More tales from the guinea pig

 First I must defend my using the term "guinea pig". I have great respect for guinea pigs. I took care of one for several months many years ago. He came, along with a solitary goldfish in a huge tank, with the house that I was renting/housesitting while the owners were away on sabbatical. His name was Squeak and he lived in his very own bedroom in a two storey house in Westdale, which is a suburb of Hamilton.

When I had said I would look after their house, the owners were a bit nervous because I had a cat, a large white cat named Princess. I promised that I would keep the door to Squeak's room closed unless I was in there, feeding him or changing his shavings. I actually spent a few hours with him from time to time because my very new, very mysterious loaned computer from McMaster University was in there. It was DOS and the only thing I ever learned to do on it was play PacMan. But we won't go down that road of my antipathy toward all things DOS and why I was so thrilled when Apple computers came out. 

Anyway, Squeak DID survive and thrive the whole time I looked after the house. So did the goldfish, mainly because Princess never did quite realize that the tank was open at the top and not at the bottom. We did have one near miss once when I was saying goodbye to someone who had stayed in Squeak's room overnight--been kept awake all night because apparently this particular guinea pig was nocturnal and he wasn't named Squeak for nothing--and I suddenly had this thought "Did they close the door?" I raced up the stairs to find Princess peering into Squeak's box from the computer chair. Only Squeak's derriere was visible, he'd taken refuge in his tunnel. Still, Princess might have pursued the matter had I not scooped her up and taken her out, firmly closing the door. There WAS after all the matter of the three baby raccoons she had managed to tree in the front yard just a few weeks earlier. She'd been quite proud of herself over that, quite ticked off with me that I, again, removed her from the scene and into the house before she could complete her mission of raccoon catching.

So, yes, I do like guinea pigs. I just don't really like being one myself. 

And so we come to Operation Cataract, Part 1. The big event was yesterday morning at 10:50. I awoke at 4 a.m. and couldn't get back to sleep. No food, no coffee, in fact, eventually no water closer than 2 hours to arrival time. So I read a bit, savoring my time on my iPad, took a shower, washed my hair, where it occurred to me how WAS I going to be able to wash my hair for the next few weeks? No lotions or potions either, at least not on my face. Off we went to the outpatient clinic where Richard deposited me at the anteroom; the intake nurse said it would be 2 to 2.5 hours before I'd be out. R doesn't have a cellphone, wouldn't know how to answer mine, so he said he'd hang out in the waiting room down the hall. The nurse led me into this room where there were three other beds already occupied with mummie'd patients lying on hospital beds and an empty fourth one awaiting me.

As usual they asked me my name, date of birth, what was I expecting to have done today, what eye.... The nurse took my BP; the first reading was 85/43. She looked at me in horror--did I usually have low blood pressure. I said, well, low but not THAT low. I did comment that I hadn't eaten anything for almost 14 hours and had been sitting around at home so she waited a minute and took it again. This time it was 110/80. Funny how I so often have to have my BP done twice but oh well. 

Then the surgeon popped over and asked me what eye I was having done. Ordinary lens in the eye, right? Well, no, actually I paid for the Mercedes Benz version. So he checked his notes--oh yes, right. Hmmm . . . if he hadn't asked, I'd have paid $3,500 . . . oh let's not go there. Then he asked me "how" I wanted to see. Did I want to see close up or far away. I explained that I do so much reading and computer work, seeing close up is important; I wouldn't mind wearing glasses to drive, I've done that all of my driving life (glasses or contacts actually). So he changed his mind about the lens he was going to put in and there was some scurrying to get the right lens.

Then the anesthesiologist came around and said she was going to give me an IV with a relaxant. Okayyyy, fine. I was fully conscious but both frozen in the forehead/left eye area and felt kind of mildly curious about what was going on. They wheeled me into the operating room and I felt like I was in a TV show except no one was screaming and there was no blood spouting.

I didn't feel anything at all as he took the cataract out but I "saw" all of the lights and shadows and everything. Again, thanks to the relaxant, I felt a mild curiosity about it all, although I did want it to be over. And then it was over. The whole thing, from the time I first went in, took about 45 minutes. They let me rest for 10 minutes on the bed and then they gave me some papers about what to do, got me out of bed, and we went looking for Richard. No Richard around. To be fair, it had only taken 1 hour, not 2 hours. So they sat me down in the incredibly cold anteroom because they said that as I had been given anesthetic, they couldn't let me wander around the clinic. Hungry as I was, I would have made a beeline for the candy machine but oh well. Thankfully, they went looking for Richard about 20 minutes later and he had returned; he'd been in the hospital cafeteria, the building over. Eating. At that moment I hated him--even if it had been rubber eggs and reheated hash browns.

