When the Eyes Fail, Surgery Restores Clarity

Cataracts can compromise vision at any age but new procedures can fix the problem and have sufferers seeing clearly

By Jeff Schnaufer
CTW Features

Cataracts is the clouding of the eye’s natural lens. It was, I thought, an old person’s disease. After all, it’s the most common surgery performed on people over the age of 65, with more than a million patients per year. But I’m a diabetic, which the doctors said could have accelerated the problem. My optometrist told me to relax. I probably wouldn’t need surgery for at least another year.

Three months later, I was calling for help. What had started as a hint of blurriness in both eyes had progressed to the point where it looked like someone had smeared a thin film of Vaseline over my right eye. My left eye was only slightly better.

Two months later, I wasn’t able to read street signs clearly and had to stop driving. I quit my gig delivering meals on wheels. My work as a freelance writer was in danger, since I could barely use my computer, even using 36-point type. And each night I looked up, I counted a few less stars in the sky. Surgery couldn’t come fast enough.

At the pre-surgery appointment, my eye surgeon, Dr. Howard Levy, told me I had nothing to worry about.

“I’ve done thousands of these operations,” he said with a smile.

Yeah, but this is the first time you’ve operated on my eyes, I thought, not smiling back. Who cares what your batting record was before?

Nor was I smiling on the morning of April Fool’s Day, when my daughter and wife escorted me to surgery. As I walked into pre-op, I wondered if they would ever look the same to me again.

As they put me on the operating table, I reminded Dr. Levy that I wanted to be knocked out for the surgery. The last thing I didn’t want to see in my life was somebody poking around in my eye.

I don’t remember being wheeled into surgery, but I’m told a small incision was made at the edge of my cornea. Then a special instrument used ultrasound to break apart the old, cloudy lens, followed by suction to remove the pieces. Dr. Levy then inserted a manmade intraocular lens - about one-sixth the size of a dime - into the incision, where it unfolded into my eye’s natural capsule.

Apparently, I was awake for the whole thing, but I didn’t see or remember a thing.

I went home that day with a patch on my right eye, feeling like quite the pirate. I slept most of the afternoon, taking some extra-strength Tylenol for the soreness. The next morning, I awoke early and eagerly. Yet I was full of anxiety as I began to remove my eye patch. The first thing I wanted to see was my wife, Martha. Would she appear clearly? Or would I spend the rest of my life trying to remember exactly what she looked like? The chance of complications, Dr. Levy said, were slim. But, he added, there were no guarantees.

Gingerly, I lifted the eye patch and looked over to my wife.

Her smile was warm, beautiful and best of all, clear as a bell.

And for the first time in several months, I saw something worth smiling about.

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