My husband had cataracts removed mid October and the beginning of November. Yikes! I had NO idea this process is a time eater. The surgery facility is an hour away, the procedure takes ten minutes and the return home is another hour. The very next day? Do it again, post surgery, to be sure the site was not compromised. Or something. The drops regimen is equal to newborn feedings. Always, always something to do with the patient, who is astoundingly, well, patient! Q4h daily for two weeks. Time eater for sure. Don’t forget to wear your sunglasses even if you just pick up the mail, twenty feet from the garage. Wear this eye shield whenever you lay down. That requires applying the appliance, and the requisite applier. I was hoping for a sexy black eye patch, but no. This is a rubber edged screen so said husband can see through it. Another week of this and we are rewarded with only three times a day, for a week, then two for another week, then one for the last week. All the while being stringent not to contaminate the eyes. This is extended by twice since we do one eye in a complete cycle, then return to surgery for the remaining eye. Repeat. So very little else gets done. We’re halfway through, with my husband weighing the wisdom of just doing one eye and settling. That’s just frustration. That’s not on.
There is an upside. The right eye, having been freed of its cataract, all drops summarily applied in the proper sequence, sees 20/20! I’d be telling the whole town, were it my sight, dancing in the street and gleeful to be free of wearing glasses. But no. Not my low key husband. It is almost ho-hum to him. Nice but not special.
Glasses have adorned my face since I was ten years old. Blind as a bat without them, myopic with astigmatism, I grope around without them so I can cook without the on/off/on I’d have to do in order not to scorch everything, and lose the glasses umpteen times a day. And no, wearing them around my neck merely guarantees really messy clothes dressed with food detritus. Tell me I could forget wearing them and I’d be delirious.
The man of the house didn’t need glasses until well into his forties, and has a mild correction which renders him bat blind, at least in his mind. Being bat blind, I have little patience with his slight inconvenience, which of course makes me heartless with lack of sympathy. He could see to drive if he had to. Me? I can’t even find the car in the garage without my glasses.
Within the next few weeks we’ll be free of this exercise and life will resume with a schedule locked with only the mundane needs of the retired. For now we’ll be sure to vote tomorrow, hold our breath to see to whom we will be subjugated and hope we can survive them intact. I have my doubts. Never in my whole life can I recall a time when the choice seemed poor and poorer. I wish there was a box to check for no confidence. I have no kind words for either candidate. We get what we deserve. I mean, where do you think these candidates came from? I know of one whole single person who won’t be holding their nose through the procedure. That, I submit, is pathetic. My glasses, in this, are quite fogged.