The Eyes Have It

“Oh, easy peasy!” says Shannon, who sits in front of me at church. “You’re going to love the results!” 

“I don’t see how slicing my eye can be easy peasy,” I say. 

“You’ll hardly notice a thing!” 

“Again, how can I not notice someone slicing my eye?” 

“She’s right,” says Dora, who sits next to Shannon. “It’s a piece of cake.” 

I’m scheduled for cataract surgery on Wednesday and I’m just a tiny bit panicked. Maybe more than a tiny bit because they are slicing my eye!  

“You’re going to love not wearing glasses!” says Judy. 

How can they act like it is no big deal? It’s my eyes!   

“I really noticed how beautiful the colors were after,” says Pastor as I’m walking out. This dude is supposed to comfort me, and all he’s doing is ratcheting up my blood pressure. 

This is surgery! I want some sympathy and I’m definitely not getting it. Even my son, the doctor, shrugs when I tell him.  

“They’ll give you twilight sleep,” he says. “You’ll do great.” 

I close one eye when I get home, testing how much I can see. They’ll all be sorry if something goes wrong. 

My buddy, Joyce, picks me up on Wednesday morning. “Ricky had cataract surgery, and we went to Costco in the afternoon!” 

No one should be this chipper as they drive me to have my eye sliced open.   

“This is your first eye,” says the way too cheery nurse. “I can tell because people are nervous with the first one, but when they come back for the second, they are super relaxed.” 

No one, I’m convinced, could be relaxed before someone slices your eye. 

I listen for screaming and lamentations, but the nurses and doctors move quietly as they circulate in the pre-op area. The anesthesiologist slides back the curtain and I almost jump out of bed.  

“I’m going to give you some medicine and you’ll relax,” says the handsome young doctor. “You’ll see moving lights and colors, but you won’t be able to really see anything.” 

“You’d better give me a lot of meds,” I say. “They are slicing my eye.” 

He smiles and injects the happy meds. I’m still not happy, but I don’t care. 

The next day, my brother calls. “The doctor said I need cataract surgery in another year or two,” he says. “I panic at the thought of someone slicing my eye.” 

“No worries,” I say. “It’s easy peasy.”