Another bit of me is now artificial. I have joined a popular club, the Cataracts Collective. Everyone says there’s nothing to worry about, except for Judith at our group whose son-in-law woke up the next morning with his eyeball back to front. Hers is a family to whom many strange medical things happen and it had not put her off, she was due to join a more exclusive club, those who are having stents put in their eye as well as a new lens.

My son-in-law said Cataract operations have been done since the ancient Romans, so no need to worry. I think I would worry if I was a Roman citizen… Many of us do not like anything to do with eyes. There was a family story about Uncle Ron. Visiting friends and sitting round the dinner table they heard the story of how their host scratched his eye on a rose thorn. Keen hands-on gardeners will understand how easily this could happen. At the hospital they pulled his eyeball out and rested it on his cheek. At this point in the story they heard a loud thump, Uncle Ron had fainted clean off his chair.

I would never contemplate contact lenses. I have had few operations asleep, three C-sections and two Carpal Tunnel awake, must be something about the letter C and now there were two cataracts looming… far more worrying.

Anyway, time to get to the hospital. In a reversal of school days you have to be dropped off by your son or daughter ( carents ) who are not allowed to stay, leave their phone number and are summoned to pick you up later. Of course it may be a spouse or kind neighbour to accompany you.

When we got to the desk the lady in front of me was also a Janet. Her husband was in a wheelchair and I initially thought he was the patient, but when we were chatting later it turned out she didn’t want to leave him alone at home and a neighbour brought them both in. One of the nurses assured her he would be looked after and wheeled him away.

In the little waiting room I was put in a corner near the other Janet then another lady arrived and was put between us. She kept exclaiming she must be the youngest there. I looked at her and thought smugly to myself, ‘I don’t think so…’ We soon found out how old everyone was because every time the nurses came to do yet more eye drops or summoned us to see the surgeon, they asked our date of birth, which eye, are you diabetic, any allergies… Turned out the other lady was the youngest. We tried to engage her in conversation, but she just sat there looking like a frightened rabbit. Not surprising as we were the only ones exchanging medical notes and having a laugh. The positioning of the chairs did not make casual chat easy and with three surgeons on and three lists going, nobody had any idea when they would be called for their operation. A nurse told me I was having the best surgeon. We had all had to arrive by 7.45am and my surgeon said it would be about 10am for me. Our few possessions we had been allowed to bring were whipped away and put in lockers, so no notebook or anything to read.

The other Janet was first and I was about middle of the list and so bored I was very happy to walk off to the anaesthetic room. I have to say all the medical staff were very nice and caring. Cataracts come upon you later in life, so that was why I was probably the second youngest and some of the patients were very frail. The frailest were going to stay overnight.

On the way we stopped at a big cupboard with shelves and shelves full of little boxes containing our individual lens. In the first room it was onto the trolley, blanket over you, more eye drops and checking who you were and which eye. Then into the small operating theatre, where my surgeon had an assistant. Classical music was playing in the background, a gentle selection, no 1812 Overture or Verdi’s Requiem. More eye drops. The assistant pressed the button to raise the bed and the back went up instead. He said ‘Whoops, wrong button’ I said ‘I hope you don’t press any more wrong buttons.’

The nurse asks you if you want her to hold your hand, I was going to say ‘No of course not’ but Yes seemed to come out of my mouth.

The operation actually only took fifteen minutes, your face covered except for your eye and lots of eye irrigating in between the action. Everyone says you just see a bright light, but I was sure I could see the surgeon working out of the corner of my eye. Near the end I had a glimpse out into the far reaches of the universe, or at least a pretty light display.

Then it was off to a different waiting room for a cup of tea and a choice of digestive or rich tea biscuits. I never saw the other Janet again, hopefully they had not lost her husband. My daughter did remember to pick me up.

Have you had your cataracts done or an operation awake?