The Italian Job

Hello my friend.

How long since I've written.  Just before my 60th birthday wasn't it?  I'd love to write that this has been the greatest year of my life so far but sadly, it has not.

Firstly as a result of a road rage event back last November I was attacked by 2 men which shook me up and took all interest out of my life, including writing in this blog.  Perhaps I will write about it - one day.  But no, not just yet. 

Secondly, I have rather unceremoniously been told by the Gods of this Universe that I am no longer indestructible.  There's me spouting to folk in and around this blog about how good I am and how great I feel no doubt because of all the great tour cycling since my early retirement from BT.  And how it had done a fantastic job of helping me to recover a level of fitness and wellness not perhaps seen since my 30's.  My early retirement at 55 brought the days of driving a desk and eating way too much unhealthy stuff to an end.  And how as a result I felt great! 

There I was on the Wednesday morning just before Easter egg day having a relaxing moment sprawled on the chaise longue contemplating my navel with a cup of coffee perched atop my belly when I noticed a small but worrying disturbance in my vision. 

I phoned my optician.  However, I could not get past the receptionist who insisted that no-one could see me until the following Monday.  Surely that was the wrong response.   They are so gonna get a snottagram from me when I have a final outcome.  

So after visiting and attempting to help feed my long time and ultra poorly mate Max in hospital I stood momentarily at a junction in the white corridor of my hospital life - before turning right into A&E.  10hrs or so later at approx 5am I was seen by a junior doctor who - after being crushed and shaken like a rag doll because she wanted to be sure that I had not suffered a stroke - could not diagnose the problem so referred me to the hospitals eye clinic later that afternoon.  Talk about walking in to the Star Ship Enterprise sick bay where an hour or so later a detached and torn retina was diagnosed.  The emergency surgery was scheduled for 9am Good Friday.

She came in from a small room in which she'd been scrubbing her bits.  A tall slim Italian lady surgeon going by her accent and with long black hair from what I could still see with my one good eye.  Probably in her mid 30's.  'Wazzamatter you?', she says in soft lovely north Italian tone.  There I am in a darkened theatre with her and two other nurses plus a rather fetching articulating table.  I eagerly started to strip but a 'no no Mr Tyssen!' put a stop to that little dentist dream as I was shoved onto my back with my trousers, socks and shoes still on.  A rather impressive microscope looked down on me in a  dark cathedral like room. 

Well every type of drop went in my eye to open it, to numb it, to colour it and to protect it.  However the procedure to locally anaesthetise it involved a rather big needle and such an uncomfortable 'OH MY GOD' moment like she was trying to stun my testicles via my eye socket.  Oh Boy.  My Boys ran away to my ankles and hid in my socks and Balloon Dog, well somehow he managed to suck in so hard he inverted himself.  And down down down the tip of the needle went.  I was rigid in all the wrong ways with my mouth wide open doing my absolute, ABSOLUTE best to accept the consequences and to NOT move.  Fnally she said in her soft Italian drawl 'you can relax your jaw now Mr Tyssen' as she removed the needle.  Job done.  No longer mattered.  My eyeball was numb and frozen like it had spend the last 24 hours on a long winters bike ride with Ma Boys - sans the shivering…. 

Now I could try to describe in detail the operation but I'd put you off ever cutting into and eating a soft boiled egg ever again.  For sure the contents of my eye, including the floaters, were all drained out before she got on with the keyhole surgery using exquisitely fine power tools and microscopic cryogenics to re-fix and repair the retina.  

So what was it like from my side.  Well whilst I was mostly blind in my right eye beforehand, post the injection its lights out.  I had been blind from approx 4am Thursday as through the night I could see, I assume, my retina slowly detaching as the blind spot moved from left to right across my vision.  Scary.  I even told the nurse at about 1am that I was becoming very worried about it but she did nowt other than stand up at 2am in a painfully tired and crowded A&E waiting room and shout 'how's everyone doing?' just before being lynched.  

