I was terrified for weeks before the first cataract operation. I would make jokes about not being likely to survive. It was either going to kill me or blind me, neither of which was an appealing prospect. People felt sorry for me and told me stories of survival, suggested methods of coping. “It’s such a simple operation,” a friend said, and “think about your feet, try to move your toes, the further from your head the better.” The lady at yoga said I’d really be happy with the results. Another friend said so too and she’d been scared, she hated things coming towards her eyes, but really, it was such an easy operation. Though she didn’t remember what they did to block the eye so it wouldn’t hurt.

Of course I ignored all that, caught up in terrorising myself as I was until, towards the arrival of the actual day, I told myself that what would happen, would happen and commenced the regime of eye drops, four times a day.

They told me to come in at 7.15am for the first operation and so I ordered the taxi for six. “Where to?” she said.

“Erina,” I said, “to the eye hospital.”

“What time do they expect you?”

“7.15,” I said, “I’m having a cataract operation.”

“You don’t need to leave so early.”

“I’m afraid the taxi will be late.”

“They usually aren’t..” she began before conceding that I should order the taxi when I felt happy and booked it for 6am. Consequently I was at the hospital by 6.30am and sat in the waiting room for hours because, like all good doctors, they were running late. The receptionist asked if I had received a Cabcharge voucher from my doctor and I said no, suggesting that she give me one for the return journey. She did. I saw that as a good omen.

Once inside the nurse did her best to amuse me and impart the necessary information at the same time. She put drops in my eye, they hurt. She took my blood pressure. She made me laugh. She gave me a warm blanket. Then she had other work to do and I was in a line up of people in black leather chairs waiting for an operation. I was waiting rather a long time.

Sitting there I managed to rework the terror again, reassure myself everyone said it was a simple operation, worry that I was special and mine might be more difficult and distract myself watching people arriving after the operation, with patches on an eye. I watched TV but it was too far away and I couldn’t hear anything and couldn’t read the subtitles. I didn’t pull out a book because I thought the operation would happen any minute. There were a lot of minutes.

Finally a nurse turned up and this first time, I was wheeled into the antechamber. She inserted a canula in my hand and told me to anaesthetist would soon see me. She kept talking about drugs and ‘the good stuff’ and she was entertaining so I encouraged her. “See,” she said as she wheeled me towards the anaesthetist, “you’ve moved in the queue.” They must send these nurses to entertainment school.

I had watched the anaesthetist check someone’s eyes and pretty soon he was doing the same to me and I was wheeled into the operating room where the doctor said hello. “Some people see lights,” he said and the next thing I knew he was doing things to my eye. My fists were clenched but I could see pink and white lights. I tried to think of my toes like my yoga teacher had suggested but the lights were fascinating. They twirled round and round like a kaleidoscope and sometimes black took over and vanished, only to reappear behind the lights, a few seconds later.

Time passed. I tried to think of my feet again but was drawn back to the lights. I unclenched my fists. More time passed. When will this be over, I thought, when the doctor, a minute or two later, put a patch on my eye and told me how the operation went well. “Thank you,” I said, before being wheeled out and fed coffee and muffins and cheese and biscuits.

When I got home I tried to sleep, which I hadn’t done much of before and still couldn’t do much of. I read a book, I wandered around and by about 4pm I took the patch off, commenced eye drops and settled in front of the TV till I felt like wandering round again. The world was shiny and my iPad glowed.

I ate chocolate for dinner and went to sleep again with the plastic part of the patch over my eye so I wouldn’t scratch it in my sleep. I had to sleep on the side that was least comfortable so I wouldn’t put pressure on my operated eye. I was to repeat those actions again and again over many days, as well as the drops four times a day with an extra one at night.

The next day I wiped my eye with boiled water from the fridge, as instructed. I put in my eye drops and had a bath, watched TV and read and wandered around the house. I was scared to do anything more strenuous though my days are usually filled with yoga and walking, art and writing. Over the next few days I gradually picked those activities up and kept on with the eye drops and the baths. I was scared to have a shower. What if something got in my eye. It’s best not to get soap in your eye, or other particles.

