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So I Had This Cataract Taken Off….
So, I had this cataract in my left eye. It’s gone now. The vision is still a bit fuzzy, but the main impediment is gone. That’s good. Getting there…eh, let’s just say I’d rather not have to do it again. I’m sure I will; I have one in my right eye. But it’s not bad enough yet. With regard to what follows, I have no criticism of the doctor. He did a great job. Much of my discomfort was from my own imagination.
It seems that when you have a cataract removed the first step is to numb your eye. If you’ve been to the ophthalmologist before you know that before they stick that 500,000 candlepower light in your eye, they put numbing drops in. They do that for cataract surgery too, but that’s not the anesthesia. No, they start an IV and they give you Propofol. That’s right, the Michael Jackson Sleep Forever drug. One minute you’re regaling the doctor about the case you had with Propofol in it, and the next minute you’re wondering why your left eye doesn’t work anymore. That’s because they knock you completely out to put a needle the size of the Seattle Space Needle into your cheek, down about 14 inches, and inject you with the liquid napalm that ensures your eye won’t feel anything, or move. But you feel kind of goofy, so you’re cool when the doctor sits down and says “we’re going to fix the cataract now.”
“Wait a minute, what about the happy juice?”
“We’d have to ask the anesthesiologist. You’ll be fine.” He was right about this.
And with that, the eye surgery begins. You can almost make out the two bulbs of the surgery light above you before the whole world through your left eye starts jiggling. And then there is this gauzing out of your entire visual field in that eye. Because your eye is totally numb, and paralyzed, you can’t focus your eye. Which is probably a good thing, because your lens is now a shadow of its former self. After what seems like forever you feel some pressure and then you see those two lights again, this time more clearly.
“Cataract’s out, lens is in,” the doctor says. He then puts in a stent to control eye pressure, and the nurse dutifully bastes your eyes in some conglomeration of goo and slaps a bandage over your eye that makes you look like you failed pirate school.
“See you tomorrow,” the doctor says.
Because they’re thorough they have already called in, and you’ve already picked up your post-op eye drops which begin the afternoon of the next day after the patch comes off. One drop is a steroid, one is an anti-inflammatory, and one is an antibiotic. That seems prudent. So, you put in the steroid, and you notice that the drop burns a little. You know the drug is supposed to reduce inflammation, but you wonder how that can be when it is mildly uncomfortable at best.
Oh, but the fun has not begun yet. Because the only thing that’s really uncomfortable about this surgery is the post-op eye drops. The rest is, really, a breeze.
Your next drop (which you wait five minutes to put in so you can truly enjoy the prednisone’s lingering effects) is an antibiotic and it doesn’t burn at all. That’s a nice change of pace. Then comes the Ketorolac, the anti-inflammatory. One drop in the old eyeball.
Sweet Jesus!
“Did I get the wrong bottle?”
My wife assures me I did not.
What manner of torture is this? Did the Tabasco company start making eye drops? As you scream and dance around in tiny circles, now half-blind you wonder what the conversation must have been like that day at the drug company
“Max,” the CEO says, “we need a marketing gimmick for this Ketorolac stuff.”
“What’s it do?”
“Reduces inflammation.”
“We could call it a soothing eye bath for your …”
“Nope. Stop. Been done. We need something that will really grab their attention.”
Across the room, Igor, Max’s assistant speaks up. Sounding vaguely like Bela Lugosi he says “put lemon juice in it…” He then emits a laugh that cackles across the rafters.
“Igor, please…”
“I think he’s onto something,” the CEO says.
“Boss,” Max says, “lemon juice would make it burn like fire!”
“Exactly,” the CEO says. “Call Frank in Marketing. This will be our big roll out gimmick.”
“Boss, burn. As in: it will hurt like hell. How is that going to sell the drug?”
“Max, buddy, the doctors prescribe it, they don’t use it!”
“But boss…”
“Max,” the CEO says, “weren’t you ever a kid? You know the reason medicine tastes bad is to show you it’s working. Well, we just use that analytical framework. People will love it.”
“Heh Heh.. maybe put in some Tabasco,” Igor says.
“Igor!”
“Brilliant,” the CEO shouts. “Just brilliant. Max, make it happen!”
When you finally stop tap-dancing like a three-legged man in a minefield, you look at your instructions. You only have to do this eyedrop three more times today.
It’s hard to contain your joy.
But your eye works.
Your vision is clearing.
And those bullets are not that bad to bite on so long as you don’t swallow them.
Published in Healthcare
Here’s to a quick, complete recovery, Anthony.
