The Independent on Saturday

An everyday ‘miracle’ procedure that restores vision

- PATRICK COYNE

LIKE many people, when my optometris­t recently told me I had cataracts and would need eye surgery, I had two reactions.

One was that some people said: “Oh, cataracts? That’s a routine operation.”

The other was a slight fluttering of anxiety at the thought of a surgeon doing unknown things to my eyes when I could, after all, still see perfectly well for most purposes.

A visit to my ophthalmic surgeon, dubbed “Dr Pierre” by his patients, put many of my doubts at rest. Yes, it was, these days, a routine procedure. I observed him operating the highly advanced and expensive equipment that allows him to inspect your eyes and measure the size of your lens, that lens whose cloudiness is going to affect your vision one day and could even cause blindness if not treated – when you are ready for it.

The surgeon’s quiet confidence and the caring, profession­al demeanour of his assistants and nurses did much to allay any misgivings I may have had. An appointmen­t was made for the procedure on my left eye.

The venue for the surgery was the Umhlanga Eye Institute, in what looked like a new building in the new part of uMhlanga Ridge. I had had a light breakfast and nothing to eat after 11am as instructed.

Resting in the comfortabl­e, adjustable chair, I was given drops to dilate my pupil, which took time to react.

After changing into the sterile gown, I was wheeled into the theatre’s admitting room and transferre­d to a gurney.

The anaestheti­st, jovial “Dr J”, explained that I would be having a local anaestheti­c, and would know all that was going on. “But don’t, whatever you do, scratch your nose during the op,” he warned me. “Tell the surgeon you want it scratched!”

Then he inserted the IV needle into my arm (“Just in case we need it during the op”), and got a nurse to assemble the blood pressure device on my other arm. He then administer­ed the local anaestheti­c.

“Dr Pierre” came in, greeted me pleasantly and, without any further ado, arranged the sterile drapes around my face and eye. Although I did not notice it at all, the next important procedure, I believe, was the removal of the “bad” lens. This was done by a process known as “phacoemuls­ification” which uses ultrasound to liquefy the old lens and suck it out.

Next, the surgeon inserted the new intraocula­r lens through a 3.2mm incision. This was the only part of the procedure that I sensed happening, and I can’t say it was a very enjoyable sensation… But there was no pain. That was it.

Twenty-five minutes in all.

Dr Pierre covered my eye with a plastic eye-patch, saying, “We’ll take this off when you visit us tomorrow morning…” The patch was to prevent me from fiddling with my eye while I slept. Back to the comfortabl­e chair in the “waiting ward” I was given a light snack.

The next day my son drove me to Dr Pierre’s rooms. The patch was taken off and, to my astonishme­nt, my sight seemed better than it had ever been in recent years. A week ago I underwent a similar operation on my right eye. Result? I now don’t need distance glasses for driving or TV watching. Nor do I really need glasses for reading, though I found that an old pair does help with small print. In fact, my latest glasses are no good any more. I am to visit the optometris­t again in a few weeks.

An industrial firm once advertised: “The impossible we do every day. Miracles take just a fraction longer…”

I am grateful that, thanks to Harold Ridley’s wide-awake observatio­n and inventive genius 70 years ago, modern eye-surgeons can now perform a miracle every day.

Patrick Coyne is a retired headmaster who has much knowledge of the problems facing blind people. He read his first book for a blind man in 1950 while living as a student at the Ezenzeleni Blind Institute in Roodepoort, on the West Rand. For 40 or more years he has been a volunteer reader at Tape Aids for the Blind, Durban. One of his cherished memories is having had the privilege, while still a student, of meeting and talking to the famous blind and deaf woman, Helen Keller, during her visit to South Africa in 1951.

Newspapers in English

Newspapers from South Africa