After a few days I remembered I use liquid soap and I close my eyes when I’m washing my face, so heart in my mouth, I tried a shower. That was the beginning of my plumbing problems. My shower didn’t work. I had a handyman help me clear out the storeroom who swore he was a plumber so I decided to give him a go. He talked me into installing some gizmo to reduce the water pressure in my house, which was money I shouldn’t have spent but he sounded like he knew what he was talking about. He also changed the washers on my tap and charged about $110 for that. Four days later he was back again because the shower still didn’t work and I was sick of having baths. It turned out he’d put the old washers back but he tried to insinuate that someone else had been fiddling with the taps in his absence. He also tried to convince me to sell my house but I pointed out that would be a stupid move unless I wanted to move further away from Sydney. Which I didn’t. A lot of my friends are in Sydney.

He left and my shower still didn’t work. So I called my old plumber who fixed it for half the price. And without the suggestions on changing my lifestyle.

Gradually everything went back to normal, though I had to drive to Wyong for the post-op where everyone was delighted about how my eye had improved. Even my long sight was better. The doctor displayed a graph with an indentation which showed improved penetration of light and the nurse was almost dancing with delight when I read letters from the chart which were way below the lines she expected. Only I continued whinging about artificial eyes till I realised the doctor had made an effort to get me the right lens combination (I elected to stay short sighted and use my glasses for driving rather than reading, it was what I was used to). So I pronounced myself happy with the result and canned my comment about why he didn’t install X-ray vision while he had a chance.

They forgot to tell me that the eye drops made my pupils large and I drove home on the freeway with the sun setting (never a good driving time for people under a meter and a half). I could barely see anything and I’m grateful for the people who could see what was happening and drove slowly around me. I have sworn never to drive at sunrise and sunset again but to sit in my car and read till the danger period passes. My next test will be the second post-op appointment which is at 3.10pm.

Everyone said I would be more relaxed at the second operation but I took the opportunity to read the booklet explaining how the operation worked and then immediately thought I shouldn’t have read that. They vacuum the old lens out of your eye. I kept listening for the vacuum cleaner. I was more relaxed though, if slightly less terrified counts.

The day before the operation I had the plumber over again because this time my pipes were clogged (happens every two years) and the bath was filling with water while the sink made bubbling sounds. The toilet wouldn’t flush. I called the good plumber this time and had everything fixed before the baths began.

I had to arrive at the hospital by 10.15am this time so I waited till 9am to call the taxi. I didn’t score a Cabcharge this time so I had to pay both ways. Otherwise it was the same wait, though for my entertainment this time they had a new nurse explaining the operation and filling out the forms. My terror vanished when I realised she was more nervous than I was. The wait was as long as I remembered and again, I didn’t pull out a book because I was optimistic the wait would be shorter this time.

The nurse walked me into pre-op this time. She was (mock) offended when I told her I was sick of waiting so I spent my time reassuring her that she was indeed entertaining. She put a canula in the part of my hand where it hurt worst and then apologised that it was the only vein available. I’ve been having blood tests for years so I thought she was probably right, my veins are slippery and they roll about when you try to insert a needle.

The anaesthetist didn’t have that problem, he put the needle straight into my eye. They put the canula in, the nurse explained, so I could be sedated while they injected my eye but it didn’t quite work this time and the doctor had to put a second injection into my eye. It came very fast and didn’t hurt because he had managed numbness the first time. I was actually more interested than scared.

Then it was on to the operating theatre where the doctor greeted me and I could see everything clearly. No time to worry though, he brought a bunch of ceiling mounted scopes towards my eye and then there were only pink and white lights and a white haze through which the doctor’s hands moved at the periphery of my vision. I heard lots of sucking noises but couldn’t identify which ones were blowing my lenses away so I gave up. It didn’t matter anyway. Before I got bored this time, the doctor was putting a patch on my eye and I was off to the waiting room and coffee and muffins.

And then home to cold water on my eye and eye drops and baths. The same routine and more chocolate to soothe away the mental angst. I’m getting impatient for this to be done.  And I still don’t have X-ray vision.