Out to Lunch
My Beloved at Seventy-Nine

One Down, One to Go

If we live long enough, we get cataracts.  The challenge is to know the right time to have them removed.  I could have waited longer, but I figured why not see better now?


I’m not one to go on about my operation, but I will say it was like a production line.  Show up, sit around a waiting room, get called, get prepped, get the procedure, get out.  I was on my way home in under two hours, and it only took that long because the man ahead of me had extra thick cataracts and probably should have had the surgery years ago.


The following morning there is a reunion in the doctor’s office of all the people who sat with me in the hospital waiting room the day before, all there to get their patches removed.  Then come three days built around eye drops, phone calls and a book on tape.  After that, resume life with some restrictions.  Piece of cake.


Here’s the payoff.  There’s a poster advertising a Matisse exhibit in France on the wall in our sunroom.  The background is white.  When I look through my still cataracted eye, the background is grayish; when I look through my cataract-free eye, it’s bright white.  It’s a whole new experience.


In ten days, I am going to do it all again. 


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