I Had a Minor Eye Surgery

It did finally come down to that, all because of a tiny stye

Image by OpenClipart-Vectors from Pixabay

If you haven’t already read this one, give it a quick read to understand why I ended up needing eye surgery.

It was inevitable. I had to undergo this tiny procedure. A stye arrived a month ago and made its home in my eye. Like tenants who refuse to leave, it had to be evicted by force.

I would have never used the word surgery for such a procedure. My doctor used it once, and my brain latched on to it.

My brain is a devious and sadistic creature. It loves to make me feel scared while it sits back and laughs at me. The word ‘surgery’ scared the daylights out of me.

My doctor (bless the good man) told me I could saunter in any day for the surgery. They would take about 45 minutes after my entry to prep the OT and sterilize all the instruments. The procedure itself would last 15 minutes. One hour in all, and I could saunter out just as casually.

That helped. Somehow the duration seems to make a difference. When he said 15 minutes, I immediately felt a teeny bit braver. I have no idea why time makes a difference.

I asked him if there was anesthesia involved. I very much preferred general anesthesia. ‘Knock me out, Doc’, I wanted to tell him. He said he would use local anesthesia. Good enough!

The D-Day Arrived

We had picked a Saturday for this momentous event. I wanted my husband with me. What if I passed out during the surgery? What if I never recovered from the local anesthesia, and my face was frozen, and I couldn’t say a word? How would I get home?

Got up way too early, dressed, ate breakfast because who knew when I’d be able to eat next. I want to say I wrote my will, but I felt that might be pushing my paranoia a bit too far. Also, there is not much to will away 🙂

Went to the doctor’s clinic.

When my turn came up, I went in hoping that by some miracle the Doc would say that surgery was not needed after all. And I could saunter home just like that. As if that was possible! That stubborn stye was very much there and sitting around watching all the action and having the time of its life.

Scared Witless

The good Doc examined my eye and said they would start preparing for the surgery.

So I innocently asked him, ‘You said it is a minor procedure, right?’ I am craving reassurance. I am craving something to alleviate my fear.

Suddenly there is deathly silence. The Doc looks at my husband and grins. I mean, it felt like a grin. There is only so much facial expression you can read with these @#@$&*# masks on.

What’s going on??

He says, ‘major surgeries happen smoothly. These minor ones…’.

What? What? What about minor ones? I can hear my heart in my ears by now. Any plans of calming myself down are now canceled. I am in full panic mode.

Then the Doc whipped out a BP monitor and checked my BP. My pulse is rather high. What did he expect after that dubious statement from a moment ago?

My husband informed him that I have been worried since morning. The dear Doc became super kind after that. He spent the next 2–3 minutes assuring me that the procedure was simple and quick, and all would be well. Have to admit I felt a bit better.

And it was Time

The lady at the front office made us sign some COVID forms. She then assured me that they follow very strict protocols and sterilize everything and that I had no reason to worry. I suspect word had reached her that I was a nervous sort.

I think the Doc’s assistant added an extra dose of anesthetic liquid in my eye just to make sure I don’t run away from the operating table.

The Doc warned me that there would be a small pinprick as he injected some potent anesthetic. After that, I really did not feel any pain.

But my brain had other plans. It decided that the Doc was going to tug my lower eyelid away from my eyes. My brain went into overdrive and kept trying to panic me.

Yoga and Songs

While the Doc did what he had to do to stymie the stye, I focused on remaining calm. I recalled my yoga guru, and all that she had taught me about Shavasana. I tried to pretend that my body was lying on the table and I was viewing everything dispassionately from somewhere above.

Meanwhile, my brain came up with another idea all by itself. It decided that playing a song might calm me. So it trawled through all my favorite peppy songs, skipped them all, and picked out a really old and very sad song. It then proceeded to loop that song through my head through the rest of the surgery. I simply could not shut down the song, and I don’t know more than two lines of it. So two lines looped and looped…and looped.

Between the eye tugging by the Doc, pretending to be calm and doing Shavasana, and this utterly idiotic song in my head, the surgery somehow got done.

Thankfully the procedure was really only 15 minutes long. The Doc finished, cleaned me up, and bandaged my eye. I now know how those one-eyed pirates with patches go through life.

The Doc seemed very pleased with my behavior. I think I had exceeded his expectations. Given my pulse rate, he had fully expected me to run screaming from the OT. But I was brave. He told me I had done well 🙂

I felt as if I had earned one of those certificates of appreciation. I wish I could frame it and hang it on my wall.

Post Procedure

The Doc explained that I could remove the patch after 4 hours. He warned me that there might be congealed blood on the eye. ‘Wash it off with warm water’, he said.

He also warned me that there might be blood clots under the skin and therefore I might have bluish bruises under the eyelid. Again, he assured me that they would all go away soon.

I went home and slept. I think I had earned it after all the trauma.

4 hours later, I removed the patch fearing the worst. I was fully prepared to look like a battle-worn soldier.

Ta da..not a scar or bruise or anything. There was a slight swelling, but the eye looked perfectly normal.

The Doc had done his job well.

Now I am wondering if the Doc was playing a trick on me by telling me it would look gruesome.

I imagine him having a hearty hyok hyok at this scaredy chicken’s expense.

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