this week

So, I had my eye operation on monday morning this week. Everybody told me that waking up after anaesthesia, I’d be tired and feeling cold and not wanting to do anything, least of all get up from bed. In reality, I felt differently; I jumped up. I just wanted to leave. Get out of there. Escape. Hospitals are horrible places. Incidentally, it was the hospital where I was born; we lived one block away when I was a child. It was then an ordinary hospital with a maternity ward; it’s now a specilized eye hospital.

I’m sorry I haven’t blogged and haven’t bothered replying to blog comments. My eyes are not good enough. The computer screen is too bright and too large. Sorry for unanswered emails, et c.

Spring has arrived this week. I went out on tuesday, to take pictures with my sore right eye. Two are in this post. I haven’t taken any photos since. (I wanted to see if I could shoot pictures that aren’t lopsided. So I was focused on that, not on anything else. I didn’t see much anyway. The second photo is lopsided, but not very badly so. I haven’t straightened them.)

The sun has been unusually sharp, or maybe it’s just how it felt. And, by now, boredom is taking a toll.

Ironically, and you’ll see the extent of my madness now, when I woke up from anaesthesia, I remember saying to myself: ‘that’s a book from Rudolf Steiner Press’. A pity: I don’ t know which book I dreamt of. I knew immediately that the eye still worked — I could open it, and I saw the bandage. It was a relief. I had this fear I’d wake up blind. Then they wheeled me down and I, oblivious to the drip rack, stood up and started to pace around… I still fear visual damage because I don’t see properly. I know I’m too impatient, it’s only been four days since the operation.

But in hospitals, you’re not supposed to pace around. The problem I have is: when I’m stressed, when things disconcert me, I pace. Maybe I don’t want to, necessarily, but it’s the only thing that provides any kind of relief. It relieves me of some of the turmoil and inner tension. Helps against the ants of anguish that crawl through my blood system, scratching my nerves. I can’t sit down and wait, I’m sorry. Hospitals are made for people who can sit down and take it easy. They’re for people who can take horrible hospital socks made from polyester, and worn by others before you. I can’t. I ran out of there as soon as they let me. I forgot putting my shoes on my feet. I had not slept the night before; I could not sleep at all that day. At night — the night after — I realized my squint must at least be smaller than before; and it elated me. But had I known what the hospital itself required — in patience, et c — I don’t think I would have gone. That’s how disgusted I am by polyester socks worn previously by others. Also the humiliation of being a person who can’t sit still — these nurses deal with kids, not adults who can’t stand to sit still and be patient. On the other hand, they got rid of me quickly. Obviously, I never go to check-ups with doctors. I fear I have cancer somewhere and the only way to survive is to have hospital treatment. I feel I’d rather not know, because I can’t do it. I thought this was going to be ok, because it was so few hours. It wasn’t.

Yes, I know: you don’t have the right to say things like that. It’s just brat behaviour. Maybe I have a virus on my brain. I don’t know.

I mean… I was very relieved when it was over. It felt perfect, I didn’t even have pain. I wasn’t tired, nothing felt bad at all. I was simply so happy to get out of there that nothing else mattered. Felt like I could run home. Anything, to escape. Or at least to get rid of the hyperactivity. They wheeled me up to the operation room just before 9. I was back home at 12. I think I must have spent 45 minutes pacing with the damn drip attached to my arm. Then the nurse came, and discovered my blood had gone out into the cord, and whatever was in the drip apparently couldn’t have gone into me. So she disconnected it. But that, too, sort of panicked me — you were supposed to lie in your bed and rest. So the nurses disappeared to come back later to check. And there you were, panic-pacing with the damn drip that didn’t let you go further away than in a circle of a 1-2 meters diameter. I need to stop ranting about this — but you’ve got to believe me, all this was much more uncomfortable than the eye. I didn’t notice the eye, except to establish it still worked. Then a nurse released me from the drip and I could get rid of the damn socks. Have proper clothes. Get my phone. Read something. A relief from utter restlessness. I knew things were getting back to normal. Which was all I wanted. But the long wait before this happened, before they returned and took notice. Then they gave me coffee. For strategic reasons, I drank it, and ate the sandwich. I figured they’d let me leave quicker if I complied, and by then, I was not quite as restless anymore, so I could.

My mother doesn’t think I have much in common with my maternal relatives. They were supposedly more normal. (Except now most of them are dead, which I guess isn’t exactly abnormal, but different.) No, the paternal side is to blame for whatever dysfunction there is. I think there’s one trait (if there aren’t several) I have inherited, genetically or socially, from my grandfather though: the inability to sit still and to lie still. To acquiesce to hospital routine. Just lay down, have a rest. I can’t. He couldn’t either. My grandfather refused hospitals, at any cost. He wanted nothing to do with them.

I had asked people: what do I do when I wake up? How do I spend my time? Should I bring something to read? No, you won’t want that, they told me, you won’t want to do anything at all; you’ll be tired and frozen and want to lie down. Oh yeah right. I was wide awake immediately, and wanted no more rest. I wanted to run run run run run.

It’s not so bad, people would say, I have no doubt. Just lie down. Be still. You’re taken care of. Have a rest. You’re certainly tired. Take it easy. Have a rest! You need it. Anaesthesia is supposed to make you sleepy! Rest! Lie down! You’re a grown up; get a grip.

No. Blah. When my brain is turned back on, it is on. When it’s awake, it’s awake. It can’t rest in foreign places.