Why I trusted an eye surgeon nicknamed ‘Dr Blindstein’ to make me see clearly again!
. . . and,says political journalist ISABEL OAKESHOTT, if he could fix her eyes, he could fix anyone’s
the tests affects me more than it did the first time. For the rest of the day, I can’t read or see my phone. I can’t judge distances and it’s clear I shouldn’t drive. I hate it! What if the operation goes wrong and I’m left like this?
That night, I have a bit of a meltdown — but I don’t cancel.
JANUARY 18, 2018
TWenTy-Four hours to go. As instructed, I’ve not worn my contact lenses for a week. It’s been torture. Today, I’m not allowed to wear make-up, either, in case any particles get in my eyes. Glasses and a bare face!
At my pre-surgery appointment, I finally get to meet Professor reinstein. He studies my optical measurements and suddenly goes very quiet. My heart sinks: after all this, what’s wrong?
nothing — he just wants to perform a slightly different procedure, which he thinks will produce better results. It’s very technical, but relates to the size of the incision he’ll make.
The technique he wants to use is approved (‘Ce marked’) for lower prescriptions than mine (up to - 8.75), but he knows it is safe and effective for patients like me. I’ll be part of a clinical trial designed to demonstrate current guidelines are too conservative.
I’m a little nervous: who wants to be a guinea pig? Professor reinstein reassures me he has already done this successfully — and published his results — in hundreds of eyes for prescriptions like mine (and higher). So it’s not really an experiment! I’m in.
Annoyingly, clinical trial regulations mean I must have seven days to consider, so we have to postpone. It’s a blow, but I’m determined to press ahead.
Before I leave the clinic, I feel the need to broach the ‘Blindstein’ thing. nervously, I tell him. He roars with laughter.
‘After 28,000 procedures, I haven’t blinded anyone yet!’ he says.
THE DAY OF SURGERY
I ArrIve at the clinic excited, but nervous. I’m given a bag full of medicine: four types of eyedrops, painkillers and a sleeping pill. A spreadsheet explains what needs to be taken when. A nurse inserts numbing drops into my eyes.
Then they take away my glasses. I’m guided along a corridor, the nurse pointing out steps and corners. Professor reinstein’s in the operating theatre, all scrubbed up, but, without my specs, I can’t even see him. I lie down.
Ten minutes later, it’s all over. Stressful and scary, but not painful. Professor reinstein talked reassuringly throughout, so I knew what was happening.
I sit up in the operating theatre. My head is swimming, but I’m amazed: I can see the professor’s face! vimal said there would be no ‘light bulb moment’. He was wrong: I can read the clock on the wall!
I’m overwhelmed. The professor sits with me while I do my best to hold it together. ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ he says. And it is.
Immediately after the operation, the eyes are very sensitive to light, so it’s best to keep them shut for a few hours. This is also the key risk period for infection: I can’t afford to be exposed to dust or other particles, meaning no public transport for a few days.
Back at my flat, I spend the afternoon in a darkened room. The clinic has given me a bleeper that goes off every half-hour, when I need to insert antibiotic drops.
After four hours in the dark, I can start getting back to normal. I’m already thrilled. My sight isn’t perfect, but it’s pretty good.
For the next week, I have to wear goggles in bed, in case I accidentally rub or bash my eyes in my sleep. I look ridiculous, but I don’t care — my contact lenses are in the bin!
A WEEK LATER
My vISIon has been fluctuating, especially in the morning, when it can be quite blurry. This is linked to dryness, which tends to be worse when patients first wake up.
Though I’m able to function, I have to increase the font size on my computer to work and I need masses of eye drops. There are good days and less good days.
one morning, ten days after surgery, I can’t work on my laptop at all. I return to the clinic for urgent checks. Apparently, I’m just sleep- deprived and dehydrated, meaning my eyes are even drier than usual.
Professor reinstein checks my progress and is happy. When the swelling at the back of my eyes goes down, he thinks I’ll have 20/20 vision. exciting!
A MONTH LATER
I have 20/20 vision. It’s been life-changing. After all these years, I still reach for my glasses the minute I wake up, then realise I no longer need them. Late at night, I still feel guilty about wearing my contacts for too long — then realise I don’t have any lenses in.
At a Westminster party, I bump into Boris ‘Blindstein’ Johnson.
‘We have something in common,’ I say, and ask about his eyesight.
It turns out that, like a small percentage of patients, he needed a second procedure for full correction. I ask him how he sees now.
‘Like a lynx,’ he says, happily, and ambles off.