  One year ago today, I arrived at my former ophthalmologist’s office at 7:30am expecting to undergo laser surgery to clean up the debris in my eye left over from the portion of the calcified cataract that he removed from my iris on June 12. I had been there the day before and told that my pressure was too low to safely operate, and I returned home. For at least two days I had been complaining of an increasingly large black spot at the bottom of my eye; he said it was just a floater. After two trips into his office with no decision made yet about my readiness for surgery, I returned to the waiting room to wait a little longer with the hopes that my pupils would dilate so a closer inspection could be done. They did not, but the former ophthalmologist finally brought me into his office for a third time and saw what the problem was. My mom told me that a look of nausea crossed his face as he muttered that my retina had detached. While we returned to the waiting room for a fourth time, I knew what was happening wasn’t good but I wasn’t sure of the extent of the problem yet. I heard him tell the secretaries to call a particular surgeon “now” and to say he was sending an emergency patient.
I asked the office staff if this new guy was any good. They assured me he was the best in the city. After getting an emergency appointment, we were on our way from Humber to SMH via cab. One year ago today, we took a very quick cab ride from Downsview to downtown. We stopped for lunch at my favourite eatery, Mr. Greenjeans. I couldn’t see the menu. I was nervous but not completely comprehending the severity of the situation.
I was convinced that I would be on my way home that evening after undergoing a laser surgery to correct the detachment. I was very naïve. One year ago today, to the hour, I was admitted for an emergency vitrectomy to SMH. I was terrified when I was told that my odds of seeing again were only 70% -- I couldn't stop focusing on that 30% chance of total blindness. The office staff was great. One in particular, Mary, was very kind and gentle with me in my fragility after my consultation.
The doctor, though he had already seen me and answered my questions, left a meeting to talk to me again when I said I had another question about the likelihood of him removing my new lens. I recall sitting in the waiting room, awaiting information about my hospital admission, and turning to stare at my mom. She asked me what was wrong. I vaguely remember explaining that I was trying to memorize what I could see of her face in case I didn’t have that chance again. One year ago today, my mom guided me across the street to SMH and we visited the Ophthalmology clinic.
A resident who was going to assist in the surgery saw me and ran a few tests. As several hours had passed since lunch, I insisted on getting something to eat before formally checking myself into the hospital. We ate at the 6th floor cafeteria. I can’t remember much except feeling very numb and frightened, and talking about what I would do with my life if I couldn’t see again; academia seemed out of the question. After dinner, I went to be checked into the hospital formally and checked into my semi-private room.
The following afternoon during my surgery, I would be moved to a ward and my clothes would be stolen from my room. My parents didn’t notice anything was missing until it was time for me to go home the day following the surgery. One year ago today, I had nothing prepared for a hospital stay; the surgery I had been expecting was an outpatient one. I had no pyjamas or slippers or a toothbrush. My father, who was badly injured at the time, called his sister to drive him to Humber.
They passed through a heavy thunderstorm on the way and almost had to pull off the road because of a lack of visibility. They made it safely and he picked up the SUV and drove it despite his broken jaw and battered face to SMH, bringing with him a few things for my mom to stay at a nearby hotel. They finally opted to return home overnight so I kept the overnight necessities – pajamas and slippers, and the hospital gave me a disposable toothbrush. One year ago today, after visiting hours, I called Fr. Pat and told him what had happened. He told me that Fr. Ed had drowned in a swimming accident after suffering an epileptic seizure the day before. His funeral was to be Friday. One year ago today, I spent a very long night alone. One year ago today, I cried inconsolably. In the hospital, the chaplain, Toni, came to visit me the following day and tried to calm me down.
I imagine I was disturbing my roommate. I kept apologizing but I couldn’t stop crying. She called the priest who was saying daily Mass for them and he gave me the Sacrament of the Sick the shortly before my surgery. I finally felt some peace after that. I finally stopped crying. One year ago today, I met the doctor who gave me back my sight, something that I had been more or less missing for just under two months up to that point. I am so grateful to him for putting me back on the road to vision. More to come... (Amusingly, the spell checker just asked me if I wanted to replace “vitrectomy” with “vasectomy”. Hmm… No. That would have changed the story dramatically, though…) 