Cataract surgery is miraculous. The entire procedure takes an hour, including the time you lay down for 15 minutes after it is finished. Schedule for first in the day. By 4:00 PM the same day the clear plastic protective cup comes off and the gauze packing is removed. The cup goes back on, your eyesight is dramatically better, and there is hardly a smidgeon of discomfort. A month or two later, after the second one is completed, you can read, drive easily at night, and see your golf ball land next to the hole 200 yards away, without glasses. Buck up @anthonydewitt, you’re sounding like a big baby!
A few years ago, my boss got cataract surgery and the difference it made his vision without glasses almost made me wish I could get the treatment too.
When a friend had cataracts removed she was surprised to discover that people who she thought had blond hair actually had gray hair.
One of my golf buddies had it done, but it didn’t really work that well and he still has vision problems a year later. From your description, I’m hoping my “early” cataracts stay that way.
Hey, the surgery was fine and the anticipation was worse than the thing itself. It’s the eyedrops, not the surgery I have a problem with. You’d think they could make that a little less like pouring sulfuric acid into your eye…
Now THAT’s funny!
The anticipation of the surgery was worse than the real thing. I had an excellent doctor, and I imply no criticism of him. I just wish the danged drops could feel less like swimming in Tabasco sauce…
Sorry but I couldn’t get past needles and eyeballs. I know that my time will come, too, but I just don’t want to know in advance. Heal quickly, Anthony.
Ugh. I was a child when I had my eye surgeries, so me and my teddy bear became friends with the anesthesiologist.
I was blessedly knocked out cold for the adventures.
Wishing you a speedy recovery!
Uh oh…..I have little starter cataracts, which supposedly aren’t “mature” enough to remove yet. Someday, yes.
I have a good friend who had both eyes done recently, and so far she’s been having a smooth recovery.
I’m gettin’ there. The cataract impairs my vision and there will come a point soon when I will want my vision fixed enough to get the procedure. At least that’s what I am telling myself.
My spouse had this surgery, but he never was able to describe it for me.
So I have wondered even since how the operation can occur, as wouldn’t a person flinch when the good doctor is working on one’s eye?
Thank you for such a clear and detailed description of what happens.
In his case, once the initial fuzziness cleared up, his vision was better than it was when he was in HS. (Until afflicted with cataracts, he had very good vision – I can’t imagine how well he sees now. Often I don’t pull out the binoculars but instead ask him what bird is on the tree.)
I am forgetting how long it takes for the eye to normalize after the surgery, but here is hoping you have the same excellent results.
My cataract surgery was easier than get my teeth cleaned. I don’t remember any pain with the drops. I don’t have great night driving vision however.
Hey, welcome to the club. I had the surgery about a month ago. Hated, hated the ten minutes of surgery (the bright light was unbearable until everything went blurry/bright/kinda swirly) but it was over in a long ten minutes, and the staff was serious but very kind. They brought me treats and coffee afterward, and kept saying that they had heard I’d done very well. After several times receiving this compliment, I said, “Shouldn’t the kudos be going to the doctor?” Because the success took no expertise on my part, just holding very still and trying to bear up by clutching the mattress. I’d been given Valium, and was instructed not to move at all–it sounds like your doctor had a different way of going about this.
As for results, I’m appreciating my new bionic vision. I thought my eyesight was already pretty good, except for the creeping blurry that I’d noticed about six weeks before. But the cataract must have been around for awhile, because suddenly the world is clean and bright.
I’m a few decades early in joining this club, but the doctors said that happens once in awhile. It’s possible that I should have started wearing sunglasses years earlier.
We can be friends :) I joined the club pretty early, too.
I’m currently finishing the steroids and had only a week of antibiotic drops. No other meds. The steroids sting a little, that’s all.
I had great close-up vision in both eyes, but the surgery eliminated close-up in that eye. I guess it gets rid of the paraphernalia needed to see up close. So now my eyes are on two different settings. The doctors told me that a lot of people actually ask for a prescription contact that will give them that effect, and I am learning to live with the disparity just fine.
As long as we’re talking about eyes: As a sixteen-year veteran of a Lasik surgery, my eyes seem to be getting dryer, and I’ll weep copiously in public for no reason at all–doctors say it’s to compensate for dryness. I had to wave off sympathy in a conversation that was already awkward and try to explain that it’s just dry eyes, really, I’m not crying. Regular drops started to hurt, and I’ve switched to the tiny containers of preservative-free drops, which I have on the doctor’s authority that one container can be for the whole day, not thrown out after one use as directions say. These haven’t completely solved the problem, but they feel refreshing and have made a difference. They don’t make my eyes throb like the regular drops were starting to do.
