Miscellany Before Midnight

Note to self: don't take the iPhone to bed.  Don't log onto Facebook for a 'quick peek.'  Never, ever reply to comments by Annette or Laurie because, like pistachios and M&M's and Pringles, none of us can ever just stop at one!  (That sentence made me crave a good sugar-n-salt fix all over again.  SIGH.)

It took me more than ten minutes to select and buy OTC lubricating eye drops for use tomorrow in my husband's post-op left eye.  After comparing active ingredients, fluid ounce contents, brand names, label speak, and prices, my daughter finally put an end to it by suggesting I ask the pharmacist for her opinion.  Why didn't I think of that?  I'll tell you why . . . because my PMS brain can't think its way out of a clear plastic storage baggie with the zip-seal left open!  The smallest decision becomes an enormous mental road block with a highly confused chicken on one side, scratching in the dirt, and craving Pretzel M&M's and popcorn drizzled with warm honey.  Do you know how good fresh popcorn is with regular M&M's tossed in?  My aunt taught me that little snacking ditty.

But I digress.  You don't seem surprised!

About the Intac surgical procedure my husband is undergoing tomorrow afternoon in Nashville.  It's been a long time coming.  His left eye has bothered him for years, but his condition went undiagnosed until late in 2008 when he visited the optometry office of a friend of ours from church.  A topographic image of his eye revealed the problem.  Keratoconus is a deterioration of the structure of the cornea with gradual bulging from the normal round shape to a cone shape -- that's what he has in both eyes.  But the eye in question is significantly more affected.  He tried several types of hard contacts, to press the bulge down, but too much damage had occurred to allow this treatment to be effective.  The surgery, whereby implants which flatten the corner are inserted, will allow him to wear contacts with comfort in order to enjoy fully corrected vision.  Eventually, the right eye will follow suit.

My mother had cataract surgery in one of her eyes just a couple of weeks ago.  I was her companion for that day, the night, and the following day.  She tucked me in and cooked for me instead of vice-versa.  Her recovery went well and somewhat swiftly.  There was ONE defining moment of support whereby I was handed the opportunity to shine as her compassionate support system representative.  That was during the pre-op portion of the program.  And I failed.  Miserably.  My curiosity was so heightened that when I was called back to sit at her bed while she awaited the good doctor's final ministrations before scalpel-time (no laser), I lightheartedly remarked that her eye was about to be delicately sliced with amazing precision and it was hard to believe they didn't make all kinds of mistakes.  Turning to look at me with her one good eye, the other held an enlarged pupil swimming in numbing gel, she softly spoke, "Please don't say things like that."  Why, I could of had a V-8 at that moment!  What an idiot I was.  So insensitive.  And to my own tired and mildly fearful elderly mother. 

I watched in amazement when the doc wrote directly on her eyeball with a special marker and she didn't flinch even a wee bit.  Three tiny black marks, unmoving specks on the surface of the orb.  That action screamed for a picture, a Facebook photo update, but I had promised her not to click away.  I kept that promise.

And, I promise here tonight that I will not tell Jimmy how a small series of cuts will be made into the firm gelatinous goo of his eyeball to facilitate the insertion of foreign objects.  Instead, I'll lean in close and plant a good strong soy latte kiss on lips that will have enjoyed a Starbucks cappuccino just an hour or so before.  He's allowed to eat or drink, lightly.

To the rest of you, I blow a dreamy goodnight kiss -- bearing a scent reminiscent of lemon custard and Hawaiian pizza.  Catch it if you dare.  I'm off to bed.  For real this time.