Oh My Cataracts…
At the age of 28, I accidentally found I had cataracts, and that might be the reason, I couldn’t see properly at night, ALL MY LIFE. From discovery to surgery, and a million visits to the doctors, here is my life’s story.
I could never see well at night, Which always gave me a fright. It’s just psychological, they said, Don’t worry; it’ll become alright.
But oh my eyesight, Why wouldn’t you function at night, I couldn’t even see, Those things which were so bright!
Throughout my early teens and twenties, I couldn’t see well at night. I rarely went out alone once it was dark because I’d bump into people, things, and even vehicles some times, unable to see clearly. I abhorred it.
I kept telling everybody that something was wrong with my eyes, but they thought it was just in my head, and there was nothing wrong with my eyesight. And, I BELIEVED THEM.
I even visited an optometrist in Pakistan (where I was born) who declared I had a weak vision and needed prescriptive glasses. It helped, but the underlying issue stayed a mystery until I visited an eye clinic in Malaysia to get the LASIK treatment done.
On a fateful December afternoon, In KL city it was season of the monsoon, When they told me I had cataracts, At the age of 28, I felt like a scared cartoon!
“You have cataracts in your both eyes. We can’t do a LASIK surgery on you.” said the lovely looking Ophthalmologist in a Manglish (Malaysian English) accent.
“What is that? Is it dangerous?” I naively asked.
“It’s an eye disorder where a wall of cloud builds on the lens of your eye, and you get blurred vision. It is common in older people.” she replied.
“But, I’m only 28 years old, how can I get that?” making a sad face, I asked her helplessly. “Can it be the reason I can’t properly see in low light or at night?” I kept speaking without a pause.
“It can happen in some people at an early age. Yes, it may be the reason though we are not sure. But, don’t worry too much, we can do a surgery to fix it.” she went on saying.
“A surgery!?” a scared me yelled.
“It has become a common surgery nowadays and has a 99% success rate.” she almost assured me it’s nothing and she could quickly fix me.
“Can I delay the surgery… I mean… um… Is it urgent?” I stuttered.
“It is not. But if it starts affecting your daily routine, then it may be a good idea to get the cataracts removed. Why don’t you take some time, read about cataracts, make up your mind, come back to us, and we will book a surgery for you.” she said in a polite tone, noticing I had started to feel low.
A confused me stood up, thanked her (for sharing the bad news), and walked outside her room, my vision still blurred from those crazy drops they’ve put in my eyes for the eye-examination.
That was the first time I heard the word ‘Cataracts’.
Finally, I knew why I could never see clearly at night or in low light, MY WHOLE LIFE. It might be due to those bloody freakish Cataracts.
After getting a cab, the first thing I did was: google the heck out of Cataracts. I also watched heaps of cataract surgery videos. As I had always been afraid of needles, blood, and surgeries, those scary videos didn’t help at all. A million thoughts went through my head, visualizing how my eyes will be cut open and if things went wrong (as I’m often one of those 1% people), I might not be able to see anymore.
It was also going to cost me around 20k Malaysian Ringgits (almost 5k USD) which would be a significant setback for my pocket. I had made my mind before reaching home. It was a NO to surgery.
It was the year 2015, and I had already moved to Australia. My eyesight started to become weaker, and my prescription glasses power increased. I couldn’t drive at night as I couldn’t see the road. Even walking home during winter evenings became difficult. It was the time I paid a visit to another opthalmologist.
Just like a normal 21st-century human being, I googled senior ophthalmologists. And there were quite a few good ones who had good google reviews. Without a bias, I chose one which looked very experienced. I knew I had to spare at least a few hundred bucks because they might go on an endless journey of eye tests.
On the day of my visit, I went through the standard pupil dilation and checkup process. The opthalmologist, after 5 minutes of detailed examination, mentioned to me in a grim voice that I had cataracts, and that may be the reason for my vision decline. He also suggested those were congenital: since birth. When I told him about my night vision difficulties, he couldn’t confirm if it was due to cataracts. He referred me to another eye specialist so that they could perform Electroretinography and a bunch of other vision tests, which were going to cost me a leg.
I rocked up to this clinic which looked more like a laboratory where all human captives might be going through the illegal medical tests. Apart from the standard pupil dilation, they informed me it’d take at least an hour, so I had to be patient. The German eye specialist told me about the wires which they’d be sticking on my forehead and next to my eyelids. Worried enough already, I nervously asked them if they’d be passing electricity through those wires. A loud burst of laughing was the only answer that German doctor gave me as she left the room.
