Mr. Write's Page

In 2009, I had cataract surgery. The procedure restored my vision to 20/20, which is a pretty big deal for a majorly myopic person like me, who had worn glasses since the Eisenhower Administration.

A cataract is a clouding of the lens of your eye. It’s mostly an age-related thing. It usually progresses slowly, and it steadily inhibits the passage of light.

When it gets bad enough, as it eventually does, the ophthalmologist removes the natural lenses and pops in a set of acrylic replacements.

Can you say bionic?

The acrylic lenses are called IOLs — interocular lenses. Various designs are on the market, but I chose the latest premium model — ReSTOR lenses.

To be precise, ReSTOR(R) is part of the AcrySof(R) line of apodized diffractive  multifocal interocular lenses by Alcon, Inc.

The lens looks like this, only smaller.

The ReSTOR lenses are truly amazing. They’re the only lenses available that enable you to focus both near and far — from six inches in front of your nose to way the heck out there. Before ReSTOR came along, you still needed glasses after the surgery for up-close work, such as reading or working on a computer.

Naturally, the ReSTOR lenses are more costly. An extra thousand bucks each.

And naturally, medical insurance does not cover premium lenses. The evil bloodsuckers of the medical insurance cabal understand that everyone will want the ReSTOR lenses — you would be crazy not to — so the extra cost of the ReSTOR lenses is disallowed.

Did I say evil bloodsuckers? I’m sorry. I meant to say evil, loathsome, vile, malevolent, dirtbag bloodsuckers.

But I digress.

My ophthalmologist is Arti Pandya, M.D., whose office is in Conyers. She has been my eye person for about 10 years. Even after I retired and moved 50 miles away from Conyers, I stayed with her.

That’s because she is a crackerjack. An ace. A wizard. As good an eye specialist as I could hope to find.

And I respect the heck out of her. Her family is from India, although judging from her accent and manner, she could be from Ames, Iowa.

Every year, Dr. Pandya goes to India for a month to treat poor people. For free.

She does a range of eye procedures there, but her specialty is performing cataract surgery.

This is how, at the tender age of 40, she has performed over 8,000 cataract operations, and it’s a big part of why I’m still a patient.

Needless to say, my surgery last  year was not a freebie. But I got over the financial sting, and the procedures went fine. All I need in the way of glasses nowadays is my trusty Costa Del Mar sunglasses.

Actually, one minor glitch did occur during the first surgery, on my left eye: in the middle of the operation, I woke up.

It was brief, memorable, and truly weird.

The surgery was outpatient, but a typical hospital experience. I checked into Rockdale General Hospital, changed into one of those immodest hospital gowns, and endured an hour of prep, during which a nurse came in every few minutes to squirt eyedrops and blobs of goo into my eye.

Then the anesthesiologist came in. He introduced himself as Dr. Jerry. He told me what to expect and started me off on a slow drip of something to render me mellow.

By the time Dr. Pandya was ready to do the deed, I was indeed mellow. As they wheeled me into the operating room, Dr. Jerry opened the valve a bit more, and everything went black.

You know how it is on a non-alarm-clock morning, when you slowly wake up?

Maybe you were dreaming about something, and then you recognize it as a dream, and you start to become aware of external things — the bed, the pillow, light through the curtains. And before long, the fog lifts, and you understand who and where you are.

That was how it happened to me on the operating table. Slowly, I became aware that I was lying on my back, and I felt the pressure of a restraint across my forehead.

I saw a bright light above me, and dark shapes were moving around in the light. My left eye, I realized, was covered, but my right eye was not. I heard voices, and clinking, and machine noises.

Then my mind cleared a bit more, and I recognized Dr. Pandya’s voice.

Hmmm, I thought groggily. Dr. Pandya… operating room… Hmmm…

As I struggled to gain my mental footing, a giant shape, long and slender, came into view.

The shape came closer and closer to my eye, until finally, it blocked the bright light.

Then the shape withdrew, and my vision was sharp, and I understood what had happened.

“Wow!” I blurted out, “I saw you insert the lens!”

Silence fell over the operating room. All I could hear was machine noises.

Then Dr. Pandya said in a calm voice, “That’s nice, Mr. Smith, but don’t move your head.”

Then just as calmly, she said to the anesthesiologist, “Jerry, would you please…”

And for the second time, everything went black.

A month later, when Dr. Pandya operated on my right eye, there was no such drama. The anesthesiologist probably dosed me up with a little something extra, just to be safe.

I was reminded of that operating room adventure just a few weeks ago, when I went to Dr. Pandya’s office for a follow-up laser procedure.

Occasionally after cataract surgery, a bit of tweaking is necessary.

Sometimes, the sac that holds the artificial lens becomes cloudy itself. When it does, the doctor uses a laser to burn a hole in the center of the sac. The sac stills functions, and the patient can see through the hole. Perfect.

The laser procedure took about two minutes. I sat at a special table with my chin in a strap while a nurse held my head still. Dr. Pandya sat in front of me holding the weapon.

During the procedure, it was like watching a psychedelic light show. I didn’t feel any sensation at all, but the crazy lights and the repetitive clicking and whirring sounds were fascinating.

Before we got started, I said, “Doc, don’t you think you ought to test that thing first, like on a grape or something?”

“No need,” she said. “I tested it 20 minutes ago on another patient.”