I felt very wobbly and disoriented. Richard doesn't like holding hands or arms--actually he never has. So I had to clutch at him while we were going out to the car. Then we had to go to Walgreens to get my prescription eye drops. He asked me if I wanted him to come in with me--ummm YEAH--and the drops were ready for me. We went out to the car and I realized we didn't have any surgical tape at home; I would need that to stick the eye shield on once the eye patch came off in a couple of hours. I asked R if he would go back in for me because just walking into and around Walgreens had exhausted me. He came back with Bandaids. I sometimes wonder what kind of Army medic he really was as the contents of first aid kits seem to mystify him. But I was fading fast from lack of food (by this time it was 1 pm and I hadn't eaten since 6 pm the night before nor drunk anything much except water) so I asked him to drive through Arby's and could we then just go home? He'd wanted to go out to a restaurant but I couldn't face it. Huge eye patch on my face, a bit weak kneed; even in Walgreens someone had looked at me with pity as I shuffled along.

So home we went and I remembered that my neighbor DeAnne is always good for any kind of household thing. I texted her asking if she had surgical tape and less than 15 minutes later she was over with two different kinds. And a plate of apple squares. I love her. The rest of the day and night I mostly spent on my recliner chair. I'd asked if I could watch TV and had been told yes so I watched more Perry Mason re-runs. Tried to sleep in the night but it was pretty fitful. No pain though, just wondering if my eyesight was going to return.

This morning my post-op appointment was at 8:30 am. As R drove us to the hospital I had to shield my eyes from the light even though I was wearing my sunglasses. It was way too bright. I remembered I had been charged for dark wraparound glasses but had never received them. I asked about them as I was being led to the consulting room; the nurse said I'd have to ask the front desk as I was leaving. They checked eye pressure--it was okay, they held up an eye chart but I couldn't read anything without my glasses with either eye. Again, they weren't surprised.  The optometrist on staff checked how the eye looked--cornea slightly swollen but that's formal. They asked me if I had a sheet about the prednisolone eye drops I'd got from Walgreens and I said yes, the operating people had given me one yesterday. Okay, then, well, see you in a week oh and we want more money from you. I didn't ask why, just swiped the credit card again. And the dark glasses, I asked hopefully. They led me to the front desk who immediately said "We don't have any left." "But I paid for them, and it's awfully bright out there," I replied. "You can go to WalMart," the receptionist said but, the accounting clerk, hearing the reply, came out and said, "Wait, she DID pay for them" (yeah I paid $40 bucks!!!) so she went to her cupboard and gave me a black bag. I looked in it and not only were there a pair of very good black glasses there was also a spare plastic shield and--wait for it--a roll of surgical tape. If I'd been given that bag yesterday.... I thanked the accounting clerk, mentioned that they'd asked for more money and apparently that was a mistake and might get reversed. By the clerks who didn't want to give me dark glasses. I'm not holding my breath.

This time I walked out of the eye center under my own steam and R was indeed waiting for me. We went to the diner for breakfast (blessed, blessed, dark glasses) and then I went home because my eye drops were at home and it was almost time for my next dropping.

And this is the final part to my guinea pig saga so far . . . My eyes are focused well enough today that I was able to read the tiny scrip on the eye drop package. The scrip said "1 drop four times a day." Hmmm, I looked at the eye center's sheet and it said "2 drops four times a day." So there I was, which one was right? I called the eye center and of course no one answered so I left a voicemail explaining my problem. I'm not sure I left it on the proper voicemail option because there wasn't an option for "if you are unclear about what you are supposed to do post surgery press ...." I pressed 4 for "optical", maybe it was the wrong one because I haven't had a callback. I called Walgreens but they assured me that the scrip that came over from the eye center said 1 drop four times a day. Sooo, I have decided to stick with 1 drop for now and tomorrow I will try calling the eye center again. 

I can see slightly better from my left eye today; it's still like looking through a smudgy window and I can't read what I'm typing if I only use my left eye--poor right eye is going to need a vacation . . . oh wait, it's in for the slice in two weeks anyway (August 28th). I still feel woozy and slightly out of it but obviously I am as long-winded as ever.