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I had cataract surgery several years ago and it changed my ability to see. I thought I had good vision, although night vision was going.
How wrong I was.
The ophthalmologist treated the cataract in my left eye first, because it was the worst side. He said to see how I did for two weeks, and if necessary he would do the right eye. I went back after two weeks and informed him I just had the worst two weeks of my life. I had no idea how bad things were until I could compare the treated side with the untreated. Visual acuity in my left eye was remarkable, colors brilliant, and everything had clear sharp edges. The other eye looked as thought I was seeing the world through dirty orange cheesecloth.
He said that was the right answer for insurance purposes, and so did the other side. I have used my glasses very little since then. I had been farsighted and needed glasses for reading and things up close. Since then, I can read the fine print on labels and would not need glasses to drive except for the restrictions engraved on my driver’s and pilot’s licenses.
But this is not about me. It is about my love.
Tuesday was an unusual and stressful day at our house. We tried to turn in early, but sleep was fitful due to a certain amount of anxiety over Sockpuppet’s eye surgery scheduled for early that morning. She already one eye done a couple of weeks ago, and this was for the second eye.
We set the alarm for an unreasonable part of the wee small predawn hours. Let’s put it this way; we had been up for well over two hours when MOT posted at 6:30 local time. We set out in the pre-dawn rain for the neighboring town where the eye surgery clinic is located.
It is no fun driving in the rain in the dark in these mountains. Just thought I would mention that.
Got there about daybreak, and only had to wait a short time before they came to take her back to surgery. I had to stay in the car. After two or three hours, she emerged, being pushed in a wheelchair by a clinic staff member. She had been NPO (nothing by mouth) since Monday evening, so I stopped and got her some breakfast and coffee.
We came home without further incident. The little feral cat was waiting for us on the back porch. I am beginning to understand cat language. The cat looked at me with a reproachful stare, asking, “Where in hell have you been, and where is my breakfast?”
That chore done, with some obligatory scritchies behind little cat ears, we both sat on the couch and faded into blissful naps. Sleep deprivation is cumulative, so it will take a couple of days for us to catch up.
So far, Socks has been able to watch TV a bit today, saying everything is clearer than she ever remembered seeing.
A bit of appropriate music. You didn’t think I could write about her without a helping of GD, did you?
One of the things that captivated me in the first place were her beautiful blue eyes.
“In the twilight glow I see her,” is a great line. And like the song says, we thought we would never see each other again. It is how I first saw those eyes—in the twilight of a late Big Sur evening. It wasn’t raining then, but it rained today. I still love her eyes. They are knowing and wise, with more than a hint of merry mischief in them.
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