Ray of light

22nd May 2022

To start with the important matters, there is still no news on the engine of the lawnmower. What there is news on, though, is the Panda, which Stephen took to the garage on Monday morning. They couldn’t find anything particularly at fault with the battery, though a new one was advised. This is going to be fitted next Tuesday when it goes in for a service, and fortunately, despite one or two moments when it seemed to be making its mind up, the car served us well during the week – which is just as well considering we had an important date on Wednesday in Cattolica.

Before that we had the visit to the chemist’s on Tuesday morning and the obligatory Covid test. Stephen had decided that he, too, should have one in case proof of a negative result was required to accompany me into the clinic (and a wise thought it was, as it was). Whilst I had had a test almost two years ago when I dallied with the idea of teaching at the school in Civitanova, that was by blood sample, so this one by swab was a first for both of us – and, we hope, the last. If you have had one of these, you will know how incredibly invasive it is of your nasal passages; if you haven’t then you are better off not knowing because it is horrible. Fortunately, it was worth all the discomfort as after a short wait we were given our negative certificates, which meant we were all set.

As the appointment was for 3 o’clock, we decided that the best thing to do was to set off before midday and stop on the way at an autogrill for lunch (pasta with tuna and tomatoes followed by strawberries to share), so just after 11 Stephen went to collect Enrico, Manuel’s son, who had offered (or been offered, maybe) to dog sit while he got on with some serious studying. So, after Stephen had shown him where everything was and made sure he was connected to the Internet, we headed north.

One good thing was that with the continuing hot and sunny weather we were able to travel light; another was that traffic was also light and with no holdups, apart from our luncheon break, and more or less a straight road from the superstrada to where the clinic was located, we arrived in good time. Stephen found a place to park on a nearby street and after locating the main entrance, because of course we had, at first, gone to the back of the building and the emergency exit, in we went.

The nice young man at the reception desk checked us off a list and directed us to the third floor, room 314, where we found a few people waiting on chairs in the corridor while inside the recovery room were a couple of patients doing just that and another two or three waiting to be taken to the operating room. It was very much a conveyor belt system, but a highly efficient and benign one, and, when it came my time to enter room 314 the chairs were indeed very comfortable.

After ten minutes or so waiting, I was called into the room next door, where the nurse took copies of my documents and put drops in my eyes whenever the opportunity arose. Fortunately, Stephen went in with me as she spoke so fast (as she did everything) I had very little chance of keeping up with her. It was then outside again for another ten minutes or so before it was my turn in the waiting/recovery room. Here I had to put on a disposable gown then take off my shoes and replace them with those things that look a bit like shower caps, but for your feet.

After another bit of a wait, I got into a wheelchair and was pushed, more or less in a straight line, down the corridor to the anti-room of the operating theatre where the nurse (auxiliary?) who had taken me told me to lie on the trolley at the side of the room and she covered me with a blanket just as the patient before me was being taken into the theatre. It was really very pleasant lying there, with nothing to worry about, though at one point a nurse came out and put a needle, with a small phial attached to it, into my right arm. This, I presume, contained the anaesthetic.

It’s really hard to judge how much time passed, as, whether due to the sedative or the ambience or both, I was, if not numb, then at least comfortably unconcerned but then the wheeling away of the previous patient roused me from my reverie and I was wheeled in. I didn’t really have time to take in my surroundings in detail, but I have the impression of a suited-up Dr Scorolli and three nurses bustling about in a contained pod of an operating theatre. One of the nurses helped me onto the operating table, onto which, around the area where your head would be, shone an intense light from a contraption which, in another life, could have passed for the laser cutter of a Bond villain but was now being used for more humane purposes.

After a slight adjustment to get me in line with the beam, I was zipped up in a body suit (presumably to prevent me, should it enter my head, to start flailing my arms about, which would not be a good plan) and then some sort of pad was slapped onto my right eye. What this was, I have no real idea, and equally I have no real idea of what followed for while I was aware of things happening, I couldn’t actually feel anything. I can only assume that this was part of what was keeping my eye open during the surgery.

As for seeing what was going on, that was, thankfully, impossible. My left eye was covered with the overhang of the pad while the right was focused on the intense light of the laser. At times this was narrow and almost bean-shaped while at others a kaleidoscope of colours swirled around. This, coupled with the R2D2 beeps and whistles that accompanied the operation, made me feel like I was travelling through a wormhole, but when the operation was completed and a dressing applied to my right eye, what I could see from my left looked pretty much as before.

It was back into the wheelchair for a return trip to room 314 where I sat in one of the comfy chairs for enough time to pass to make sure that there was no immediate reaction, after which Stephen, being the responsible adult, was given an envelope containing instructions on what I could and couldn’t do and when, as well as times for applying the various eye drops bought in advance from the chemists and a letter giving the time for a check-up at Dr Scorolli’s Civitanova studio (Friday, 12.00). I was then delivered into Stephen’s safe-keeping, and we took a leisurely stroll back to the car, with me resting on his arm just like some old married couple – but I suppose that is what we are.

We were home around 7 o’clock, so not bad going really considering, and we released Enrico back into the community, none the worse for his ordeal. I exchanged the eye dressing for sunglasses, sorely needed especially for the first two days as the pupil was dilated to such an extent that any and all light flooded into my eye. Thursday was spent quietly at home, apart from starting the eye drop regimen, three different types at ten different intervals. This lasts for eight days when it changes to two different types (one continuing, one new) six times a day for ten days. On Friday at the check-up all was fine, or, as Dr S declared, molto buono. Being in the big city and it being lunchtime we took the opportunity to lunch out at Lomi, Civitanova’s self-proclaimed bowl restaurant, and a trendy poke bowl each – mine tuna, his salmon.

As for the weekend, while I have been reprising my best Lady Bertram impersonation Stephen has been busy with odds and ends, including some work in the garden and completing the changeover of the wardrobe – and getting to grips with a wealth of cherries.

Yesterday morning he had to pop to the chemist’s for more supplies, the drops already making heavy inroads into the small bottles, and he combined this with a trip to the Carellis as they had sent him a message to call by. He returned minus medication, which again had to be ordered for collection in the evening, but plus a chest full of freshly picked cherries. What to do with them, was the question, there being far too many to eat between the two of us before they started going off. Time then, to dig out the cherry brandy instructions, and when Stephen returned later for the drops, he made a detour to the supermarket.

This morning, a proportion of the fruit were put into a jar together with the brandy and some sugar, but that still left an awful lot. This is when Stephen had his brainwave – why not use up the half litre of 100% proof alcohol that had been hanging around since our last foray into liqueur making, and for which, unsurprisingly, we have found no other use? So now we have two jars, one with cherries steeping in brandy and sugar, and one with them oozing their juices into pure alcohol. This latter will be diluted once strained by an equal amount of sugar syrup because, while we are more than happy to help the Carellis strip their trees of fruit, we don’t want the fruit to strip us of our stomach linings.