The story of my left eye – so far: Part IV
[Part I can be found here.
Part II can be found here.
Part III can be found here.]
Part III ended with my discovery – just a few days before my scheduled Boston surgery with a doctor whose prognostications for the success of my eye surgery were very gloomy because of the large extent of the adhesions that had stuck my cataract to my iris – of an eye surgeon in Los Angeles specializing in complex cataract surgery. He seemed to have glowing testimonials and excellent credentials, but was this just a slick advertising campaign? I didn’t know, but my next move was to see whether I could get a timely appointment with him, and so the next morning I called his office.
The receptionist was friendly, and the news was better than I’d even hoped for – an appointment about three weeks from my call. I said “yes!” with enthusiasm, and then called the Boston office and canceled. I explained to them that I needed time to reflect on what I was doing – which was certainly true.
And then I emailed the eye surgeon who was a friend of my brother’s, who had been giving me some advice during the decision-making process. I explained to her that I had decided to have the surgery in Los Angeles, that I had in-laws there with whom I could stay, and that the surgeon’s name was Uday Devgan.
I was a bit frightened about what she would write back – would it be something like “don’t go to that quack”? But the gist of her reply was, “He is fantastic. Great choice.”
Great choice. She obviously had already known about him, and I wondered why she hadn’t suggested my going to him when she’d learned I was searching for someone who might be able to tackle my case. But I quickly realized that I hadn’t made it clear to her that I was willing to travel that far, and she had thought I was limiting my search to New England.
Her response was all I need to feel a sense of tremendous relief. I knew that this doctor might not consider me a good candidate. I knew that after he examined me he might be just as pessimistic as the Boston doctor had been. But I also felt very strongly – much as I had felt when I saw Dr. Jobe over twenty years ago for my arm problems (see this as well as this) – that I was going to just about the best person possible to have a much-needed surgery, although of course the risks had not evaporated.
I required help on the trip; for example, I certainly couldn’t drive. My ex-husband kindly consented to go with me (we’re friendly), and it was his brother with whom we were going to stay. And so there was a flurry of preparations to leave in three weeks.
One of the quite unusual and I think amazing things about Dr. Devgan is that if a patient emails him with a question he will answer it by email, and he’ll do so pretty quickly. But I decided not to ask any questions prior to my appointment, because I figured whatever I needed to learn would be revealed after my examination. And so I went to California without knowing what he would decide, but I was at peace with that.
I was still somewhat frightened, but much less frightened than I’d been for many months. I continued to have a good gut feeling about this doctor – a literal gut feeling, because my GI symptoms improved.
In his office the examination took a long time, most of it performed by assistants who were uniformly pleasant and efficient. The doctor himself was cheerful and calm as well as friendly. He told me that my case was indeed more complicated than the usual and would take a bit longer to perform, but he would do it. He radiated a quiet confidence but not arrogance. I was given a surgery date in six days. I think his schedule was probably organized that way because so many people came in from out of town, including many who had come further than I, and the idea was to avoid the necessity of two separate trips.
As the date approached my nervousness increased, but never about the doctor himself, just about the surgery. I’d been told I would be awake but groggy, much like a colonoscopy but with a little more consciousness because more cooperation would be required from the patient. For example, sometimes I would be told to look at some lights, and I had to be aware enough to do that.
And that’s exactly what happened. One of the only things I remember about the surgery itself was being asked several times to look at three bright lights in front of my eye. I also remember something Dr. Devgan said two times during the surgery that made a very deep impression on me – so deep that I remember them, and the feelings they engendered in me, with great clarity. Twice I heard him say, “Beautiful.” These two statements were separated in time, and I knew (or thought I knew) that he meant that he had succeeded in performing some technically challenging maneuver. Each time he said it, I could feel my whole body relax. Through the haze of tranquilizers and numbing agents I had still retained quite a bit of fear, and this was the first time I thought that at the very least he had succeeded in getting that scar tissue cleared, removing my cataract, and inserting the new lens.
The rest remained to be seen – literally.
[To be continued in Part V…]
Thank you very much for this series. Looking forward to the happy ending.
I’ve had far fewer eye issues than you (thankfully), but I’m finding this series quite riveting. Glad you were able to find a good surgeon!
