The Eyes Have It

Note: Please excuse any typographical errors in this month's blog entry. Read on to understand.

Normally, I would never complain about too much sunshine. But since I had my first cataract surgery on June 29, there has been nary a cloud in the sky, just when I have to avoid the sun. My Alexa kept telling me that there was a 51 percent chance of rain one day and a 73 percent chance another day, even specifying hours, but she was mistaken. And since my surgery on the other eye on July 5, we have had nothing but more blue skies and plenty of sunshine headed our way, just when I have to avoid the light.

I’m told that almost all people of a certain age (translation = OLD) will need cataract surgery eventually. We all know people who can’t or won’t drive at night (raising my hand). I knew I was working on cataracts, but with my macular degeneration, the eye doctor assured me that cataracts were the least of my problems. And then we had a two-year pandemic stretch where I simply didn’t go anywhere at night. My Rutgers Women’s basketball games were cancelled or banned spectators, and I didn’t do much of anything that required night driving. This past season, we were back at the RAC again and I noticed a serious decline in my night vision. Even those yellow glasses they advertise on TV didn’t help reduce that glow around oncoming headlights. My retina doctor confirmed that the cataracts were no longer the least of my problems but had gone to the top of the list.

So, I went to the recommended doctor, filled out the medical history that demanded a list of previous surgeries that included even colonoscopies (as a colon cancer survivor, I had literally too many to list; I put down my most recent and a note that said “many prior to this date”), got an EKG and medical clearance and we set the dates.

You have to administer drops to your eyes the day before the surgery and for several weeks afterwards. They gave me a chart to check off when I put I the drops, and I copied it so I would have one for each eye – one of the best ideas suggested by my sister.

Here's the essence of the surgery: The doctor makes a small incision in your eye and removes the cloudy lens, replacing it with a tiny artificial lens. The procedure itself takes 5-10 minutes, though you are at a surgical center for a few hours getting numbing drops in your eye, an IV in your arm for a mild, short-lasting sedative, and trying to remain calm at the thought of someone slicing into your eye. They prop your eye open during surgery, so you can’t blink, and the whole thing is over in a flash, so to speak. You ARE awake, but the only pain you feel is from the rounds of drops they put into your eye to numb it. They sting a bit.

Then the fun begins.

They gave me special glasses and plastic eye shields to tape to my face to cover my eyes at night so I couldn’t rub it or whack myself in the eye with my pillow. Taping the plastic shields to my face was the only part of the instructions I did not follow religiously. I bought a soft satin eye mask at Ulta weeks before the surgery and I used that after a few nights with the shields.

You can’t rub your eye or let the shower hit you in the face. You can’t bend over or lift anything heavy, you are not allowed to exercise – I wonder how long I can milk that one? – and you can drive if you feel comfortable doing that, which I am trying today.

The benefits of the surgery are immediately noticeable. I “watched” tennis at Wimbledon, even though all I could see initially was two figures in white on a big green background. The colors were so vibrant that it seemed like I had a new TV. And everything is so much brighter! Opening the refrigerator seems blinding to me. I tried working on my computer but the brightness of the screen was overwhelming and I couldn’t see the controls to figure out how to dim it. The eyestrain was immense and nearly debilitating, and you can’t rub your eyes!  I am writing this blog post in short segments since I can’t tolerate looking at the computer screen for too long without eyestrain.

I guess my eyes were much worse than I knew, but the decline in vision happens gradually, so you don’t realize how bad it gets until you get it fixed.

Like my hero, Tina Turner, I never do anything “nice and easy,” and this surgery was especially rough because I got the top-of-the-line, “light adjustable” lenses. I know dozens of people who have had cataract surgery but no one who has had these kinds of lenses. They cost an extra $5000 each, but my doctor assured me that J&J’s insurance plan would cover them, a fact that I verified before I agreed to have them implanted. He tells me that because the lenses are adjustable, I have a better chance of reaching optimal vision than with a fixed lens that they have to estimate is the best prescription for the patient.

