At last. The day of my second cataract operation at Ealing Hospital. This time it's the left eye. The right eye was dealt with on March 23rd as a result of which I was able to read books and look at computer screens without the need of glasses. That was groundbreaking. This operation is supposed to improve my long distance vision. Currently it is so poor I cannot read the number on an approoaching bus when I stand at a bus stop and like an idiot I don't know if I am supposed to hail it or not. Hence my preference for bus stops with only one bus route, as I know what is coming.
My appointment was for 12 noon. Then I got a call 3 days ago asking me to come at 7.45am. Finally yesterday another call. Can I come in at 1.30pm. Next thing is the logistical problem. I have to dilate the eye beforehand so I cannot drive to the hospital. I come in by bus. The problem is that I have to be collected after the op, but Albina is too weak to drive our car. Finally my old mate Stefan volunteers to help collect me and I suggest somewhere around 3pm.
I forgot. This is the NHS. That is not how things work these days. These are not the balmy Blair-Brown years. The NHS is crippled by the Tories. Staff shortages, difficulties with moving patients into nursing homes, and so on. By 3 o'clock it becomes obvious that I won't be seen begore 6pm, provided the staff do not decide to give up and leave early. The two Polish assistants at the operation know me well and suggest I go downstairs to the cafe and have something to eat and drink. So I buy a magazine, have exhausted all the information I can find in today's Guardian. I read about the covid riots in China, the massive killings of women and child demonstators in Iran, the eastward tilt in the axis of political and strategic inluence in Europe from West to East, with everyone expecting Poland to play a pivotal role, once it has a sensible government. When I trot back upstairs there is still a queue of patients waiting and I realize it will be 7pm before I get treated.
Finally, I am invited in. The young lady surgeon, Miss Sarmina Khan, is impressive and funny, and says her Polish staff have told her all about me. We all agree that, despite the late hour and the fact that I am the tenth (and last) patient of the day, the vibes in the room are positive and the team get down to it. While I lay flat with a small neck rest, they drop gallons of some liquid into my eye which they forcibly keep open with metal clamps, then they inject me with a local anaesthetic and cover my face with something like a shroud, while they poke around in the eye through a slit in the shroud for about fifteen minutes. I am under their spell, not moving, but being very much alive. In that time they flush out the lens and replace it with an artificial plastic lens which is attached to the back wall of the original lens to keep it all in place. That new lens is shaped into giving me a much better long distance vision (my choice) to match the imroved short distance vision in my other eye. I could not see much of this, but at a certain moment I felt liquid pouring down the side of my face. I felt chatty and relaxed but decided not to say anything as I did not want them to lose concentration.
When it was all done I was helped up feeling somewhat unsteady and taken back to the waiting room for final instructions. I was wearing a very rough and ready eye patch stuck down with tape. I was told to keep it on all night and then remove it in the morning and start the post-operation treatment with regular eye drops for the next 2 weeks. We shall see how that works out, and finally we shall see whether I still need glasses at the end of the day. Will I be able to tell one bus route from another now?
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