February 28, 2007
The morning’s skies are gray and Sanctuary is bleached of color and somber. There are predictions of freezing rain and snow for the next several days, however, meadow larks have begun to sing in the mornings along with the cardinals. Each sound adds a little layer of delight as spring advances in spite of the wintry set backs.
This week I am living without the effects of blood thinner because on Friday morning I will have a cataract removed from my left eye, and prior to the surgery, the instructions are to cease and desist from the medication. I feel livelier somehow, but I also know that it is best not to wish for the fun of it all because my understanding is that the Coumadin and I have become companions for life.
After fasting for at least six hours, I go to the Outpatient Clinic and receive medications that will relax me so that my body is supine as the action continues. Then I will be covered all over with a sheet except for the eye in question (it doesn’t really matter if the correct eye is chosen, the other one needs the operation as well). That area will be deadened and after all is in a state of numbness, the eye is entered through the pupil with a laser and the cataract film is broken into bits and sucked right out in a very short time. I will have a patch taped to my eye and Charles will bring me home where I will commence to lie down and contemplate the ultimate verities. The miracle will be that I should have nearly perfect vision in the eye after a lifetime of nearsightedness. As it is now, I have had to give up night driving and the world would continue to move away in a haze if I didn’t pursue the corrections.
My sister-in-law once remarked that it is a family trait to view everything concerning one’s health in the extreme. For example, at the sight of a wart, skin cancer is assumed; at the lack of circulation in a foot, a blood clot soon to float right into the vital systems is imminent – death will surely follow, and so forth. As I approach the operation this Friday, I have to conclude that her observation has some merit because my brain has rushed ahead and begun the “What if” scenarios in earnest. “What if the doctor has an unexpected tremor as he directs that laser into the pupil of the eye? What if he sneezes? What if there is one dot amiss in the calculations and I am the one in thousands for whom this simple operation doesn’t turn out well?” There is always that statement that begins “In rare cases. . . “ in the materials that come with the preparation folder, and on it goes. It is my great good fortune that ultimately I have the antidote to the hand wringing, because the concluding words of Martin Luther’s Morning and Evening prayers come through the scurrying thoughts and calm is restored. “For into your hands I commend myself, my body and soul, and all things. Let your holy angel be with me that the evil foe may have no power over me. Amen.” Therefore, as Charles says, “Onward and Upward!”