All through the operation I could see and feel nowt.  But WOW! the colours!  Amazing how the brain reacted.  Like watching an ultra bright multi colouted Aurora Borealis float across my minds eye as she got on with the job.  She's in conversation with the machinery too.  'I would like 30 now please' she would say in her genteel Italian drawl and the machine would talk back in soft tones that could for the life of me have been my car sat nav's younger sister with a 'Thirty now selected' reply.  

The green gown sheets which covered all but my eyeball had not been fully stuck down to my face which at times meant I felt the cold flow of, well I thought it was water but it might have been the contents of my eyeball too, run across my right cheek, down my face and neck onto my t'shirt.  Don't care.  No doubt she's concentrating hard.  Just let her get on with it, Wayne.  I'm not gonna move. 

I knew the operation was coming to an end as the anaesthetic was starting to wear off 'cos I could feel the scratch of her at work.  Hardly breathing 'cos of fear of moving my head whilst she was in my right eyeball up to her elbows I managed to utter a very quiet 'excuse ...me...I...can...feel...you...scratching....  'Thank you' she said, 'nearly done'... The eyeball is sewn back up and the eye filled with gas in lieu of the aqueous humor.  Funny it was not!

And that's it.  'All done' she says and the coverall green gowns start to be lifted off of my rigid body which had now set like concrete.  I'd forgotten that the small green sheet around my eyeball had been glued down at the edges.  Now I don't know what I had done to annoy the lass but with a sudden thwack she pulled the sheet off with a 'YEOWWW!' filling the room.  I asked it I could have my eyelashes and eyebrows back!   Oooohhh!

Life is full of firsts.  First time in hospital for an operation.  First time in a wheelchair.  First time that I've ever been really incapacitated.  A totally useless sack of spuds.  The next 10 days was a life living on my left hand side day and night to keep the gas bubble in the right place.  Neighbours and family have been great though looking after me.  Thank you :-)

Today I can again write.  I am still waiting for the vision to return in my eye.  The gas is still in there slowly being dispersed as the the eyeball fills back up.  Until then the world looks like coloured blobs, like looking through smoky wobbly jelly.  Some say like swimming underwater with your eyes open.  I am happy that I have peripheral vision again.  Albeit just varieties of coloured bright light.  

But something is back in place.  I understand the healing is OK but that I may have some issues once my sight has returned.  Perhaps some blind spots etcetera.  But I will have so much more than the total blindness just before the operation.  A billion drops per day have left me with an ultra sore scratchy eye but it is on the long road to recovery.  

For one I so now appreciate my vision.  Living with just one working eye is such an issue.  Even typing at this laptop is a pain so please excuse any misspelt worms.  I'll probably say some more in a couple of weeks but the surgeon has confirmed this is not related to the incident I first mentioned.  No it's just the lack of collagen as one ages and the fact that I am short sighted which increases the risk of a retina detaching as one grows older.

And sadly with tears in my eyes I have to report that my best mate Max died in York hospital on Easter Sunday.  He was 72.  His family were with him.  Such a hard hitting moment for everyone but we all knew it was coming.  Max had suffered with a fast progressing Parkinson's disease over the last 4 years or so.  A truly horrible disease which slowly robbed his body of all speech, balance and movement.  Including in the last days - his ability to swallow.  A man who I met whilst in my early 20's though weight training and cycling.  Memories of great times together including long long bike rides which included commuting from York to Leeds on lovely spring and summer days when we worked there together.  So many fabulous moments in time which will not be lost like tears in the rain.  I will write more about us and his family soon, perhaps after his memorial later this year.  

Such things written about in today's entry remind me that I am getting older.  Not quite able to do the things that I did when young and just how, without warning, bad things may / will come - out of the blue.

But do not fret, Wayne.  They're all just moments in time that are just part of this life isn't it?  There are good times too to be had aren't there?  Yes there are…

So stay strong.  Be good and kind to folk.  Live your life.  Be thankful.  Perhaps ride a bike, if desperate a recumbent even.  Learn from the bad and cherish the good moments in this life…

What more can we do...

Ciao for now...