UK Keratoconus Self-Help and Support Association

Eight o’ clock in the morning! No, seven forty five in the morning, we arrived a bit early as the ophthalmology suite at the K&C doesn’t open until 8. Graham whizzed us up there and helped with the inane small talk that seems to precede these occasions. I was delighted to find that the gents was flooded so I popped in the disabled and spent some of the time wondering why they had a life belt. It was only when I left that I realised it was a riser seat. I did feel like a bit of a fool.

The ophthalmology suite looks shiny and new. Well, recent, anyway; as it was only built in 2001 according to the plaque on the wall. It is a lovely duck egg blue which is actually quite restful. I seemed to be the only patient there with two or three other staff shuffling papers and making the first tea of the day. I registered in and the nurse came out with a big mound of paperwork. I confirmed my name, address, date of birth and shoe size. She explained that others would want to see me then I would be called in for my operation. When I’d had it, I would be dressed and returned to the comfy seats in the waiting area and then showed me some exercises to avoid deep vein thrombosis. She also explained that I’d have to have something to eat and drink and use the loo before they’d let me go. I had not one but two wristbands so I had the pleasure of knowing who I was in stereo.

The anaesthesiologist came out and was in good humour. He asked if I was allergic to anything and confirmed my name, my date of birth etc etc. Around twenty minutes later, another anaesthesiologist came out and did exactly the same as the first one. They explained that it was a paranoia check and was for my benefit honest.

The consultant then appeared and led me into a side room and had a look at my eye in the slit lamp. He also asked if my prescription had changed for my right eye since I’d seen him 6 months ago. I confirmed that it had. He then produced a mound of paperwork and started to read through it signing here and there. He then explained that he cannot guarantee that the operation would be a success and that there is a slight chance of rejection and asked if I definitely wanted to go ahead. I confirmed that I did and signed on the dotted line. I asked whether I was due for a partial or full thickness transplant. He explained that he was hoping to do a partial thickness one but that depended on the internal condition of the cornea so he would if need be change it to a full thickness.

After a short while, one of the anaesthesiologists came to collect me and took me to a small side room. They asked me to take off my clothes and leave on my underwear. I put on a gown and then the dressing gown provided. I noted that the dressing gown, like those provided in hotels, was a foot too short in any direction and felt rather silly but didn’t really care. So I opened the door and the anaethesiologist stood there and laughed. I laughed as well and asked if they put a small gown there on purpose. He just smiled and led me across the corridor.

We walked into the room opposite and they closed the door. It wasn’t a large room but it had a trolley bed and a myriad of medical apparatus all around. They asked me to lay down, put various sensors on my neck and my chest, and a cap on my head. They took my glasses and hearing aids and promised to look after them. I was asked if I was left or right-handed and then explained that they would feed the anaesthetic into the hand that wasn’t and said that there would be a slight scratch as the needle entered my arm and that was all there was. Then an oxygen mask was put over my head and the anaethesiologist’s assistant (now there were three of them!) started to inject something into my arm. I felt my hand going numb and the numbness spreading up my arm. I commented on this and they said “that’s good, that is what supposed to happen and smiledâ€Â

Friday March 24th

Back to the hospital today, courtesy of our friend Martin who is an NHS manager, so I wonder if this counts as an ambulance service Martin had a meeting so he said he'd wander by the Outpatients when he'd finished and see how things were going.

We waited in Clinic B which always seems to be a hive of activity with a long row of chairs facing a long row of consulting rooms as consultants and nurses appeared to pop out of different doors seemingly at random to bellow your name and summon you in. The consultant arrived looking rather rough, it has to be said, with his bow tie loose and his shirt rather crumpled.

We sat there and Sam wrote down lots of questions for me to allow for my brain failure. My excuse was that I was still feeling groggy from the anaesthetic. After a while, a nurse called me in and took off my eye patch and gave the eye a gentle wipe round. Then the consultant appeared, he looked in my eye with a slit lamp, added some orange dye and took another look and announced that the stitches were looking good and he was pleased with it so far. I glanced up and realised that not only could I see the letter board (Snellen chart) with my newly grafted eye but that I could also make out the letter A and this was despite peering through a pile of gunk, orange dye, and my eyelashes as I could barely open it. I mentioned this and the consultant smiled. I felt so happy. For the last few years, I wouldn't even have been able to see the board.