Still not sure if it will be a happy ending, but good chance it will.
HUZZAH!
So VERY pleased for you – finding the right doctor is ESSENTIAL, and not always easy. Prayers for your continued healing, and that you get ever more useful sight back!!
‘Beautiful” good words to hear.
I’m enjoying this series very much. Thank you.
It’s strange what goes through your mind in that hazy consciousness during the surgery. (My surgery was routine.) I had laser assisted surgery, with laser breaking up the lens for easier removal. So I got to watch that happening. My first thought was, that’s really cool! Next thought was that it was too late to turn back now.
All was well until my first PVD two months later.
I am so happy for you!
I had routine cataract surgeries on both eyes. Not at the same time.
Even so, it’s very scary because so much of the world is visual.
Looking forward to read about your successful surgery.
You did such a good job taking control of your medical search and not settling for the usual.
A gripping story. The suspense is killing me!
I hope all your readers are as successful in their medical quests as you have been. Even though I know you suffer from some chronic skeletal problems, you seem to have had some good success too.
Thanks so much for sharing this story. After so many years of writing this blog, your research skills must be phenomenal — and that seems to have paid off in finding your way to this surgeon!
Diane E Wilson,
Is that an Abyssinian in your profile pick?
@ Neo > “For example, sometimes I would be told to look some lights, and I had to be aware enough to do that.”
When I had my first cataract removed, the visual effects were so amazing – particularly since I knew I was being cut open and yet could not feel anything at all – that I kept interjecting comments (groggily, of course) until the doc told me to be quiet because I was jiggling the eye.
For the second eye, some years later, I very carefully kept mum, but the colorful display was just as beautiful.
Such a great story, and I’m so glad you followed your gut instinct, which I would call heavenly inspiration!
I agree with all of the comments above and look forward eagerly
to each installment. It’s good to know that you are pleased so far.
Molly Brown,
Yes, that’s a fawn Abyssinian; he was my best buddy for 15 years. His name was Mr. Stormy Pants. We’ve had two other Abys over the years, but we’re about to lose our last one. She’s nearly 19 years old, and can barely walk. They are wonderful cats, but we’re getting too old to deal with another kitten, especially one as rambunctious as an Abyssinian.
How was the trip with respect to the family?
Good story. I agree about the testimonials but they were true, not always the case.
My 3 surgeries for a detached and torn retina were a similar experience except what I heard was a nurse say during surgery was “Oh damn!” I said “That’s not what I want to hear during surgery on my eye.” Her reply was “Oh, I just dropped something and had to get another one.” By the way, the surgeon also had to tell me to stop talking as I was so fascinated watching him dig around in my eye with tweezers and a laser. Mine turned out great and I hope you get as good a result.
“Beautiful”
Reminds me of a Bill Cosby routine where a guy is having a vasectomy and hears the doctor say “oops”.
Irv; FOAF:
I was once having a tooth extracted and the dentist said, “Oh no!! What are we going to do NOW?” The tooth had broken as he tried to extract it.
Diane,
Love, love, love Abbys. Lost ours a half a decade back and still mourning her. We are life long German Shepherd people and have and have had some world class Schutzhunds but my husband always says our Abby was the best
‘dog’ he ever had! She used to go for walks on a leash with the shepherds. Unfortunately, no one breeds them in Hawaii anymore and it is impossible to get a cat or dog younger than 6 months into the islands under our quarantine rules. So no Abbys for now…
Her daughter lives down the street and is the spirit and image – when I run past her house I call her name and she comes out to see me. So there’s that.
I’m elated at your outcome and the blessing you received in finding this great physician. I recently had my nose put back together after a Moos procedure, and the young man tasked with the hour long job went deep. It seems he likes country music – the dulcet tones of “Drinking Problem” came out of the iPad recording everything and he put out a sound that I can only compare to that of Glenn Gould squeaking along with his renditions of Bach back in the day. He stayed there with a group that ranged from Hank Sr. to Garth and Willie. If he can go that deep and find that level of concentration, I’m good. I just relaxed.
My nose looks better now than the one I brought in. I understand exactly the emotion you convey here. So happy for you.