Seeing Fear - Part I

I drove my parents to an appointment in Boston today. My father was going in for eye surgery. It was surreal. It was one trip that never should have happened. This eye surgery was meant to remove an infection he contracted as a result of a supposedly quick and simple cataract procedure.

Last Monday, he walked out of the cataract procedure feeling great. A few days later, he was driving. The following Saturday he was back on the tennis court. Life was good. Saturday afternoon, his eye started to hurt and swell up. On Sunday, it worsened. Sunday afternoon, he called the doctor, who agreed to see him first thing the next morning. My mother asked me to drive him as it was too early for her to get out of the house. On Sunday night, the eye hurt so badly, he didn’t sleep.. at all… pulled an all-nighter, as they say in college. I picked him up on Monday morning, and his eye looked red and swollen. He was exhausted.

The doctor looked at him and decided it was an infection. She said this happened once in maybe 10,000 cases. This was not the time to win the lottery. She then sent him to a retina specialist, who agreed it was an infection, took out fluid for further study and made an appointment for him today to have the infection removed.
If the surgery works, he will have the sight back in his eye, and we’ll breathe a sigh of relief. If the surgery doesn’t work, he will lose the sight in that eye. I agree, there are a lot of worse things that can happen. I don’t have to list them. But everything is relative. I waited… and waited… and waited.. until I finally heard the question out of my father’s mouth, “What if I can’t play tennis anymore?”

My father is 87 years young. He retired only a few years ago from his dental lab practice. He doesn’t shake. He still has his sense of humor. He plays doubles 2 – 3 times per week. He drives my mother to her doctor’s appointments. He drives my daughter to Hebrew School every Tuesday afternoon. He loves to spend time with my kids. He and my mother go out for dinner. They don’t live elaborate lives, but they still own their house and live their own lives.

“What if I can’t play tennis anymore?” There are a few things in this world that mean a lot to my father. I believe the top three are: family, dentistry and tennis. Each topic comes with its own set of people, memories and communities. Tennis is an outlet. On the way home from the surgery, the conversation focused mainly on dental topics – people he knows or knew and his work with dental students at BU and Tufts.

Honestly, he would play better tennis with one decent eye than most men his age with two good eyes, but that’s not the point. Despite having to take meds to keep his heart pumping right and maintain his cholesterol, he is in no way ready to be idle. He has already given up his dental practice, he is not ready to give up tennis. Will he be able to drive?

My father worked hard his whole life. He doesn’t ask for much. He doesn’t complain. He would never pity himself. Having experienced the tragedies and grime of WWII, not much compares to him on the “awful” scale. He has suffered two heart attacks and ulcer attacks. He has had a shoulder problem and tennis elbow. He contracted diabetes later in life. Yet, not once have I ever heard him express concern that he wouldn’t be back on the court after a reasonable period of time. At least not out loud.

I think my father is afraid. This is rare. He was afraid when he went in for his first heart surgery in 1989. And although he knows a bum eye isn't a matter of life or death, literally, it grazes the surface at figuratively. Usually, when there is a serious matter at hand, he'll joke. It can be annoying, but that's his way of dealing with it. This is no joke.

To be continued…