The Operation

For the last few months, I have been suffering from a small pimple in my eye that grew to achieve great lengths. The pimple seemed quite harmless at first, or so I thought. However, over the span of two months, it gradually expanded and spread on like a virus, popping two to three times and creating infection within my eye that made it hard for me to open my eyelids in the morning. The pus would accumulate and stick my eyelids shut such that I had to peel out the infection on waking up everyday. Naturally, this turned out to be a nuisance for me, so I decided to consult a doctor. 

The doctor was extremely friendly and inquired about my eye and my day to day activities and so on. We chatted for some time after which he told me that the pimple had to be sutured out, since it was clearly visible and protruding out of my eye even when closed. Now I, for one, had actually grown fond of the pimple whom I chose to name Nico. Nico was a little troublesome, but I enjoyed creeping out other people by staring at them straight in the eye and letting Nico do his thing. But now, like any other parasitic relationship, he had to be removed for my very well being and upkeep. Thus, I agreed to go through with the minor surgery. 

I find it necessary to mention that I have never undergone any kind of operation before with full awareness of what was going on, so it felt like I was trying out something new. Or rather, I guess the news about the operation never really properly sank into me, which made me pretty confident for an eighteen year old. This phenomenon, in fact, is the real secret to my confidence- I rarely comprehend the depth of the activity I am supposed to be a part of and walk around with an "All is well attitude". This makes it seem like I am a very confident person, when in reality, I have not yet fully understood what was going on. 

So I proceeded to the minor OT (operation theater) where the nurse said that she would have to do a small allergy test, to see if I was allergic to the anesthetic. I agreed and she proceeded to carefully withdraw a small amount of transparent liquid from a brown bottle and held it to the air to adjust it to the right amount. I take pride in saying that I am not, in the least bit, scared of needles. So I sat there, all prepped up for a jab in my left arm. This very needle experience, however, shook me, since it was not like the rest. I actually felt an excruciating amount of pain, because unlike other injections, this liquid was slowly injected underneath my skin instead of my vein. However, I sat through it and got the injection done without a squeak. It turns out that the anesthetic had to bubble my skin giving way for active blood flow through the puncture in my arm. After half an hour of restless waiting, I surprisingly had no allergic reaction so they proposed to start the procedure. 

The actual operation happened very swiftly, now that I think of it. Another nurse, very different to the one I had previously met, came into the theatre followed by the doctor and two more nurses. This new nurse was extremely rough in her actions. As the minutes passed, I began to fear the new "rough" nurse as I continued witnessing her activities. The doctor asked her to pour some kind of drop into my eye followed by betadine drops. She agreed to do so and started building up unnecessary velocity in her movement. She did everything within less that three seconds. The initial droplets flew through the wind to land on my forehead. I asked her to pour again as none of it had actually fallen in my eye. She frowned, but complied. Then, she advanced to the betadine drops which, very much like the others, flew through the air to land on my eyebrow and earlobe, which frustrated me. I dragged the betadine drops with my fingertips to my eye, so that at least that way they would fall in. The doctor's chair was too tall for her comfort so she requested the rough nurse to increase the height of my bed, which she did, a little too much. The height ended up being too tall for the doctor to operate on so the rough nurse adjusted the wretched bed for three whole minutes. After the required adjustments were made, the doctor started explaining to me the whole operation. I agreed casually, not scared in the least bit. I even cracked a joke with the doctor. She smiled, probably because she did not expect me to be this confident. The rough nurse yelled out that she had the adrenaline ready. Now, the problem with being a science student is that you actually understand more or less of what the doctors say. This was why I became momentarily restless when I heard the word "adrenaline", because I knew that adrenaline was a common medication used in case of heart failures that happened mid-operation. I started calling all the gods I knew as the severity of the whole thing slowly hit me. What if the doctor suddenly sneezed? This would imply that the scalpel would proceed to pierce my cornea and cut into my pupil, followed by the aqueous and vitreous chambers. My eyeball would turn all mushy and watery inside my eye socket. Even worse, what if the rough nurse leaned a bit too much into my prostrate body, thereby initiating the above series of events followed by the "oops" of the doctor and "whoa" of the other nurses? What if I sneezed? What if suddenly the building caved in and fell onto my body and they all ran away in fear leaving the scalpel in my eye? The list was endless.

They continued to clean the areas around my eye and the procedure officially began. The doctor injected a liquid into my eye that made me cry out "SANTA MARIA" in full fledged Spanish. The pain soon subdued and she injected me again, this time with less force that only made me say "mama mercy". While I was wondering how within a moment I had transformed into a Spanish speaker, the doctor pressed into my eyelid letting the anesthetic settle in, drawing another moan from me. At last, the anesthesia was done and I calmed down. The doctor said something to me that sounded like "there might be some bleeding but do not be scared" and I smiled, as if to say that I was not the kind of character who swooned at the sight of three drops of blood. However, nothing could ever prepare me for what was about to come next. They had initially put a blue cloth on me, only opening up my one bad eye that had become Nico's abode. This, however, had limited my temporary vision. The doctor took out a scalpel and cut into my eye. I couldn't feel pain, but I could certainly feel the movement and the spring of blood overflowing from my eye. I became delirious, since all I could see with my good eye was the blue cloth. My eyeballs started to move around in an effort to process the whole thing. The doctor told me to calm down, but the fact that the rough nurse kept tickling my neck in an effort to keep me still only managed to freak me out more. My vision turned red and I saw them cut Nico out. I calmed down when I saw Nico go, slowly saying farewell, hoping his well being for the rest of his very short lived life. The doctor cleaned up the whole thing with a gauze and packed everything up. The rough nurse somehow managed to pad my eye with gauze and plaster while most of the blood flowed into the gauze. I rested for about fifteen minutes, after which a nice nurse came and repadded the padding neatly. I came home and looked into the mirror and the realization hit me, something that I had never noticed before- I look better with one eye padded. That was the precise moment when my narcissistic streak took a turn. Its funny, because I hate asymmetry. That is why I despise spoons. Spoons are not radially symmetric and hence, they unsettle me. But surprisingly, my face looked beautiful with my good eye opened and the bad one closed up. I hurried to call my parents and recounted the whole experience to them. I then proceeded to lie low, awaiting my sister's return from school, so that I could scare her eyes out. And so, as she walked in to the room, all carefree and my presence unbeknownst to her, I sprang up. The ineffable look on her face, combined with the incomprehensible names she kept calling me was enough to keep me up in good spirits for a week at minimum.