Well, here I am - 24 hours after coming home from my second cataract surgery yesterday. Very different experience - celebrity status amongst all the other brave souls as the single 'GA'. The petite female anaesthetist and the quirky little nurse were absolutely delightful. The anaesthetist explained that normally people are fine with the sedative that they give you and you hardly know anything has happened :-) Yes, I had that last time, I said, and it didn't work... The nursing staff themselves had said 'next time, don't eat and have a general anaesthetic". Several doses of the appropriate sedative (oral and intravenous) had been no match for my coursing adrenaline. It reminded me of the time my daughter had needed an IVP X-ray when she was 7 years old. 'Magic cream' having been placed on the wrong arm the team then attempted to sedate her in order to inject the radioactive dye required for the kidney X-rays. She would succumb to sedation. Enough to knock out a 150lb man and she was still screaming and fighting - we were told to take it in turns to sit on her. After it was over (we should never have permitted in on reflection) they said she'd had so much intravenous sedative she'd be asleep within 30 minutes. She didn't stop running round until gone 10pm that night. We are ladies of great adrenaline potential and a strong survival instinct in our family :-)
So, when had I last eaten or drunk? 13 hours ago. Okay.
Subsequent to post the other week, here is the second eye appropriately robed :-)
This is one of the few moments I spent awake during the subsequent evening and after a lovely plate of macaroni cheese on toast (so comforting on the dry abused throat from the endotracheal tube). So sleepy we packed the evening in and retired at 9pm.
Anyway, back to the clinic. Because of my recent and interesting medical history a ECG was ordered. The screen was bleeping away in a jolly manner and the little nurse pulling all sorts of faces as she tried to print. Eventually she tore the sheet off and screwed it up, calling for assistance. "It looks fine on the screen" she said, "but the print-out is rubbish!" After a few minutes an accurate trace was obtained and the nurse unscrewed the previous offering from the printer seen here:
Yes, it looks more like a polygraph or a seismograph than an ECG - happy to say my true results were normal and amazingly my pulse below 100 - a testament to the calcium channel blockers I think. Then the blood pressure monitor and sats - the former typically stuffed up to the armpit on my short little arm with the resultant pinching leaving me cursing and my blood pressure soaring. "If only you had a wrist one" I said - at which point she promptly put the measure on my lower arm instead! Bliss! I think I shall ask for that in future. "Ah, your pulse has returned to normal", she chuckled.
Being the only GA I was left until the end of the morning and then some. A chance for the nerves to subside and instead for Jon and I to people-watch the superbly organised chaos that was the weekend ophthalmology clinic. For not only were there patients in for cataract surgery but also emergency and drop-in cases coming to see the sublime Dr Lobo, who sat them on a typists chair opposite his with the ophthalmology machine in-between and gave diagnoses, prescribed treatments, referred and reassured patients - even seeing people who had arrive without appointment. And what a great man he was too - by 5pm he had not even had a break for lunch, had dealt with everyone with patience and with respect as unique individuals, even playing games with coloured lights to get a little child to look into his machine, and not once had lost his calm and patient manner. He obviously loves his job, and so would I if I were him. I guess in my small way I try to treat my own students with the same care and respect.
Wheeled through to the ante-room the worst thing was the insertion of the IV - but everyone was having this. Explained the scratches on my hand were from adoring kitty while they patted away painfully to 'bring up the vein'. After it was in - nothing, until waking up in recovery. A while dozing then back to see Jon and some cups of hospital tea and madelines before saying our goodbyes and heading home as the afternoon clinic drew to a close.
This morning we waded out through the snow to the hospital, me with two pairs of sunglasses over my patch as the light was intolerably bright. Met up with a lady and her daughter whom we'd seen the previous day and made our way though the largely deserted hospital to the clinic where we were greeted by a room full of the one-eyed, all waiting to be called in for their patches to be removed. When it was my turn the painful response to light was explained - a slight inflammation of the eye and a little burst blood vessel, but nothing to worry about. All will be better within 4 weeks - well it's going to be better a lot sooner as a holiday beckons and I can't wait to see those views again.
Tonight as the night falls and the light is nearly gone I look out into the back garden with both new eyes. Yes, it's in focus. Try the new-new eye on it's own. Yes! It's in focus. I can see :-)
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