So there I was, led into the operating theatre, iodine around my eyes, giving the ‘old’ me one last new lookalike.
The events of the afternoon had raised certain questions in my head, and here was their catharsis. I genuinely believed, for a short while at least, that this was all an elaborate hoax, and the characters I had encountered were actors paid for their involvement in my incredibly complex narrative. It was like the Truman Show meets Total Recall or The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, especially the later two when scientific organisations are discovered to be set-ups, the smiling receptionist the happy facade of a more sinister network. It was more like The Prisoner – being driven to a strange location, other fellow patients wandering around wearing dark glasses, tests and torture and asking for information…
But I had to stay strong. They had, after all. asked my consent to film the operation – a bit like this, for those less squeamish amongst you:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rW2wijHGVHQ&feature=related
At least, then, I knew I would have some documentary evidence of what they were about to do to me, and, they been very honest with me, the lady’s description of what was about to happen was realistic, quite graphic and at odds with how an evil scientist might have lied about the subsequent procedure. Still, I asked to be excused to the bathroom, and said receptionist looked peturbed when I came out and nipped upstairs.
I returned, and finally the time had come. I wore a hairnet and blue plastic bags over my shoes, but panicked a little when asked to take off my superhero tie – would this strip me of my special powers? – even though one of the surgeons said they liked them too. Anyway, I lied on the bed and shuffled up. It was like a CT scan combined with that bed that Goldfinger tries to get James Bond with via a laser:
Now, after all the anticipation and fear, the procedure was actually a little worse than I expected. I had cut short a viewing of one of the many youtube clips available so the lady’s explanation was all I had, plus the prediciton of the smell of hamburgers. The ’slight odour of ultra violet light’ was one of the worse aspects of those few minutes I spent in the theatre. She had mentioned this, and likened it to ‘when you catch hair in a hairdryer’ but it was worse than that, maybe just because my sense were compensated for the lack of vision.
Though I did see the dancing red and green lights which moved in sync with the crackling lasers, and I saw the pressure ring moving away, and the wash rinsing away the blur…. My relief was immense as the ceiling lights slowly became apparent. I instantly recalled the images by Mark Wallinger I had photocopied only a few hours earlier.
Only in my case, it had been reversed.
I sat upright, dizzy and unable to make much out. The surgeon tried to show me what they had recorded but I couldn’t see anything on the screen of his camcorder.
I was then helped up and guided to a darkened room, where I lied back and thought of England, playing the land of my forefathers later that evening. I wanted to text loved ones and tell them it was ok, I could see.
But I couldn’t, and spent five minutes trying to turn my phone on, desperately trying to work out how the battery went in.
Finally, I managed it. Now I was ready to get up and enter the outside world.
