IN-SIGHT – I’m a Cut Sheet

by Dr Chhavi Gupta – Adjunct Consultant, Oculoplasty & Ocular Oncology at Dr Shroff’s Charity Eye Hospital

I was born in a family of soft cotton fabric and was raised in modest surroundings. I had been cut out from the cloth at a very young age to create my own identity. White, crisp and fresh, I stepped into the realm of delicate and complex eye surgery. Here, my only goal was to support and serve as a quiet guardian of the numerous eyes that would pass through the sterile operating room.

My purpose was as bright and clear as my appearance. My fabric had been carefully handpicked — soft to the touch but strong enough to withstand even the most challenging procedures. My edges were intricately sewn by my master, who gave me a structure and some hole-like openings. These were strategically placed to allow exposure and provide an area to work with ease. The surgeons were able to move their hands freely and effectively, thanks to my cool, smooth surface. My body acted as a barrier to protect the patient from any external debris and to absorb excessive fluid. I played a very crucial role in keeping a sterile environment.

At times, I could absorb the anxiety that vibrated in the atmosphere. I could feel the nervous energy of young trainees, their hands trembling as they navigated through their first surgeries and first complications. The heat of their gloved fingers passed through me; their uncertainty was detected, but their determination was even more palpable. I could also hear everything — the commands and the reassurances from the trainers. I was a witness to the beautiful orchestration of fine skill and precision surgery.  And through it all, I remained a steady, unwavering, unspoken presence in this process of healing.

Day in and out I was used, washed, cleaned, folded and restored. In those quiet night moments, I reunited with my fellow cut sheets and family. Over time, my edges frayed, but I remained. I held on to my identity and was always prepared for my next exciting journey. There were times when I was repaired – a tear, a loose seam, a bigger hole – but nothing a skilled hand here couldn’t fix. I was new and whole again. This side of the cleaning room team understood my value and handled me with gentle care. They trusted me, even in my worn-out state.

But as time passed, my restoration became more frequent. I became loose, thin, tattered, and fragile. I had been a witness to so many faces over the years—each patient, each story and every battle fought. As I held my humble place over their eyes, I was a testament to their victories and losses, their courage and fears. Each passing day was a milestone in my journey as well.

Then came the day when I reached my limit, and I no longer impressed anyone. I was worn out and had to be replaced quickly. I was bid a careful farewell, leaving my legacy behind. My life may seem fleeting, but I had contributed something much more significant than myself. I protected, absorbed and served with every fibre and every thread of my being. My role was simple, but it mattered. I was part of someone’s journey to healing, and that made all the difference. You might not even remember me, but I am a cut sheet, and I take pride in my roots and my story.