Lightside

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For more than a year the problem was more than obvious and it was getting worse. What had started as a spot or two in my eye had multiplied. They were not obvious to anyone but me.

Like most males I tried to ignore the problem, make believe that it would clear up on its own, go away. It did not.

My attitude was macho and not too bright! For the past 12 months the eye failed to function. In fact I was blind, could only discern light from dark.

So my left eye did all the work and, to its credit, did a great job of it. Driving was not a problem and going about my daily commitments proved no hardship. But the nagging doubt remained. What caused the problem and would it start to affect my good eye.

Finally I told my family doctor and he was far from sympathetic.

In fact, he asked why it had taken me so long to mention this "little problem." My saying I did not want to trouble him with my vision worries got me into more hot water.

For all of that year I had not taken precautions, worn safety glasses when working with saws, on the land, driving tractors and all. In short I was simply pig-headed and silly to boot. Seems this runs in the family. Male side, that is.

Of course, once my physician knew my situation numerous appointments and, in the end, sessions with a specialist resulted in visits to St. Michael's Hospital for tests.

The conclusion? That I could not see with my right eye. But I knew that. Seems that the specialists just wanted to confirm the obvious. Very thorough indeed. Heck, even when they took special photos of my eyeball all they could see was it was packed with blood.

Once again I was chided for not taking care, wearing safety glasses and for my cavalier approach to life. I only became serious when the chief ophthalmologist laid out the facts and set a date for surgery. A pleasant fellow, Dr. Allan Berger was not amused.

When the procedure was explained, what had to be done and the odds for success were spelled out I blanched at first, said no. Better one eye than no eye I reasoned. That was both silly and cowardly. Finally, I had as much faith in him as he did.

This resulted in yours truly presenting himself for a pre-operative session. That is where officials take all the information needed and then take some blood as well. I felt a touch squeamish.

I have never met anyone who looked forward to being operated on. From appendix through to open-heart surgery or, in my case, retinal and eye repair scare the heck out of people.

When Joe Walsh, a pal of mine, learned of my impending surgery he asked if he might have my ring should I not make it. A cheery thought to be sure. He may have been joking but he was ogling the ring closely.

The surgery was some two hours long and three specialists worked on my eye. At no time was I unconscious. I felt every tug, snip and drip. I could feel them probing inside the eye. I thought they were dancing. Every word they spoke was not music to my ears.

Just recently the protective bubble patch came off. I could not see with that eye. But the doctor promises I will.

No more jokes about keeping an eye out for this or that for me.