The compulsory visit to see the anaesthetist prior to the operation did nothing to quell my fears. He listened sympathetically enough, took my blood pressure (200/110 at the very thought of it) and said all I had to do was tell them when I got to the operating room that the thought of a tube stuck up my nose and a mask over the whole of my face was enough to send me into a state of utter panic. Now that, to me seemed like leaving things a bit late, and I was just a tad suspicious.

My suspicions were proved correct when I saw the surgeon a few days before the op (to check the eye that he had already done). I explained my problem, told him what the anaesthetist had said and asked if it was correct that I need not have the mask over my face. He smiled as he shook his head. Sorry, but the mask is a necessity. However, they should be able to make me go to sleep.

Slightly reassured I survived the next three days trying hard to relax, practising deep breathing and checking my blood pressure (doctor's orders) which confirmed that I was still in a state of stress.

The day dawned after a pretty sleepless night. We arrived at the hospital a couple of minutes after the allotted 7 o'clock but had to wait till nearly twenty past before anyone was free to admit me. By this time I was desperate for a wee. We were taken to a double room, despite having reserved a single, but were informed that chambre particuliere doesn't necessarily mean you'll have a room to yourself. After the last time I congratulated myself on knowing that you had to have the Betadine shower the night before so that they could make you have another when you got there. Not this time: there wouldn't be time for the shower, I had to get into the paper nightie as soon as possible.

I explained my panic problem to the nurse once again, and he said they would give me something to calm me down. Three or four 'wees' later I was ready in bed and swallowed the two small tablets which were meant to render me relaxed and sleepy. The minutes ticked by and my stress levels increased. It wasn't long before the shaking began. 'When will the tablets take effect?' I wondered.

They took me to the lift for the operating floor and I was shaking like a leaf. People patted my hand and made reassuring noises but the tablets weren't working and I was beginning to imagine being horribly conscious and fighting for breath throughout the whole procedure all over again.

Outside the theatre I was left in a jellyish heap for what seemed like ages. Eventually the anaesthetist came along and I begged him to render me unconscious. 'Not here' he said, 'there's no-one to look after you. You must wait till you get into the operating theatre.'

Once I was wheeled in and had slid off the bed and onto the operating table the surgeon came in and shook my hand, saying 'Bonjour'- the French are always sticklers for the correct greeting - and then they got to work. The anaesthetist, bless him, carefully placed the tube under my nose and stuck it with tape to my nightie. I was aware of the drops going into my eyes and then NOTHING.

The next thing I knew was waking up back in the room, only to promptly go back to sleep again for a couple of hours or more. The sedative tablets they had given me that morning must have, at last, done their duty.