These light adjustable lenses don’t dim when you walk into a bright room. The adjustable part takes place in the doctor’s office, where he applies a light that reshapes the lens to the prescription of choice – we hope. Several weeks after the eye heals from the surgery, the doctor makes a series of adjustments before the prescription is “locked in,” which means that’s the final one. No going back now! My first adjustment is at the end of July, three weeks after surgery. Until this process is through, I won't know whether I will need glasses, reading glasses or no glasses. Please give me the name of a good plastic surgeon to remove those bags under my eyes if that is the case!

Meanwhile, I have to avoid any exposure to UV light. The doctor told me that exposure to the sun could alter the implanted lens, so I have to wear those special protective glasses for at least a month to make sure that doesn’t happen. I have a set of protective sunglasses, clear glasses and one pair with a small bi-focal lens to help me see while the prescription is not finalized. I also have two pairs of protective “overglasses” – sunglasses and clear ones – that fit over my reading glasses so I can do work on the computer for brief periods. The doctor told me I had to wear them at all times and I am taking that seriously; I have them on at night, in a dark room, while I watch TV before bed. I went to see “Funny Girl” on Broadway this week (tickets I had had for months) and spent much of the play with my head down, covering my eyes with my hand to avoid the harsh stage lights. It was so sunny on the bus on the way home that I took my ever-present face mask and used it to cover my eyes. Hey – it worked. The doc put the fear of God in me, and I am in the running to be his most compliant patient ever, even if I look like Mr. Magoo in the interim.

Now I wash my face in the sink without bending over, take a shower with no lights on (I can’t wear the glasses in the shower!) and tilt my head back so water doesn’t hit me in the eye. I don’t open the shades or the windows and I go outside to water the plants just before dusk to avoid sunlight as much as possible. 

Despite the restrictions, I have found a way to muddle through. I made some meals before the surgery to have on hand, and I made zucchini parm with one eye after the first surgery. Not my best effort, but it was fresh and cheesy and acceptable under the circumstances. And I even shaved my legs – slowly and ever-so-carefully – in the shower. Let’s face it, now I can see the hair!

I have enlarged the font on my phone so I can read texts, and my Kindle now has about 10 words on a page. The book I am reading will have about 2000 pages this way, but if I can read, that’s a win in my book. I can’t see well enough yet to file my nails, but a friend took me for a much-needed mani-pedi, so I was thrilled. The polish looks more vibrant than ever.

Going through this experience gave me a whole new empathy for people who have any kind of visual impairment. When I am up to it, I will write a letter to People Magazine to tell them that the light font they use in the magazine is difficult to read for anyone with these kinds of issues. I thought so before the surgery and it’s much worse now. I started watching the series “The Old Man” on TV and had to stop because so much of it was filmed in the dark. (This has been one of my pet peeves for years; on TV sets, all offices are lit by lamps for mood, but I have never worked in an office or facility that didn’t have bright overhead lights). I simply could not see what was happening on the screen.

It is tougher to see when I first wake up, but my sight improves as the day does on. The guide on the TV screen is way too small and I can’t see what I recorded on the DVR. I think of it as wandering around with the wrong prescription until the adjustments are made.

I also found out that my right eye has been slacking off for years! The first surgery was on my left eye, so the right eye had to carry the load. If I were grading it, I’d give it a C-. 

In the end, I should be seeing better than I have in years. I can already see that my hair is much more gray than I thought it was! And I should even be able to tell the difference between black and blue for the first time in years. I’m especially looking forward to being able to drive at night again and not to have to impose on other people for rides. And since the cataracts have nothing to do with my macular degeneration, my monthly injections for that will continue. I’m always seeking rides there, too, just in case you have a few hours to kill.

Although the doctor briefed me on what to expect, there was so much more than I could have anticipated (hence this public service blog post). This whole experience is like one of those signs on the highway that say, “Temporary Inconvenience – Permanent Improvement.” Let’s hope so!