It was getting dark in here and a bit smudgy. I could no longer drive legally at night and it was inevitable. James, who I never manage to correspond with, much as I want to, said to do it five or six months ago. That was when the optometrist suggested that it was time to introduce me to a surgeon. But I wasn't ready.
The operating room was cold, but the process was interesting and the
surgeon was willing to describe what I might be seeing…caused by the intensity
of the light. I saw three small pink circles in a field of changing color, orange, lavender, green, orange again. Sometimes the dots moved, revealing black as if there was a mask underneath them. Later,
when he was taking out the actual cataract, the field was pale gray with white crackles…and I
knew when he was putting in the lens because of the extremely narrow lines of white
light…
The nurse had spoken to her supervisor and I had to delete
all the photographs I took that included any patients or staff…she stood behind
me after the operation and watched, to make sure. But I kept a few blue elbows,
which didn’t seem to bother her.
Waiting with all the other people waiting, some older than me, some a bit younger, men and women, the men looking more sprightly, strange as that seems, took far longer than the operation did……….a long
time sitting there, trying to write about years ago when I had my toe nail
taken off and was in a New York hospital near women with serious problems…a
mastectomy, an amputation. And was certain I’d die from the anesthesia. I
didn’t. I’ve heard so many stories about
how easy this cataract experience is and that when it’s over, it’s over. Never again in
that eye. Cataracts don’t redevelop.
I must have been nervous, though, in spite of what I thought
because I went to the wrong office for my next morning after-inspection. You
are not allowed to make any important decisions for 24 hours after the surgery.
This wasn’t a decision and not all that different in terms of mistakes than I
do make – arriving an hour too early or too late or on the wrong day. But it
was a first for a wrong office, the one in Boston rather than Cambridge. Oh, well. The surgeon, an incredibly pleasant man, didn’t mind my taking
photographs. Many eye doctors are also photographers, though of a very refined
and classical bent. Landscapes that are perfectly in focus and beautifully
printed.
Now my left eye sees everything in a heavy tinge of light.
Whites are really white. My right eye still gives a yellow tinge. Yesterday
when I visited friends, their house was yellow when seen with one eye and a
very pale, pale yellow, verging on white, when seen with the new lens. I can’t
imagine how awful all the photographs I’ve lightened recently must look…. oh, well…
