Yes, I know. Me and good news are an oxymoron <_<.
On a serious note, I was in a pretty bad downward spiral. My eye issues tipped me over the edge: I became convinced I would never be able to see properly again. I would have panic attacks about
losing my sight altogether and becoming completely blind, and no amount of reason could counter the cold-blooded fear at 3am.
Thus I was pessimistic and scared of my upcoming cataract operation. It loomed like a Damocles sword over my head for months. On top of that, my Crohn's was playing up: hello, nocturnal trips to the toilet 3x a night. Piss off, nocturnal trips to the toilet 3x a night.
Anyway, I finally had the dreaded operation yesterday. I read Animal Farm on my Kindle whilst waiting for the operation, because there's nothing like a good depressing political allegory to make you even more depressed (brilliant book though). I was surprisingly anxiety-free until I was wheeled into the operating theatre, whereupon I became terrified that I would get an urge to have a BM during the procedure! Supposing I moved whilst the surgeon was cutting into my eye?
Whilst they did the pre-op preparations, I lay there completely still and dared my bowels to so much as even hint
at an urge. Then another thought occurred to me: would my vision go completely dark during the surgery? I turned to worrying about
that instead, and my bowels and body remained completely still the entire time.
No, my vision never went dark. The intolerable glare of the overhead light turned into 3 fuzzy yellow lights floating above me. There was a distant sound of a drill or a saw. I never saw or felt anything go into my actual eye - just those 3 yellow lights constantly moving all over the place. After a few minutes, I was able to relax a little and the intense fear receded.
Afterwards I was wheeled out into the discharge lounge with a patch over my right eye. My parents and my mum's friend picked me up from the hospital. I wasn't allowed to take the patch off until the next morning. The immediate
impression was one of confusion and of being underwhelmed. It wasn't until my dad got to me read a license plate across the road and persuaded me I could see well enough to drive, that the implications began to sink in.
However it wasn't until I went out with my mum and her friend that I fully grasped them. I not only could see, I could see much better than I ever had.
It literally was like seeing the world in HD for the first time. I saw a bunch of wild poppies on the canal bank and goggled at how red they were. In the garden centre, I covered my uncorrected left eye and goggled at all the plants, leaves and flowers - everything was so crisp and clear, it would make a grown man weep.
Meanwhile, my left eye - which had the 'good' vision - now seems really poor: incredibly blurry and dim. But the right eye can compensate for that, at least long distance.
I do have a slight complication: my right eye resembles something from a horror movie. It's red. I don't mean the pinkish-red of inflammation, I mean bright, bright red. Looking as though it's about
to weep blood red. I hesitantly googled it and had the happy - and first - experience of google giving me a mundane and reassuring answer instead of an extremely rare and deadly disease. Confirmed it with a few more searches, but 99% sure now it's a subconjunctival haemorrhage. Sounds scary, but actually it's just a broken blood vessel in the white part of the eye and is completely harmless. But it does take 1-2 weeks to go away, so I have to go around looking like something out of Dracula until then.
I've got to go to bed now. Sorry for the long ramble. I'll show you a photo of the wild poppies I took earlier to (hopefully) make it worth it. VIEW IMAGE