AFTER THE SURGERY:
October 20, 1999 TRANSPLANT DAY: We drive the 2 1/2 hours to Kennewick, which is where Dr. McNeill does all his cornea transplants. We get there at 9:45 and I'm not scheduled until 10:30. Nonetheless, they get me started right away. They take an ultrasound measurement of my eye's length, so they can determine how nearsighted it is. Then, they show me a video explaining the risks of eye surgery, After that, they put on my paper gown, shoe covers and shower cap and start giving me drugs. First, an antibiotic and an eye drop to constrict the pupil. Then they ask if I'd like something to relax me. My reply: "heck yeah." They give me some valium and take my blood pressure. Then, they lead me over to the anesthetist. She gives me some numbing drops, then puts a small injection in. After that kicks in, she pulls out the big needle. This was really the only part of the procedure that was painful. After several injections from the big needle, she takes a rubber ball and straps it to my eye socket with surgical tubing. This is supposed to soften the eye and work the anesthesia into it. After a few minutes, she takes off the rubber ball and tells me to watch her hand as she moves it in front of my face to see how my eyes track it. My right eye is still moving a little bit, so I get one more shot and then it is completely immobile. They lead me into the Operating Room, which feels like it's about 50°. They sit me down in what looks like a dentist's chair and offer me a blanket. I ask if they get one too, because it's freezing in here. Dr. McNeill says a short prayer for the success of the surgery. Beforehand, they'd asked me if it was okay if he said it out loud. I told them that was fine. I'll take all the help I can get. They place a sterile drape on my face that covers my left eye. Over the next twenty minutes or so, the only thing I can make out through my right eye is the motion of suturing. Nobody says much of anything, except every once in awhile, Dr. McNeill mutters, "this is a beautiful donor cornea." As he's sewing it in, he tells me, "this is the boring part of the surgery," and asks the nurse if she knows any funny stories. She says she's fresh out. We chitchat about work, I tell him I'm keeping this diary, and I also ask him the best way to get my letter to the donor's family. He tells me which eye bank to contact and says they can sort it out. He gets out his "ring-light" which he uses to properly tension the stitches. I comment that the ring doesn't look like a Slinky, which it would have before. I ask if that's a good sign. He chuckles and says "yes, that's a good sign." They remove the drape from my face, which I now discover is adhesive. It's a good thing I shaved. They put a bunch of gauze on my eye and tape a plastic shield over it. They help me up and walk me out to the recovery room. They sit me down in a recliner and take my blood pressure. It's higher than before the surgery, which they attribute to the anesthesia. After a few minutes, it's gone down quite a bit. They bring my mom in and explain the drugs to us (cephalexin, an antibiotic-4 times a day for 5 days; and meperidine, a narcotic painkiller, every 3-4 hours as needed), since they figure I'm too loopy to remember it on my own. We drive back to Spokane and I lie back and listen to my walkman most of the way. Some CDs I'd ordered just showed up, so my goal in my convalescence is to qualitatively evaluate the relative merits of the albums of Paul Revere & the Raiders. We get home, I take a nap. I get up and take my drugs, and take another nap. I watch some TV and go to bed. What a day.
October 21, 1999: Wake up and man, it hurts. Take a double-dose (but still within the prescription) of meperidine. Go see Dr. Everett for my 1-day checkup. He removes the shield and bandages. I see dried blood on the gauze. Yikes. My eyelashes are matted together, and I still don't have much muscle control over the eyelid, so he has to pull it open. Everything seems blurry, but not in the double-vision manner of HANKVISION (see picture above). I'm now seeing 20/70 and the doctor says I'm fine to drive. Thanks, I say, I'll wait until my eyes move in unison. He prescribes pred-forte (a steroid drop to prevent rejection) four times a day, refresh-plus (artificial tears) every 1-2 hours while I'm awake, and refresh-p.m. (lubricating ointment) at bedtime. I'm also supposed to wear the shield while sleeping for a week. I go home and sleep and sleep and sleep. Man, those drugs are something else. At this point, the early favorite for best Raiders album is Spirit of '67, mainly on the strength of the single "Hungry" and the album cut "Louise."
October 22, 1999: I realize the error of my ways. The best Raiders album was Revolution!, as evidenced by the fact that I can't get "Him or Me (What's it Gonna Be?)" out of my head. I go back to my apartment, then swing by work to pick up my check. Management asks if I'm actually back to work, I tell them not yet, since my current goal is to manage to stay awake for more than 3 hours at a stretch. My co-workers are wowed by the stitches. Go to dinner with my family, since it's Grandma's birthday. I just about fall asleep at the buffet, so my dad drives me home.
October 24, 1999: My brother and his wife are in town, so I have them and the folks over for brunch. I actually manage to get my place cleaned up and don't set anything on fire. I consider the morning a smashing success and celebrate by sleeping through football.
October 25, 1999: Go see Dr. Everett for a checkup. With the pinhole glasses, I can read 20/40. My astigmatism's 3 diopters, so he pulls out the micro-tweezers to adjust the sutures. I note that his instruments look more like something a dentist would use, and he tells me, "Well, you need to have something interesting today to put on your web site." He gets it down to 1 diopter. He gives me ocuflox (an antibiotic drop) and says to take it 4 times a day for the next 2 days. When the numbing drops wear off, OH MY GOLLY THAT HURTS. I almost take some meperidine, but decide not to, since I've been off of it for 3 days. I had been wearing a single contact in my left eye, but I notice my glasses seem to help my right eye quite a bit, so I switch to them. I go see "Bringing Out The Dead" and my vision doesn't much bother me during the film. My right eye muscles are still reluctant to look to the right, though.
October 28, 1999: Went without the plastic shield overnight. I did not poke my eye out while I slept. During the day, I got something of a headache in my left (non-transplant) eye. I think it's the fact that my glasses actually make a difference in my right eye for the first time, and my eye muscles are being used to point my eyes in directions they haven't gone before. I go back to the single contact for awhile and I think the change helps. Then again, that theory is probably all hogwash and I just need more rest.
October 29, 1999: I got the videotape in the mail!!!! I imagine many people would be squeamish to watch such a thing. Myself, my jaw was on the floor and I was laughing out loud in sheer disbelief. Of course, I can laugh because I know how it turned out. After watching it once, I plug the VCR into my computer and capture about 40 photos. I distill them down to a dozen and make a chronology of the main points of the surgery. They can be viewed here.
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