Cataracts: The eyes have it

I don’t know how The King does it.

Richard Petty, I mean.

Wearing sunglasses all day and night, I’m talkin’ ’bout.

I’ve heard him say he wears shades for his sensitive eyes.

I’ve had to wear sunglasses because of my sensitive eye.

You see, I’m in the midst of having cataracts removed. 

Just to be clear, Brittanica’s definition is: “Cataract, a waterfall, especially one containing great volumes of water rushing over a precipice.”

Guess I need a kayak.

Oh wait. Wrong def. The Mayo Clinic says this: “A cataract is a clouding of the lens of the eye, which is typically clear.”

My lenses have been determined to be less than clear.

My optometrist said my cataracts should be removed and referred me to an ophthalmologist who specializes in doing just that.

I drove to Greensboro so my new ophthalmologist could look deeply into my eyes. He not only found cloudy lenses but scar tissue on my right retina.

“You need to see a retina specialist about the scar tissue,” he said. 

So I had a date with the retina specialist and he recommended that the scar tissue be dealt with the same day the cataract was removed. 

Cataract surgery is done with the patient awake but with the eye heavily numbed. The doctor removes the cloudy lens and replaces it with a manmade one.

Don’t ask me what the other doc did to the retina scar tissue.

Doing both together is what they call a combo. I wanted to ask if that came with fries and a drink.

Treating cataracts, and retinas, is a joint effort of doctor(s) and patient, I learned. I spent what seemed like an eternity dripping eye drops into my eyes: Three prescription drops four times a day.

It was apparent that this “joint effort” was taking much more of my time than my ophthalmologists'. But I guess they made up for it with their years of med school.

The day of surgery, I rode to Greensboro with my brother Ron, who would stay in the waiting room so he could drive me home afterward. We arrived at the appointed time, 5:30 a.m., only to find the door of the surgery center locked.

I couldn’t really blame the employees for being late. It was the day after the Super Bowl, after all.

When my name was called, I was taken into a cubicle with a cot and a hospital gown. A woman asked me which eye would be worked on. I told her the right eye. So she used a marker to write an “R” over my right eye.

Later, the cataract surgeon came by and asked the same question. He then used a marker to place a dot over my right eye.

Then the retina surgeon came and asked which eye it was. He also dotted my right eye.

I asked him if the ink would come off and he assured me it would. I found out later that removing the markings took more scrubbing than Mr. Clean could handle.

I was hooked up to an IV so the anesthetics could be pumped into me to numb my eye. My head was covered but I remained awake and could hear the doctors talking to their assistants.

The cataracts required every bit of eight minutes but the retina specialist must have spent most of 30 minutes doing his thing. I came out with an eyepatch that would have made a pirate proud.

The next day I went for a followup and had the eyepatch removed. My right eye can now tell that those yellow lights are actually white.

I’m now doing the three prescription drops four times a day as post-op. For the first week after surgery, I had to wear an eye protector while in bed at night. I wasn’t to lift more than 10 pounds or bend to pick up my eyedrops that slipped from my hand.

In March, I’ll have the cataract removed from my left eye, without all that retina drama.

Meanwhile, I had to wear those sunglasses all day and night while awake the first week.

I just don’t know how Richard stands it.

Larry Penkava is a writer for Randolph Hub. Contact: 336-302-2189, larrypenkava@gmail.com.