24 PVK Blog Post. ‘Cataract Surgery: What the Doctors Will Not Tell You’ 1 & 2.
‘Cataract Surgery: What the Doctors Will Not Tell You’ Part 1.
I remembered an experience I had years ago.
One morning as I was showering in a hurry to get to college on time, I slipped and fell on my face in the bathroom. One second I was soaping my face with my eyes closed and, simultaneously, trying to spread the soap on my left shin bone using my right foot, the next I was flat on the floor. I felt a searing pain around my mouth and watched a lot of blood flowing out. I stood under the shower and let the water hit the injured parts, in the belief that a wash with good tap water was the best first aid.
My lips had swollen and so I applied some ice then dressed and changed to go to College. I had to report for I had to be present at a meeting at 9.30. I thought I would go there, take a day’s leave and return home.
At college I did not take off my helmet but my colleagues saw my blood stained lips through my visor and asked me to hurry to a doctor.
At home, after applying ice I had rung up my younger brother who lived right behind me, but he had taken a cursory look and said, yes, it looks injured before walking off. Blood, you know, is not as thick as shower water sometimes.
I took my scooter and rode straight to Dr Sivapriyan, my dentist, a former student and a third or fourth cousin on the Thachakkudi family side. I did that because my teeth hurt more than my lips, by now swollen and hanging a bit. Sivapriyan, one of the most resourceful and rational persons I have met, rang up a plastic surgeon at Ananthapuri hospital and asked me if it was okay for me ride to hospital. I said I had already been on my scooter for some seven kms and a few more would not make a difference.
I was taken to a Tamil speaking plastic surgeon with the minimum of fuss. The plastic surgeon was Sivapriyan’s friend and Sivapriyan said I needed a plastic surgeon’s skills, not a dentist’s. Even if a dentist had to do something, it could come after the plastic surgeon had done his bit.
While I was waiting for the anaesthetic to take effect and had a towel over my eyes I heard the nurse flirting with the Tamil speaking doctor. She told him that his new shirt was a good omen since he had a “procedure” first thing in the morning. I was the procedure they were referring to.
Even before the anaesthetic had taken effect, I heard Sivapriyan telling the surgeon to take special care because I was both his former teacher (at Arts College) and a cousin.
I went home on my scooter and stayed at home till evening, nursing my injury. Khyru came home in the evening and opened the door to find me with this big bandage around my mouth. She used the episode to write a piece titled ‘The Recording Machine’ which went into ‘Tongue in Cheek’.
Every visitor would want me to tell them what had happened and how the wound was stitched. If she told them, they would ask her to stop and turn to me and say, okay, you tell us. I had to mumble the story and answer their questions.
The real message is be very careful when you are bathing after your cataract surgery.
My aunt, a doctor, told me after my fall that after the age of 40 – 45 one tends to lose one’s ability to balance with only one eye open. Apparently both eyes, and ears, are needed to maintain our “body position” the instinctive sense our body has of our upright position. Spondylosis and vertigo and upset stomachs can also upset this delicate sense of balance.
So if you are going to have a cataract surgery, be doubly careful when having your bath after your cataract surgery. Make sure at least one eye is open at all times. If not, get a grip on the shower handle of some such solid surface before soaping your face and head. Try not to stand on one leg. If you have to, make sure you are gripping something solid before lifting one leg. There were even occasions when I squatted on the bathroom floor while having my shower to ensure I was stable. I devised a shower cap made up of a clear plastic bag which I pulled over my head to prevent water entering my eye. This was in the early days, after which I devised other ways of washing my hair but keeping the soapy water from my operated eye. I am a Malayali and must have my daily head bath no matter what. Born and raised in a land where water is plentiful I think of it as a birthright. But I am moderate in my use of water, conscious of the power and effort needed to open a fine shower over my head at the twist of a tap.
Doctors are not likely to tell you this. A fall in the bathroom is the last thing you need after your cataract surgery. If you have one you might find yourself needing the services of another specialist. Bathroom tiles are said to be among the best friends of orthopedists.
As a character in ‘The Waste Land’ says, hold on tight!
Cataract Surgery: What the Doctors Will Not Tell You 2
I remembered an experience I had years ago.
One morning as I was showering in a hurry to get to college on time, I slipped and fell on my face in the bathroom. One second I was soaping my face with my eyes closed and, simultaneously, trying to spread the soap on my left shin bone using my right foot, the next I was flat on the floor. I felt a searing pain around my mouth and watched a lot of blood flowing out. I stood under the shower and let the water hit the injured parts, in the belief that a wash with good tap water and soap was the best first aid.