For one of mine, I remember watching the scalpel descending to my eye and thinking how interesting it was to observe. They use good drugs.
Pronounced Eye-gor, of course.
Man knows how to convert pain into mirth.
This was a delight to read, I’m sorry you had to pay up front though.
Certainly! Glad you enjoyed it.
Glad you enjoyed it. No worries; pain is a small price to pay for vision.
Congrats — and here’s to better vision!
Both of my lenses were replaced almost two years ago after being told that my vision could no longer be adequately corrected with glasses and/or contacts. It was a refractive lens exchange which is, from what I was told, similar to the surgery to remove cataracts. Your description of your experience sounds very similar to mine, although I don’t remember the needle in the cheek. Maybe my pre-surgery happy pills were just really that good?!
It was pretty fascinating to (sort of?) watch what was happening. While the doc was pressing and messing around with removing the old lens, I remember thinking it was as if I was looking through a kaleidoscope. Apparently I was thinking out loud, and followed that verbal thought with an exuberant exclamation (according to the doctor and nurse) that this must be what the universe looked like when it was born. (Confirmation that the pre-surgery prep meds really were that good.)
I’ve worn glasses since I was 7 years old (I’m 53 now.) The lenses in both eyes were replaced during the same surgery, which is not always the case from what I understand. The most memorable moment was when they sat me up in the procedure room after they were finished and, after a few minutes, the nurse asked me, with a concerned look on her face, if I was okay or if I was in pain. I assured her I was fine and she said, “Okay, I was just worried because you’re crying.” I didn’t realize I was, but explained that I was happy because it was the first time I remembered being able to see someone’s face clearly without glasses.
The gift of sight is pretty amazing. But those drops are just brutal!
Anthony, what you described sounds almost exactly like LASIK surgery. I had mine done in 2012 and unfortunately it didn’t take the first time, so I had to have another surgery six months later. The first time was rough, the second time was brutal since the tissue hadn’t fully healed. I remember those eye drops too, very irritating. I was not a pleasant person to be around that week.
Best of luck with your recovery!
Wow. Best wishes for a full recovery.
The last time I had a similar procedure I was told I could have a local and stay conscious, or get put to sleep. I told them I wanted the Full Coward Package. Let me wake up with no memories to haunt me afterwards.
I don’t think you “take off” a cataract. You remove the clouded natural lens and replace it with an artificial one. I thanked (and still thank) my surgeon for restoring my sight.
I went to my ophthalmologist’s office a few weeks ago to see about having cataract surgery finally. The doctor I’d seen for years had left and was working at a new practice, but I wasn’t worried, because the whole office had been very professional and I’d been treated for a retinal tear, and recurrence erosion from an injury, etc. Very medically oriented….However…
Then the doctor I saw sent me over to the “scheduler” and it was like I’d been transported to the car dealerships that line the next block over from the office! It was all about trying to upsell me, and what I could afford, and what the options were, etc. etc. When I objected to the out-of-pocket expense (many thousands of dollars) she suddenly found a different procedure at half the cost! My good credit was apparently the determining factor in which version of cataract surgery I was to have.
I left the office so upset and wrote them a letter explaining what had happened. They called me and talked to me to try and get me to return, but no way. I’m scheduled to see my regular doctor at his new practice this week. At least this time, I’ve read up on the options, and I’ll be prepared to have a conversation about which options I want and do not want.
Sheesh…it was so aggravating! I thought it was just a medical procedure.
@exjon and @bethanymandel,
I recommend this man for a contributor position. Consistently excellent writing and a minimum of drama for the mod staff.
Many, many, many years ago, I had a minor disagreement with my mother. (You couldn’t actually have a fight with her, as she was as close to angelic as a human can be.) Anyway, I was visiting her when she told me about a new red dress she had bought and was quite pleased with. “Go back to my closet and tell me what you think,” she said.
I did and reported back that I thought it was a pretty dress and would look lovely on her. Then I added the fateful words: “But it isn’t red. It’s magenta.” She pshawed and harrumphed and argued with me that it was indeed red. I stood my ground. She thought I had lost my mind or was just being argumentative (okay, she knew I could be both persnickety and a pain in the derriere).
Shortly thereafter, she had cataract surgery. That’s when she called me and said, “You know that red dress of mine? It’s magenta!”
This memory always makes me laugh. Because I am following in her footsteps and will have cataract surgery someday, I doubt my ability to distinguish color. Even now, I have to ask the hubs if the pants I’m planning to wear are black or navy.
Real men only know primary colors. I don’t even know what magenta looks like.