Soon enough, a nurse appeared in the room with a big machine and told me not to worry and stay relaxed. Having watched enough FBI and Jason Bourne movies, such environment and continuously being asked to relax wasn’t helping. She moved the machine closer to me and plugged the nodes on my forehead and eyelids before connecting them to the device. Well, it wasn’t as scary as I thought, but after doing the Electroretinography, they ran the Visual Field test to ensure my peripheral vision was okay. That 1 hour felt like an eternity. Finally, the German lady took me to a room where an Irish doctor with a thick accent was looking at my reports and muttering words.
I wish I could write English how he spoke in the thick Irish accent. I was not sure if that German lady understood all he was saying. Without talking to me, they started conversating with each other in medical jargon. After a few moments, the Irishman came to me with a torch (not the regular one but one of those medical ones which they use to look inside your eye). He put it almost ‘in my eye’ and started to move it here and there, having a lens like medical device with light in his other hand. A bit of frustration I could sense. He tried it on my other eye — similar failure. He kept doing it at least for 2 minutes, trying to look inside my eyes as if he wants to look at my soul.
“How can you even see us, young man?” he spoke as if he was asking himself.
“Ah, erm, what do you mean, doc?” I wasn’t sure how to answer that.
“You’ve such thick cataracts in your eyes that I can’t see your retina and am surprised you can see this fine, even with your glasses. You’ve had them all your life, yes? I think, given their thickness, these are Congenital Cataracts” he finally announced.
“I don’t know” came out of my mouth with a nervous laugh.
“Well, you take it easy for now, we’ll share your results with the doctor, and then he can answer any queries you may have.” said the Irishman as he picked up his bag to leave the office.
The German lady smiled at me, charged me a few hundred dollars and let me go home, even more confused.
After a few days, my eye surgeon called me, asking me to visit him. I arrived at his clinic bright and early only to hear that I might go fully blind — yes day blind — if I didn’t do my cataract surgery in the next year. Ah, that bloody surgery, every eye surgeon wants to do on me, I thought. I also learnt that my insurance did not cover it, and the final bill could be around 10k AUD (7k USD or so). Finally, I had to let my surgery fears go, I thought.
It took me a few months to spare that amount and muster up courage in the meanwhile to get ready to go under the knife.
After a few months, I googled the eyes surgeons again and found a better-looking doctor (you read it right, this one looked better — my sixth sense told me this was going to be my cataracts-removal-eye-surgeon). He was a bit young but had more reviews than the previous doctor I visited. This was the year 2017 — almost three years since I learnt about my cataracts, so there was no more time to waste. I met the doctor and got my surgery dates booked.
My eyes were going to be cut, I wished I could keep them shut, It was scary as hell, I needed to get it done, but.
On a Monday morning, I arrived early with my wife at the hospital for my day surgery. It was a private hospital; hence I didn’t get that hospital feeling and felt more like at a hotel. There were a bunch of older people sitting in the waiting area. They were surprised to see my wife and me. One even asked me if we were there to pick someone up after their surgery. They put quite a few eye drops in my eyes; some stang, some were like water. They checked my blood pressure and confirmed with me if I had eaten or drunk in the last 8 hours as it may affect anesthesia.
To my experience, I found the waiting rooms scarier than the actual operation theatres. That wait time killed me second by second.
“Mr Khan, Mr Khan”, a beautiful nurse called my name. Hardly, I let my wife’s hand go and dragged my feet to the nurse. She took me to a pre-surgery room and asked me to change my clothes and relax on the patient bed while the Anesthetist came. Getting my eyes cut was scary, but having a needle go in my vein to put to me sleep was as frightening, if not more.
“Can you please be gentle with the needle, I’m scared of needles” I requested the guy even before he could introduce himself or speak to me.
He smiled, introduced himself, and asked me to lie down on the bed. Oops, a needle went inside my vein, and I felt a bit of nausea.
“Count out loud till 10, Mr Khan”, his voice came from a close distance.
“One, two, th….” I was out before I could say three.
I don’t remember much other than flickering lights and ‘some stuff’ happening to my eye while I was asleep.
“Mr Khan, here is your sandwich, wake up.” I could hear a nurse’s voice coming from far away.
Without my eyes being open, I just remember taking the cold sandwich from her hand and munching on it as if I was starving for a century. By then, I could open my other eye as they moved my bed out of the surgery theatre to the recovery room. There was a bandage on my left eye, and it felt heavy as if somebody had pulled something out of it.
In 15 minutes, I recovered, and there came another nurse along with my wife. Nurse gave us some eye drops and told me when to take which ones, and also advised of some precautions. Half-listening, I requested my wife if she could remember all that as I often mix up all the things, including medicine. It went smooth from there, and we were allowed to go home very soon.
