This morning I experienced cataract surgery for my wonky left eye, a fascinating procedure performed by a skilled and empathetic doctor. You know how you close your eyes when something is being done to you that you don't want to see? Not for this one, thank you very much. The well-doped bad eye was propped open, I think, and the other, inquisitive eye looked out through a piece of foggy plastic, much like the stuff Edward and I tape to the wall as makeshift storm windows.
Determined to watch the whole thing with the vigilance of a patched pirate, I think I dozed off just as the view was getting interesting, all swirly and glowy. A few hours later, I feel slightly glowy myself from the anaesthesia, and looking around is certainly interesting. My right eye is carrying the load, somehow realizing that Lefty is as clear as an old shower curtain. I am constantly entertained by covering one eye and noting how the other reacts.
I am grateful for the skill and technology that makes it possible to receive such precise care. It surely was not too long ago, in terms of human history, when cataracts meant the end of visual life. Today I am looking through my glass brightly.