This relatively new operation will open your eyes to the world.
It’s not often that I would compare surgery to a day at the spa. But really, in a lot of ways, that’s what it was like. It was the most pleasant experience I’ve ever had surrounded by people in masks and smocks ready to slice into my eyeball.
The other odd thing about the procedure is the name.
“You had a…vasectomy?”
“No. Um, let me explain…”
That’s about how well-known a vitrectomy is. At the same time my regular eye doctor has told me she has so many patients who want to know what I experienced when I had my vitrectomy. They would like to have one as well, but they’re a little afraid, she said.
I’m hardly the brave sort—I close my eyes when they draw blood—but I’m absolutely thrilled I had this procedure. The results are…well, spectacular. I celebrated by watching the movies Blade Runner, 2001 and Close Encounters of the Third Kind over and over again, because they have the most astonishing special effects I’ve ever seen. (Sorry, CGI fans.) And I’m here to tell you that an operation that could make a stoic squick was actually a piece of cake.
Fun, even. Honestly. Sound ridiculous? Read on.
A vitrectomy
It’s true they cut into your eyeball. It’s true they suck the gel out. Yes, you’re awake through it; they even talk to you. And in the end, you will see so much more clearly that you’ll feel as if a whole new world opened to you.
What’s a Vitrectomy?
First of all, are you familiar with floaters? They’re those pesky things that appear to swim inside your eye. They look like tiny organisms under a microscope. And they can make life hell.
They slide past your line of sight as you’re reading. You have to wiggle your eyes to get them to go away. They are painless—in terms of physical pain, anyway. Psychologically they can lead to serious anxiety and depression. Especially if you work on the computer or do a lot of reading.
All my life
I’ve had floaters all my life. When I was just three or four I would sit at my parents’ picture window of their split-level ranch suburbia house and note the tiny circles that “fell from the sky.” They looked like the CBS television logo. I thought that was amusing at the time.
As I aged the floaters increased, in both number and size. They were especially visible when seen through a lit screen, because they reflect light. Some days the condition was just terrible, though most people would simply say, “Oh, yeah, I get those too.” I couldn’t convince them I was dealing with something far bigger, and not just a few annoying specs in my vision. This condition really impacts quality of life, even if it is not an “eye disease.” (IMPORTANT NOTE, however: If you suddenly start seeing floaters, or see a huge increase in the floaters you have, see an eye doctor immediately. It could mean you have a more serious condition, such as a detached retina. That has to be dealt with right away.)
A ray of hope
When an ophthalmologist told me about the possibility of a vitrectomy, I was in disbelief. I had repeatedly heard there “wasn’t anything that could be done” about floaters. There now was.
Basically a vitrectomy is a surgery where the doctor removes the vitreous fluid from the eye, taking with it all the gunk that’s been mucking up your vision, and replaces it with a new fluid, usually a saline solution but sometimes a gas or oil bubble. It’s really, truly not that bad. In all honesty, if I had a choice between going through my two vitrectomies (one for each eye, obviously) or having a tooth drilled by my dentist, I’d opt for the former. No contest.
As with any surgery, there are risks. Your eye surgeon will go over those with you before agreeing to the operation. Listen carefully, but also be mindful that there are risks with taking a bath, too.
V-Day
Here’s how it rolls: On your day you show up, they check you in, take your blood pressure and pulse, and sit you in a very comfy reclining chair in the prep room. Relaxing music played in the background when I had mine. Everyone was bright and chipper, like employees at a vacation resort.
Honestly, I felt like I was at a spa. My blood pressure was low and my heart idled at 60 beats per minute.
As I sat in this comfy chair, they swaddled me with warm blankets and elevated my feet. The only potentially annoying part was the pre-surgery eye drops. If you hate eye drops, know there are several rounds of them, but it's over very quickly. Then they wheeled me into the operating room, where my ophthalmologist and his crew were waiting.
Showtime
I’m still burritoed in the comfy blanket as they slid me onto the table. They didn’t tell me the details, but they gave me sedation. Honestly it’s so effective you don’t even realize it. You just feel happy. My memories past this point are spotty. I remember a cover going over my face, covering the eye they were going to work on. And they tape your forehead to the table, so that you can’t move your head; don’t worry, this doesn’t hurt and the only reason I was even aware of it was I heard the ripping of the tape. (Note: Sometimes they give the patient anesthesia, which means you’ll sleep through all this.) That seems illogical, and maybe the eye was exposed, but I couldn’t see anything. I do remember looking out the other eye, and even chatting with the surgeon a little, answering the comment, “You do have a lot of floaters,” with “Yup.”
Time flies
One of the most interesting thing about being under even partial sedation is you lose track of time. The operation takes about half an hour, maybe a little longer. But it seems like it’s over in minutes. I remember being surprised when the doctor started wrapping up and the warm blankets came off. (I seem really obsessed with those blankets, don’t I? I am. They felt so nice.)
Then it’s off the table and back to the prep room chair. You rest a bit (even though I felt fine immediately), they give you water, and of course you have a big bandage on your eye. Needless to say, someone has to drive you home.
And that’s where you recover. Not that there’s much of a recovery. You can’t lift heavy objects or exert yourself for a few days, but that’s about it, so if you’re a gym rate or jog five miles a day you’ll have to curtail those activities for about a week—your doctor will give you precise instructions. You will have one slightly annoying after-effect—the only part of the surgery that I found unpleasant.
When they remove the bandage (usually the next day) you’ll see a big air bubble in your field of vision. Like all air bubbles, it floats to the top of your eyeball, so you’ll see it on the bottom, as our vision is flipped. (It is. Really.) Don’t worry—it’s only temporary. It goes away in less than a week—mine vanished at day four—and gets smaller by the day. You can take acetaminophen if there’s any post-surgery pain, but I honestly had none. I was seeing 20/20 the next day but your mileage could vary. The gel they use to replace your vitreous fluid is actually clearer, and your vision may be better than it’s ever been.
I found myself actually counting down the days to my second surgery, so that the second eye would see as clearly as the first. My eyesight hasn’t been better since I was a kid. I’ve celebrated by going on a huge reading binge. And I watched Close Encounters and 2001.
One final thing
This post is (obviously) not meant to be an automatic endorsement for vitrectomies, or a substitute for medical advice. A vitrectomy may not work for everybody, or it may not be safe for you. I am not an eye doctor. Consult with someone who is. Learn more about vitrectomies here.
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