Eyes Right

Three days after I last posted, I had a cataract operation.  Phaco-emulsion, they call it - all done by ultrasound these days. You may remember from the dreaded dishwasher post that I had a cataract that had developed more quickly than the optician had expected. When I saw the Eye Consultant in the autumn - I see her regularly because I have a family history of glaucoma, so although I haven't thankfully, got that myself, they are keeping an eye on me, by means of annual photos of my eyes in September, and an appointment with the consultant in November - this, naturally, was discussed as well.

So I was referred for surgery - about a 2 month waiting list, I was told - and just after Christmas had the letter inviting me for a pre-op assessment appointment at the end of January. At the end of that appointment I was given a date for the actual op. of 7th March. Well, that was very pleasing, as I had just been to my folk-dance weekend in Eastbourne, which happens on the last weekend of each January, and the op. date was safely beyond the February folk-dance weekend in Worthing. 

On Monday 4th February - less than a week later - at 09:55, the phone rang. TMH answered, as I was not long out of the shower and still leisurely getting dressed. It was the Eye Unit: 'We've had a cancellation; can you get here for half past ten?' - and then, at my stunned silence: 'Well, quarter to eleven then?' Yes, I could, and still not feeling entirely real, I grabbed a cardigan and we drove down to the hospital, parked in their multi-storey car park, and were on Floor C as directed at 10:35. 

By one o'clock, after a short chat with the surgeon, several lots of eye drops, 15 minutes looking at the light in the operating theatre, and two slices of toast that they insisted I ate, I was home, all done, with a leaflet telling me about eye drops - two different types four times a day for 2 weeks, then one of them twice a day for another two weeks - and a shield over my eye that I was to remove the next day. No chance to get worried or worked up before The Day; no hanging around, no pain, no injections. The whole thing was over and done with before I had time to think about it.

Naturally I rationed my 'screen time' for a while, though my leaflet had told me I could read if it was comfortable to do so. I was a little disgruntled the afternoon of the operation day, as the nurse had told me I shouldn't put my contact lens in the eye that hadn't been done 'until tomorrow'. But when, the following day, I put that lens in, I didn't enjoy the sensation at all! Because my newly inserted left lens was allowing good middle-distance sight, I didn't need the [short-sighted] right eye to be corrected for distance at all! I wanted to be able to read, which without the contact lens, I found I was well able to do ... and to thread a needle, which is even more important  and something I hadn't been able to manage without reading glasses when wearing my contacts beforehand. 

So from having contact lenses that corrected my right eye for distance, and my left eye for reading - but not very small print - this is known as 'monovision' - I am now not using contacts in either eye, and my left eye is the distance one, and my right eye the reading one - which can manage very well with small print. This settled fairly quickly after the op. and happily has continued  so when I go for my post-op appointment next week, and am allowed to go to the opticians - which I have already booked for the end of the week, to be able to see the one I like, who only works there on a Friday - all I will need is a pair of glasses for theatre and driving. I've tried driving a short distance with my old spare glasses, but they are wrong for the left eye, and after a while it feels strained, so I'm eagerly waiting for next week when I can order the new ones. In the meantime, this miraculous op. has enabled me to enjoy seeing the weather out of the window as soon as I wake up, being able to recognise people across a room, and - because my astigmatism has also been partially corrected with the implanted lens - I am no longer getting the sensation that the nearside hedge or kerb is leaping out to get me when I'm being driven; which makes me a calmer passenger for TMH to chauffeur around!

I'm also saving over £20 a month because of no longer needing the lenses or their cleaning/storing solution. Pretty good result, don't you think?

Oh yes, and I went to the February Folk-dance weekend in Worthing, too!

Dishwasher Blues

This is by way of being AN AWFUL WARNING – at least it is if you are new to dishwashers, as we were.

Last summer we had our kitchen redone, and for the first time, found ourselves with a dishwasher. The Man of the House [TMH] was reluctant, as washing-up was his daily pleasure, watching people going past on the pavement outside each morning as he worked his way through the previous day’s detritus – and besides, it would use too much water…

A ‘slimline’ model, with A* ratings for energy and water use was given grudging approval, however, so about a year ago, when the workmen departed, we had to get used to our new ‘toy’. Naturally, for the first few days, everything went into it. Well, everything that wasn’t old and precious, anyway. And if it came through that OK, it went in next time…

And then I began to have terrible heartburn. TMH also got a touch of indigestion, but not as badly as I did. We thought it might be the olives – we have a wonderful Olive Man who comes to the local market, and we had got into the habit of eating a few – well, sometimes more than a few! – before dinner every evening, And it seemed I wasn’t getting such bad indigestion when we were away from home. So I stopped eating olives for a bit, but it didn’t really help…and then I looked at the dish we’d been serving the olives in, and realised that it was only glazed on the top, so that the terracotta back was probably absorbing the dishwasher water and holding it. So we started using a different dish for olives, and that sorted TMH out completely. But I was still suffering. Alerted by this, we stopped putting a few other items through the dishwasher, and incidentally changed the detergent we were using as well. The artificial lemon smell seemed to permeate everything, so we switched to an ‘ecologically friendly’ one which at least got rid of the smell.

By this time I was almost afraid to lie down at night, for as soon as I did the pain and the racing heart-beat would start, and I was losing sleep. I’d been put on omeprazole and was lined up for an endoscopy. And we went away again on holiday and I was fine. Two weeks before the endoscopy was due I stopped taking the omeprazole as instructed. Coincidentally, TMH had started hand-washing the dishes I have my morning porridge in, since as we only normally use the dishwasher on alternate days, and porridge is notorious for sticking when it dries, I was putting the dish into the sink to soak rather than straight into the dishwasher, and TMH was just dealing with it. After a week of no medication, no porridge bowls going through the dishwasher, and NO SYMPTOMS, I rang the GP. “I’m quite prepared to go through with the endoscopy if you think it will show anything useful,” I said, after I’d told her of the lack of symptoms, and the explanation I had come up with. She agreed it probably wouldn’t be necessary, and that if the symptoms returned I could always be put up for one again.

As a – rather painful! – experiment I used one of the porridge bowls that had last been put through the dishwasher rather than washed up by TMH. That night – heartburn. So all four porridge bowls have now been soaked in plain water, and then washed up by hand – and will not be put in the dishwasher again. We googled aluminium poisoning – some dishwasher detergent contains aluminium salts. Among the first things mentioned are increased heart rate, heartburn and indigestion.

So I am no longer poisoning myself. But it seems there are other irreversible consequences. I went for my annual sight test, and was telling the optometrist an abbreviated version of the tale as she was checking various things. Then she looked in my left eye.

“Ah, well, we’re in a whole different ball game now,” said she. "The cataract I saw just a tiny sign of last year has grown. No wonder you've lost two lines on the chart."

Later she was expressing surprise at the speed with which the cataract had developed, and then checked herself. Our eyes met, and in unison we said:

“ALUMINIUM”