At home, after applying ice I had rung up my younger brother, P. Pradeep Kumar, who lived right behind me, but he had taken a cursory look and said, yes, it looks injured before walking off. Blood, you know, is not as thick as shower water sometimes. At least his suggestion that I should do something about it was helpful. It would be cussed of me to complain that he had not helped.
For reasons I can guess but am not sure, this chap dislikes me intensely. The casual response was probably an indication of his lack of concern or a fear of hospitals I think he and his stupid wife, a school teacher of outstanding mediocrity, has.
I had to be present at a meeting at 9.30. I thought I would ride to College, take a day’s leave and return home. At college I did not take off my helmet but my colleagues saw my blood stained lips through my visor and asked me to hurry to a doctor.
I took my scooter and rode straight to Dr Sivapriyan, my dentist, a former student and a third or fourth cousin on the Thachakkudi family side. I did that because my teeth hurt more than my lips, by now swollen and hanging a bit. Sivapriyan, one of the most resourceful and rational persons I have met, rang up a plastic surgeon at Ananthapuri Hospital and asked me if it was okay for me ride to hospital. I said I had already been on my scooter for some seven kms and a few more would not make a difference.
I was taken to a Tamil speaking plastic surgeon with the minimum of fuss. The plastic surgeon was Sivapriyan’s friend and Sivapriyan reckoned I needed a plastic surgeon’s skills, not a dentist’s. Even if a dentist had to do something, it could come after the plastic surgeon had done his bit.
While I was waiting for the anaesthetic to take effect and had a towel over my eyes I heard the nurse flirting with the Tamil speaking doctor. She told him that his new shirt was a good omen since he had a “procedure” first thing in the morning. I was the procedure they were referring to.(I have been called many things before, but “procedure” was not one of them.)
Even before the anaesthetic had taken effect, I heard Sivapriyan telling the surgeon to take special care because I was both his former teacher (at the Government Arts College, Trivandrum) and a cousin.
I went home on my scooter and stayed at home till evening, nursing my injury. Khyrunnisa, my charming and talented wife, came home in the evening and opened the door to find me with this big bandage around my mouth. She was, needless to say, shocked. But she recovered quickly and even used the incident to generate a very funny article about it that later found its way to her best-selling ‘Tongue in Cheek’ (2022). She used the episode to write a piece titled ‘The Recording Machine’.
Every visitor, and I had many in the days following my injury, would want me to tell them what had happened and how the wound was stitched. If she told them, they would ask her to stop and turn to me and say, okay, you tell us. I had to mumble the story and answer their questions.
The real message is, be very careful when you are bathing after your cataract surgery.
My aunt, Dr Lalitha, told me after my fall that after the age of 40 – 45 one tends to lose one’s ability to balance with only one eye open. Apparently both eyes, and ears, are needed to maintain our “body position” the instinctive sense our body has of our upright position. Spondylosis and vertigo and upset stomachs can also upset this delicate sense of balance.
So if you are going to have a cataract surgery, be doubly careful when having your bath after your cataract surgery. Make sure at least one eye is open at all times. If not, get a grip on the shower handle of some such solid surface before soaping your face and head. Try not to stand on one leg. If you have to, make sure you are gripping something solid before lifting the other leg. There were even occasions when I squatted on the bathroom floor while having my shower to ensure I was stable. I devised a shower cap made up of a clear plastic bag which I pulled over my head to prevent water entering my eye. This was in the early days, after which I devised other ways of washing my hair but keeping the soapy water from my operated eye. I am a Malayali and must have my daily head bath in cold water no matter what. Born and raised in a land where water is plentiful I think of it as a birth right. But I am moderate in my use of water, conscious of the power and effort needed to open a fine shower over my head at the twist of a tap.
Doctors are not likely to tell you this. A fall in the bathroom is the last thing you need after your cataract surgery. If you have one you might find yourself needing the services of another specialist. Bathroom tiles are said to be among the best friends of orthopaedists.
As a character in ‘The Waste Land’ says, hold on tight!
P. Vijaya Kumar / PVK
profpvk@gmail.com
Thank you. Nandri. Namaskaram.
PVK 07/June/2026
© P. Vijaya Kumar profpvk@gmail.com
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