself. The measly med, l.5 mg Versed, didn't relax one eyelash. I flinched when they put in the frame to hold my eye open. The procedure itself was painless, my eyeball was totally numb, the panicky part was seeing lights coming at my eye and not being able to look away. The doctor had the nurses on each side of me hold my hands. I do not know if that was to comfort me or if he thought I might try to scratch his eyeballs out. There was no music playing, so I supplied sound effects, an embarrassing whimper. The drive back to our house in the blizzard distracted me temporarily, but I had flashbacks of those frightening lights for two hours after getting home.
At my appointment during the inter eye interval I call blurvana, Dr. Barth assured me the next surgery would be better. It was not off to a good start when they told me to report for surgery at 7 a.m. I am not a morning person and knew I would not sleep if cataract surgery was my wake up call. But then they changed the time to much more manageable 12:30. As the last patient of the day, the only person who could delay me, was me. Dr. Barth also arranged for a nurse anesthetist to administer a higher dosage of meds. I could still see the lights coming at my eye, but they were blurry. No flashbacks this time. Eye survived. My newly implanted lenses allow me to see, with perfect clarity, the age spots, crepe and other imperfections of my skin. My new prescription glasses provide better distinction for distance than I had when my last pair was brand new. And I'm starting to glimpse the possibility of driving after dark. Oncoming headlights are more globby than glaring. So, after all that, am I glad I had cataract surgery? Aye, eye.
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