When I was young, I had some problems with my eyes, especially my left eye, since I was born. Whatever it was called, it had something to do with the muscles around the eyes, as they were too weak or too loose. The situation was not serious at first, so I always took advantage of it. “Ha” I yelled, as I turned around to face my classmates, only for them to see that I hid my pupils and they ran away screaming. Another “Ha” , my pupils rolled back to my eye sockets, so everyone around me were relieved they did not just witness a monster child. This was a superpower that I was oh so proud of – the ability to roll my eyes so far back that my pupils disappeared, how would it do good for the society? Well, younger me did not think so far ahead.
Years went by, my ability became a neat party trick, and it was all fun and games until the day when my parents and I headed back to the ophthalmologist, the fancy term for an eye doctor (I was proud to know this word since I was very young).
The doctor said, “Looks like your muscles around the eyes are getting looser and looser, you might need surgery after all.”.
“Fine by me” I thought, who knows what a surgery is when you were five years old anyways. Thus, that was the first time I had any clear memory of having to go through with surgery. With an overnight bag, a white and blue gown and a bucket-load of curiosity, I was admitted to the hospital. Grey marble tiles, pink curtains, and a small cabinet, the bed space was neat as I settled in on the pink comfy bed. My parents were fussing all around me, checking in on me, while all I payed attention to was that they had TV near the bed. Moments later, the nurse came in and said “it’s time”, and so I was laid flat on the bed, as they started rolling me to the surgical room. Bright lights, bright lights, bright lights, scrolled past my eyes as the bed rolled, until the brightest, whitest light, with 6 surgical light bulbs was shining down on my face.
Then, two questions, “What do you like? Apple or orange?”.
“Apple”, I mindlessly answered, curious about my surroundings and how fruits were related to my eyes.
“Count down from ten for me please.”.
“Ten. Nine. Eight…..”, an apple scented gas went through my mask, and darkness surrounded me as the word "six" passed my lips, drawing me to a deep, dark slumber.
My throat was parched, my tongue sneaked out in hope to find moisture, only to reach two pieces of sandpaper, as the saliva burnt my chapped lips. Then, a small, cylindrical tube was nudging against my month, and fresh water drew into my mouth as I inhaled. Few sips later, I felt sufficient enough to open my eyes. Yet, all I saw was darkness, a complete and utter darkness. I lifted my hands, I could not see them; I tilted my head up, I could not see the lights; I turned my head to where the straw was withdrew from me, I saw nothing. My heart skipped a beat, and then it started pumping, faster and faster, battling with my ribcage. Fear held a tight grip around my heart, each heave of breath never seemed to reach the lungs as I pulled in another, my chest raised and fell, matching the rapid beeping of the machine. Until a hand was laid on top of mine.
“It’s okay, it’s okay. You just have your eyes covered by bandages after surgery.”
It was muffled but it was my mum’s voice, I realized, as the machine beeping gradually slowed. She held my hands up to touch my eyes, “Gently” she advised, as I slowly explored the rough wrappings around my head and my eyes.
“ Ouch!” I cringed, when I put a little too much pressure, hoping to confirm that I did not lose my eyes, as the cast beneath the bandages covering them was pressed into my cheekbones.
“Gently” my mum repeated, as I reassured myself that I had not, in fact, gone blind.
The recovery process was three days long, but each day I was afraid to sleep, my mum and dad could not spend their whole day with me. So when their hands left mine, I crutched on the blanket, listening to their fading footsteps. Every time I woke up, I got startled, “where am I?”, “was I awake?” were the two questions resurfacing in my mind. I felt my eyes open, yet no light, no vision, “was I blind?” was the third question. The fear loomed insidiously as I curled my body into a ball and pressed my hand on my eyes, only to feel the pressure on the cast telling me they were being protected, that I was safe.
Finally, when the last day came, the bandages were removed. As the bandages became looser and looser around my head, a stray ray of light entered. I blinked, and the light flickered. More and more of it came off, yet the light got so strong that I had to close my eyes.
As everything came off, the doctor said, “Open your eyes”, I pinched my brows together, and lifted up a tiny bit of my eyelids. “Open up” the doctor tried again, and I opened my eyes. My eyes started surveying the surrounding, pink curtains, grey marble tiles, and the TV was on!
“Hi”, this time, the voice was finally clear, and louder than before. I was startled as I turned, only seeing the doctor looking at me.
“Just need to do some check-ups”, as the doctor proceeded to shine his flashlight on my eyes, “Your eyes are good, the cast should still be kept on for a few more days, but you are clear to go” the doctor put the flashlight back into his pockets. I turned to see my parents. It seemed like I had not seen their faces for ages, their cleanly shaved hair and shoulder length hair, teary eyes with faint hints of wrinkles… My eyes danced across their faces, mapping down all their features, as I was afraid that I would never see them again. At last, my mum dragged my hands back to my eyes, and I saw my fingers and the smiles on their faces. I started giggling. My eyes drifted to the TV, it had black, white, red, green... I guess being sighted is a mighty superpower in itself.