I know it before hand if my day is going to be good. There are these cryptic signs that prop and tell me that I am going to have a great day. Today, the signs came back to wish me luck. I woke up to Toshila's Anbudan Suryan FM and she was at her best as ever. Come 8 AM and I moved over to the TV. Sun music was amazing. It belted out hit after hit and the VJs spoke as little as possible. I went to the saloon to have my head shaved. I realised later that it was a very good thing to do if the doctor was going to ask you to refrain from washing your head and face for a week. My last shower for a week to come! 12 PM the taxi arrived. Canal bank road, IIT Madras, Kottur Puram, Frost & Sullivan, Star Rocks, Raja Eye Care.
cash-counter-woman: Sir, we have had some problem with the billing. I think. I think we billed you twice.
Another round of Snellen's chart and other tests and I am in.
he-doc: Could you take off your glasses? I am going to clean your eyes.
He opened a pack and took out a new 'plastic' surgery gown and got me into it. Then came a cap. And socks! I would be better off to call them as polyethylene bags with elastic at the top. I was whisked into the operation theatre, made to lie down on a table and wrapped in a 'plastic' blanket. The table moved by itself until my head came under a set of three lamps which looked like miniature flood lights in a cricket ground.
she-doc: prasanna, I am going to put this sheet on your face so that only your right eye is open for the procedure.
me: (Are you my blood relative? How did you know to call me prasanna?)
The plastic sheet had mild glue that made sure my eye lashes were stuck behind the sheet.
she-doc: I am going to pour a liquid into your eye and it is going to be cold. I am going to wash your eyes.
she-doc: Can you see a green light at the top. Keep looking at it and it will be over in a minute.
she-doc: I am going to make a flap and so stay steady
me: (why is my bum aching? god-damn-it. I must have remembered to take that 5 rupee coin out of my purse.)
The blurry green became blurrier.
she-doc: I am going to pass laser now. So don't try to blink or move your eyes.
It sounded like a driller on a metal sheet.
me: (what if my phone rings now? Have I got it in vibration mode? It is sometimes good that your friends are not too concerned about you.)
she-doc: I am putting back the flap.
she-doc: Try to blink your eyes slowly. Yeah, that is right. Excellent. It has come out very well.
she-doc: Now we will do it on the left eye.
It was the same procedure. I only had different thoughts now.
me: (what if I voluntarily shake my head? Will I go blind on one eye? Then I can be the new otha kan sivarasan!)
me: (How am I going to pay for this when RPL has trumbled to 210? I am not making a loss in anything. No.)
she-doc: Very good.
me: (Hey, you. Why is it not excellent? Answer me now.)
I was walked out of the theatre and my gown, cap and socks were removed. I was given a box full of eye drops and a glass that was big even to MY face. It covered my entire forehead, eyes and nose. Everytime I wanted to breathe, I had to lift the glasses a little and let some air in to my crushed nostrils.
me: (Why is everything dark? And why are my eyes heavy?)
You-know-who listed out a set of do's and don't and fixed an appointment with the doctor at 11 the next day. During my long ride home my head wouldn't move and my chin was perpendicular to the ground for fear that my opened flaps would fall off if I looked down.
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