Archive for November, 2010

Funny old things eyes. Very funny, according to my mates. No sooner had I declared my detached retina, than the puns flooded in.

‘I know you bang on about being related to Nelson, but isn’t this taking it a bit far?’

‘Your jokes get cornea.’

I even got an email from a friend in Athens, who said: “I had a detached retsina once.”

Of course a retinal detachment and any form of eye surgery is not funny at all, but I prefer gallows humour to tea and sympathy.

Hardly gallows. I was far more scared than I made out, but hey there are babies on ventilators and people being wheeled into theatre with their lives hanging in the balance, or being told today they have terminal cancer. Even if the worst happened and I lost the sight in my right eye, there was always the left.

But there is something about eyes - window to the soul for those looking in; window on the world for me looking out.

A veil had been falling across the corner of my eye. Being a bloke I put it down to a bit of grit that would go away. Being a woman, my wife said: ‘Ring the doctor.’ Being a bloke I thought I’d re-assure/scare myself by surfing the web. ‘Nothing to worry about’ said one site. ‘You could be blind in both eyes by tomorrow morning’, said another.

But my surfing did reveal that eight miles down the road in Brighton was the Sussex Eye Hospital and so began a journey - a blurred but bizarrely uplifting journey - which has seen me singing the praises of the NHS eversince.

It is one man’s view of one episode at one moment in time, but that is the trouble with any verdict on the NHS. We see it as this huge amorphous mass of care provision for anyone from time-wasters to the deeply traumatised. But really it’s a series of millions of touch points between patient and carer - each a uniquely individual experience.

I phoned the hospital direct and by the morning I was sitting in the waiting room - scared, but sense of humour, unlike my retina, intact.

I chuckled at a sign that said: ‘please watch your valuables’. In the waiting room of the blind, the one-eyed thief is king.

First an old-fashioned eye test. Which line of letters could I read? With my left eye covered I could not even see the screen. Daft as it sounds I’d assumed I merely had blurred vision because with both eyes open I could see. I had never bothered to cover my good eye. Now I really was scared.

Then a doctor examined me and confirmed a detached retina. Not good, but a relief. My eyes had not been invaded by the eggs of a Bolivian rainforest spider, leading to blindness and death.

It was the start of wonderful care, laced with buckets of information, infinite patience and an obvious pride in their work and specialty.

The nurses before the operation had an answer for every question and when they said consultant eye surgeon Tony Casswell would be performing the operation and he was one of the best in the business, it was not sucking up to the boss, but their faith and knowledge that I was in the best possible hands.

And that is where the re-assurance comes in.

It is easy to come to terms with the fact you have a medical problem. But what you want is an accurate diagnosis, course of treatment and prognosis.

I had a detached retina and was in an eye hospital where the staff were so knowledgeable and at ease passing on that expertise that I suspect the cleaner was called Iris and would pick ophthalmology as her specialist subject on Mastermind.

There is no guarantee of success and as I write I have no idea how successful the operation will prove. There is a gas bubble in my eye. Easy to write; impossible to comprehend. The micro-skills surgeons deploy on our eyes are extraordinary.

But the Sussex Eye Hospital is under the cloud of cuts - a small incision may be, but an intrusive one.

Every business, private or public, pleads for clemency in a bid to save its village from Baron George Osborne and his Spending Review torches.

The NHS has cuts to make and I am in no position to say where they should be made.

Brighton and Sussex University Hospitals NHS Trust wants the eye hospital to be just a day case unit, with all eye care moving across the road to the Royal Sussex County Hospital in the evenings and weekends.

How much money will that save? I don’t know. If they don’t do it, will they have to cut elsewhere? I don’t know.

What I do know is that the Sussex Eye Hospital is clearly a centre of excellence and becoming a day case unit - although it would still have to be opened up at night and at weekends to perform operations - can only dilute that excellence.

From my experience the eye hospital is an elite unit, a beacon of brilliance serving Sussex. It should be cherished not compromised. Eyes may be funny things, but they are very scary things.

Thankfully there is a pedestrian crossing outside the Eye Hospital opposite the County Hospital. To borrow from my distant relative Lord Nelson: “I see no cars - to my right.”

Keep the Sussex Eye Hospital open 24/7. Flog a few photocopiers on eBay instead.

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