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Platitudes can't calm 'procedure' panic

By SHEILA STOLL
Published August 29, 2006

"Don't worry; it will be fine. I've known dozens of people who have had that procedure. There's nothing to it."

I've said those words to friends and relatives, even to Darling Husband Reg when he was about to get his pacemaker installed.

The fact is that no amount of reassurance keeps the little worm of fear away when you are the one about to have the "procedure."

I have cataracts. The "procedures" will take place in a couple months. Everyone tells me it will be fine - my world will no longer look fuzzy.

I won't be terrified in a car at night when every light looks like fireworks, and I can't tell how far away those fireworks are. I will not have to study stairs to judge the depth of the risers so I won't take a header and smash my nose. Colors will be brighter. It will be fine. Yup.

I know of only one person upon whom cataract surgery failed. Unfortunately, it was my father. Afterward, he did look dashing with a black patch over one eye. Needless to say, he didn't have surgery on the other eye. Two black patches would be a bit over the top.

So I do worry. Is there something in my DNA that precludes successful cataract surgery? Am I going to be partially or totally blind? I'm already deaf in one ear. If the other one packs up, that will eliminate the "enhanced other senses" argument, a supposed benefit of losing one sense. I'd be reduced to my senses of smell and touch.

Everyone wants to be supportive, encouraging. Some are concerned and reassuring; others are dismissive. They are not the ones who will be going in for the procedures themselves.

The point is that unless you have been there, you don't have any idea about what somebody else is going through when a diagnosis indicates the need for a "procedure." Stories about Aunt Hattie's miraculous recovery offer little comfort and no useful knowledge.

The conversation of some people my age consists only of such topics as, "I think it's my gallbladder" or, "I need a colostomy." Such organ recitals do not make for pleasant conversation.

I have not enjoyed letting people know about my vision problem, but the alternative is to let them believe that I stagger around because I'm a lush.

I've had enough skin biopsies, stitches and patches to make me feel like an aging quilt, but if they don't show, I don't talk about them.

If they do show, my standard answer is that I was attacked by a rogue elephant. The first biopsy I had done turned out to be a cancer, so every similar skin eruption must be biopsied. I think the doctor's office has enough of my skin to knit a new, smaller Sheila.

All of you who are experiencing anxiety about an impending "procedure" or treatment have my sympathy. Cataracts are not the end of the world. Radiation, chemotherapy - things like that are really scary, and for good reason.

But I have breaking news: It turns out the reason my feet have seemed uncooperative lately is that I have multiple sclerosis. No procedure for that.

Aunt Hattie, where are you when I need you?

Write to Sheila Stoll, c/o Seniority, the St. Petersburg Times, P.O. Box 1121, St. Petersburg, FL 33731.

[Last modified August 28, 2006, 19:24:27]