The bandage on my left eye was a small transparent glass with holes in it, and it was taped from my forehead down to the cheek. If I opened my eye, I could see. BUT. I kept my eye shut until we reached home. I was scared if I opened it, blood will start coming out, it will start hurting more, or maybe it had not gone well, and I might not be able to see. At the same time, I was super excited, so pumped that finally, I’d be able to see like NORMAL HUMAN BEINGS DO.
Mark my words, if your vision is perfect, it’s almost impossible for you to empathize with me because all my life until then your ‘normal’ and my ‘normal’ were way too different (and even today it may not be the same).
As soon as I reached home, I told myself that the tough part was over and I should open my eye. My eyelids were still sticky because of all those eyedrops and the push-and-pull during the surgery. 3,2,1 and I opened it.
My carpet looked darker than what I always thought of it…
The paint on the wall was brighter than before…
I looked at my hands and skin; they were one-shade lighter...
Every colour I always saw and still could see from my other eye (which wasn’t operated on yet), looked different…
The sky was bluer, way bluer than I ever imagined…
Could it be unreal, I asked myself, again and again, Ignoring all the acute pain.
I took rest for two days before I could return to work. All was well other than the headaches because my vision was not balanced: my left eye could see fine, but for the right eye, everything was foggy. My prescriptive glasses looked funny because I had to remove the left lens as it wasn’t required anymore.
Usually, eye surgeries are performed one eye at a time due to the danger of things going wrong.
Surgery on the right eye was planned after a month. Things were getting worse for me as my eyes were imbalanced in terms of how well they could see. My brain was struggling to cope with that change. I couldn’t wait that long and requested my doctor if he could perform the surgery earlier. After going back and for, I got an earlier date at a public hospital.
On the given day, I reached the hospital much earlier, which was a great thing to do as I couldn’t find the designated area. I have nothing again public hospitals, and they are fantastic here in Melbourne, Australia. But the moment I went inside the building, I knew it’s going to be different than my last experience.
Similar to the last time, a nurse prepared me for the operation; weight, height, blood pressure measurement, heaps of eye drops, and change of clothes etc. Wait time though was longer, which made me anxious. And then came the Anesthetist. I mentioned to her that I was scared of needles, be gentle, this and that, which I think she entirely ignored. Jabbed me in the vein and asked me to relax (which I think is the worst advice ever).
Hoping that soon, I’d be asleep and not know what happened with my eye, just like last time. It turns out, I was wrong. I felt my body relaxed, but my mind was fully awake. I could see and feel the nurse moving my bed into the operation theatre. I could see and hear all the machinery inside the surgery room, getting ready for me. Doctor, and all those nursing staffs, with masks on their faces, anticipating me going under their knives soon. Watching crime and thriller tv shows doesn’t help, I told myself. Worst of thoughts coming into my mind scared they might f*** this one up as nothing seemed right from the start.
I might sneeze. My body could move with a jerk. I might have an itch and would need to scratch somewhere on my body. All of that, while the blade inside my eye, cutting it open. I remember telling my doctor something, to which his response was something on the lines of, “don’t worry dude, you’ll be alright”.
I could see the blood coming out of my eye even though it was a wee bit. I could hear the machines whirring sound. I could feel all the push and pull movements of my surgeon, in my eye. Hoping it would finish soon, I started focussing on each second, telling myself if that moment passed, shortly I’d hear the doctor’s voice assuring me it’s all done. All those seconds and minutes felt like hours. It was over after 20 minutes, and the nurse took me to the recovery room.
I was awake, my eye burning, with the itch to scratch and rub it. Unconsciously I kept touching the bandage on my eye. It was bad enough that I disregarded my hunger and thirst. They, however, didn’t forget that and gave me a sandwich. It didn’t taste good. I told myself I was never going to return to that hospital or get a treatment done in a public hospital. I was more angry than hurt. During all that, I hadn’t opened my eye. And then, unintentionally, I realized I had blinked my eye.
I FORGOT THAT I JUST WENT THROUGH A SURGERY. I DIDN’T FEEL THE PAIN IN MY EYE ANYMORE. MY ANGER VANISHED. I COULD FINALLY SEE CLEARLY WITH MY BOTH EYES. IT FELT LIKE I WAS VIEWING THINGS IN 3D: SO BRIGHT AND COLOURFUL THAT IT FELT UNREAL.
After all the hospital formalities, my wife drove me home. She noticed that I was silent; she knew I might be thinking about all those 31 years of my life when I couldn’t see like how I could on that day. She retrieved all those arguments we had in the past where I’d explain a colour differently than it looked to her.
She understood I needed those silent moments.
My heart cried a million tears, Washing away all my fears, Finally, I can see ‘normal’, A fixed-me declared!
With love and coffee, Salam
