The Eyes Have It

I went to the optometrist recently because my eyesight had been deteriorating. Badly, and with noticeable speed. I couldn't see people across the street, or at the other side of a room. The audiences were just a blur. Even if I knew someone well, they had to be practically standing on my foot for me to recognize their face. That's pretty bad.

Ok, I still took my time making that appointment. First, because I'm a wuss about doing anything remotely medical and I'm a major procrastinator. I'm of the "wait til I get a tooth ache before going to the dentist" school of thinking. Second, my schedule was hectic. But when it got to the point that I was reading with reading glasses AND a magnifying glass and still couldn't see the newsprint or computer clearly, and feared for my life stepping off stage (and hopefully not falling down the steps) even I had to admit I really needed to get a new pair of glasses. So I finally coordinated a date and off I went. I just couldn't put it off any longer.

I hadn't been to my optometrist in so long, he retired. No, really. Same receptionist, different doctor. So I go in to see the new doctor and say, 'I need a new prescription for my reading glasses.' So he hits the projector and brings up the eye chart. He: 'Can you see the bottom line?' Me: 'Not a chance.' He changes to a larger font. He: 'How about now?' Me: 'Not even close'. He changes the font again. He: ' What about now?' Me: 'Well, that depends on how you define 'see'. I know it's there, but it's really fuzzy.' By the time he got the giant Sesame Street letters up on the screen (as in 'today's program is brought to you by the letter E' with Elmo dwarfed next to it) I admitted defeat. He cut the screen and looked into my eyes with assorted light sources and instruments of ocular measurement. Then he said, 'I won't give you a prescription. It won't help. You have serious cataracts and need surgery.' Me: 'Are you sure?' He: 'Pretty sure. I went to school for this type of thing.'

So Dr. Hook (seriously, that's his name) sent me to the cataract surgeon for a consultation, assuring me he was one of the best in the business. So hubby and I trundle downtown to see the surgeon. The office was very efficient looking, everyone on staff wearing suits or the female version of suits (black skirt, white blouse, black jacket) and busy checking people in, pulling files, doing eye tests, giving instructions, making appointments, answering phones. You know it's a thriving (as in lucrative) business when everything is gray carpet, silver lettering and large paintings. While waiting in the waiting area, we were amazed at the numbers of people coming in and out. Hubby says, 'Wow, there's certainly a lot of people doing cataract surgery. Who knew?' I said, 'I don't think some of them knew themselves. I'm sure if you asked some of them 'And what brought you here today?' they'd say, 'I don't know. I was walking past the building, a guy in a suit punched me in the eye, gave me a card, pointed me in the direction of the lift and said, 'fourth floor'.' We both burst out laughing. Turns out, by the looks we got, we were the only ones that found that remotely funny.

So we meet the surgeon, a lovely man, who by the way seems to be one of only two people with a sense of humor in that office that we could tell, and scheduled the surgery. Well, surgeries, as it turns out since one eye goes one week, the next on the following week. (Well, they go together, but only one gets worked on at a time. It's not like you can send them in alone or anything. Although, that would certainly be convenient.)

Since I would not be able to face stage lights for a week after each surgery, I had to schedule the surgeries around my gig calendar. My last gig for October was out in the country town of Melrose for the SA Rural Women's Association, and I booked the first operation for the day after I got back home. However, I came home not only with a nice cheque for my work, but a bad cold. I called the surgeon to say I was sick, stuffed up and coughing, should I cancel? I mean, all I needed was to cough at an inappropriate time and have the old scalpel slip and do a Van Gogh. As it turns out I was well enough to go through with it, and managed to keep from coughing for the time it took to do the surgery. And boy am I glad I went through with it.

I can see! How the heck did I put this off for so long? It was like going from analog tv to high definition tv...things are now sharper and there's more color and light in the world. That butterfly bush in bloom at the end of the driveway that I thought was mauve...hello, it's a beautiful bluish purple! I can't be more enthusiastic or appreciative of my surgeon's talent. In the old days, people just went blind or lived with impaired vision. And now, how lucky are we that science gives us the option to restore a key part of our lives - sight!

I have learned that there are things we take for granted, either through ignorance, fear, or laziness. Our senses are some of those. How wonderful would it be for a blind person to be able to see again? I can't imagine the total reversal of perception that would be. My poor sight was more of an inconvenience than anything else. But to see clearly again...a miracle!

And now I think, boy, wouldn't it be great if instead of just restoring physical sight, doctors could some day restore a higher level of sight? To maybe see things as others see them, to appreciate the differences in our backgrounds, to even see things as they really are, instead of how we imagine them to be. To remove the cloudy film of prejudice and ignorance, and see the human race and our world for all the beauty it really has.

Now that, I wouldn't put off .