2026 | Cataract Surgery is Temporarily Preventing Me From Posting Blog Entries

2026. Cataract surgery currently prevents me from blogging. I must once again pause my writing, where I share journal memories from earlier years, to explain why I have been so quiet. I had hoped to continue my blog-journal this week, but for now, I can't because of a cataract operation.

Sometimes, you have to force yourself to be still and let calm settle the trembling within. You cannot walk a tightrope every single minute of your life and expect to remain upright while battling vertigo, nausea, headaches, and muscle pain. Sooner or later, you are bound to tumble off that rope and land, with a painful thud, on the floorboards.

So much has happened since Daniel died so suddenly, and so needlessly, in 2022. I truly want to finish recounting that period in my journal and get it off my chest; I know writing is the best therapy, and I owe it to myself and my readers. But, as usual, there is once again a fly in the ointment. This is exactly how I felt, minute by minute, every single day during those final eighteen months we were forced to remain in KZN. And it is how I feel right now.

For many years, since I was still in my thirties, I have struggled with poor eyesight. Currently, I have about five or six pairs of reading glasses. Over the years, I've had these aids prescribed to help me manage different parts of my life. One of the recurring cries for help throughout these long years has always been: “I can’t read this!” and "I can’t see that!" The problem has escalated throughout the years.

I have a special pair of computer glasses intended to reveal the secrets of my two massive computer screens. Right now, all I can see is two blurry white blobs that make my headache worse with every passing minute.

I have reading glasses that let me read a real book with pages or my Kindle screen. They don't work properly anymore.

I have a pair of TV glasses that make the subtitles on the large screen clearer. I’ve learned to read very quickly before the subtitles disappear; unfortunately, I can’t take in both the image and the subtitles at the same time. The fact that I am very hard of hearing just added to my misery, and I tend to avoid too many hours in front of the TV.

I have a pair of driving glasses meant to keep my fellow road users and me safe. Sadly, my right eye has deteriorated to the point that I can no longer take the risk; I can no longer count on spotting traffic in the other lane.

I also have a very old pair of multifocal reading glasses that I acquired quite a few years ago, hoping they would solve my problem. They have always been my work glasses—the ones that enabled me to earn a living. In fact, they are the only pair in my collection I’ve actually used in recent years, as the lenses darken when I step out into the sunlight. My eyes are extremely light-sensitive.

The main issue in my case, of course, is that oncologists are very cautious about permitting this type of surgery while a patient is still undergoing active treatment. Nevertheless, I decided to take the plunge this year and applied to my medical aid scheme to undergo cataract surgery and replacement of lenses, as my vision has become truly poor.

I have always been too afraid to have any work done on my eyes, knowing that the chronic medication I take could potentially increase my risk of infection. To this day, that remains my greatest fear. I believe this is one of the best decisions I’ve made in a long time, yet it still feels like I’m currently walking a tightrope.

I tried to live past this problem, and indeed, during the years we lived at the beach, my poor eyesight never bothered me. Plenty of other forms of recreation kept my attention. However, ever since our unplanned long holiday ended, I have repeatedly stumbled over this obstacle. Sometimes literally.

I replaced my first lens a while ago, and I marvel that I can see so well with my right eye, which used to be my weaker eye. Walking down the hallway, I close my left eye; suddenly, everything around me is clear, but I am completely off balance and keep bumping into the walls. I need my other eye, too. The lens in my left eye was supposed to be replaced a week after the first one, but—oh dear! The irony makes me want to laugh and cry at the same time—my ophthalmologist has developed an eye infection. Naturally, he cannot operate on my eye while he has an infection himself, so my surgery has been postponed until the end of the coming week (22 October).

In the meantime, I am keeping as quiet and still as possible. I stay at home to avoid picking up germs from the outside world, and I try not to strain my new lens. I stay away from my keyboard as much as possible, spending most of the day listening to audiobooks or music. Unfortunately, the sound in my earphones puts me to sleep very easily, which means that I end up sleeping through the day, only to spend my nights wrestling with nightmares.

A few days remain before I’m due back in the operating theatre, followed by the prescribed ten days of rest and quiet to ensure I don’t damage my second new lens.

I want to put this chapter of my life behind me now, and, naturally, I hope with all my being that it goes well. Right now, my only goal is to see normally again.

Please cross your fingers and think of me!

Featured image: This is an AI-stylised photo of my eye, and if you look closely, you will see the reflection of my daughter (the photographer) in the lens.