He said I should take the drops, two lots, Maxidex which is a steroid and also Chloramphenicol which is an antibiotic; one drop of each, four times a day. At this point, we took the opportunity to ask lots of questions which included:
* how long will I be off work for - see GP on Monday, should be off for two weeks then we'll take it from there
* what can I and can't I do - nothing strenuous; lifting, carrying, no heavy exertion, no eye rubbing, no soap in the eye, wash the area only with cold water

I was told to come back the following Thursday.

I left the consultant's being rather pleased and over the moon. Usefully we didn't have to wait long for Martin, our ever-trusty NHS ambulance driver! and he took me home. Stepping out into bright sunlight, I suddenly realised quite how bloody painful the eye actually is as if someone has put hot needles in my eye (which isn't too far from the truth). We went home, I took some painkillers, put in some eye drops and passed out. I also managed to take a close up picture of my eye which shows the stitches really quite nicely. It will appear here soon when I can get SWMBO to Photoshop the picture down to a sensible size.

Continued the sushi feast and passed out.

Monday 27th March

Well, I've survived the weekend. I think the anaesthetic has just about worn off at last as I know realise my eye feels as if some evil bugger has been sticking needles in my eye which isn't actually too far from the truth. Ibuprofen eases the pain and I do still feel fairly drowsy. The bruising is clearing and eye drops keep dropping though it has to be said that one of them seems to work its way into my throat via my tear ducts and tastes absolutely vile. The other one is just plain evil as it has to be stored in the fridge and boy, does that sting when it is dropped in the eye. Vision seems to be good compared to what I had before but I know realistically that this is going to change over time and I've already been told that I won't be able to have my eyes tested for a prescription for several months. I seem to be incredibly light-sensitive at the moment which is a pain but is at least bearable and means that the radio and audio books are getting a good working out. Sometimes its horribly frustrating, on the other hand, it is also a pleasure. I managed to listen to Liverpool thump Everton at the weekend on Radion 5, been on a Googlewhack adventure with Dave Gorman, had an adventure with Harry Potter, and escaped from Colditz Castle with Dr Who. So its been exciting times indeed, from a certain point of view.

I have been to see my GP today and have been signed off work for two weeks with strict instructions to rest, not do anything, and to enjoy being pampered. I have been instructed to return to see her in two weeks rather than just going straight back to work. Oh well.

In the meantime, the hardest thing is having to sit and watch SWMBO do all the jobs around the house that I would normally do as well as her own. Poor thing, she deserves a break but I do appreciate it and love her very much.

Tues 28th

Self portrait:



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Paul,

Sorry for crashing your diary, but your eye looks really good.

Andrew

Paul,

Thanks for sharing all this. I'm really impressed about how red your eye isn't. Did you have a DALK in the end? That may explain it. With my PK, the sclera was totally red for at least a week.

Please do keep posting (I'm sure you will anyway) - but keep on giving your eye a rest!

Excellent account so far!....Look forward to reading more!

John,

I was suprised as well, though to be honest that was five days post op, the pic I have from the day after the op (not so good quality so not posted) is rather rouge!

JayUK,

Thanks - will post more as things happen.

Andrew,

Pleased you like the pic.


for info the pic was taken with my mobile phone in macro mode with the LED light on. Phone is Sony Ericson W800i - only got it cos of the 2MP camera! Very pleased with how well the picture came out.

Paul

Was this finaly a DALK or Penetrating Keratoplasty? (FULL Graft)....

J

JayUK,

It ended up being a full graft, the surgeon told me on the morning that he wanted to try and do a partial (DALK) but that depended on the state of my cornea which would only definately be apparent as the layers were removed.

In the end he said he had to do a full graft.

Paul