What Happened in the Operation Theatre?

I was sitting on the edge of the bed at my ward. To kill time, I was nibbling at a yummy plum cake. My right eye was bandaged with a long strip of cotton. There were two others in the room. Two mothers. One Mine and the other my mother’s.

There was an air of suspense in the midst. We all were expecting for the nurse. I should say all though there were only three of us, for the adjective includes my kith and kin back home. We sat waiting for the nurse to come and open my eye. I requested my mother to stand in front of me so that she’ll be the first person that I get to see once the bandage is stripped.

“Hey! What’s going on here?” you should’ve asked this question to yourself by this time. Cool, let me hit the rewind button.

I lost my eyesight at ten due to Stevens-Johnson syndrome. It was really a life-quake. I turned totally blind and steered to run on a different track. Long story short, the attempts to restore my sight were just futile. The last hospital where I was consulting in terms of preventing infections and so on was Madurai’s Arvind Eye Hospital.

It was during the summer 2008 that the ophthalmologists at Arvind’s expressed it could be possible to give sight to my right eye if a minor operation is performed. Hearing such news, my parents readied for any sacrifice if it were only to bring tears to my eyes. Yes, the problem with my eyes is that they were dry, and so I can’t shed tears even if you lambaste me black and blue.

Talking about tears, I recall an incident which is etched in my memory with Fevi-Stick. My brother and I strolled down to a shop to buy kites. It was during my convalescent stay home after the tremors of the syndrome. Seeing that I was blind, the shopkeeper asked me recount how I came to lose my sight. After listening to all I said, he chuckled, “why don’t you pour a jug of water to your eyes to store the tears?”

Okay, enough sideshows. Fortunately, the operation wasn’t that expensive. Even so, my parents might’ve somehow accumulated money for my sake. Hence, operation was dated and everything was set up for that dream day.

The expectations brimmed beyond description. For a heartbroken mother who has seen her naughtiest child impaired to a dependent, the surgery meant more to her than me. She prayed to god from the hearts of her heart to grant me sight. Besides, I too had my share of wishes. As I’d always thought having eyes give you an extra edge, if the sight is restored, I thought I’d be able to secure more marks than my friends in the public exam for class X.

Meanwhile, I was fascinated to undergo all the medical drills on the eve of operation. My body weight was checked, blood test was taken, the quantity of chloroform to be administered was measured, etc. And finally, the day came.

It was Tuesday after noon, and I was lying in a stretcher, attired in a long blue tunic. The stretcher was gently rolled into the operation theatre, leaving behind my mom and grandma.

End of the flashback

Tap, tap, tap, knocks sounded on the door. My mom hurried to the door and opened it see a nurse standing. Instead of coming in, she beckoned my mom out.

“Your son’s eye is very weak to be operated. It’ll prove fatal if the doctor puts knife to it. He realised this only before the operation. We’ll write to you once we find out any treatment for this problem. You can discharge the hospital whenever you want.”