I am sitting here trying to focus on the computer screen. I'm chalking up all grammatical and spelling errors these days to my inability to see properly. Prior to this time, I confess that mistakes were just caused by my own carelessness. After all, it's a blog. I'm not after a pulitzer.
My left eye has a huge blur of hardened encrusted eyeball (not the technical term I know) and the right is still in pretty good condition. I find it easier as I mentioned in Part 1, to close the left and try to see out of the right only. I have to say though, it's exhausting. It's even difficult to read a book for any length of time while performing this now well developed skill.
When I first noticed an anomoly in my vision back in February, I didn't realize that the cataract progression could be so rapid. There are times now when I can't see anything. For example, early in the morning. It often takes up to an hour for me to focus. If I try to function too early, I do more foolish things like pouring the tea water over the rim of the invisible cup lip. It's also impossible to make out anything when facing a window or some other form of bright natural light. Electric lighting and darkness have become my new best friends.
My driving is limited (by me) to certain weather conditions and specific times of day. It consists of short trips to the store and familiar routes that do not require driving into sunlight. It feels odd, restrivtive and disconcerting to know that in my current state, I don't dare venture into the big city or into any new settings.
The good news is that anyone who has had the procedure, tells me it's a piece of cake. I can't imagine, but I suppose I'll soon find out.
So as I await my next ophthalmologist appointment (Oct. 15th) I have become increasingly curious. I was advised not to watch any you tube videos of cataract surgery. I watched. Now I wish I had viewed the procedure with my non functional left eye. On the bright side, I noticed that people are sometimes given intravenous stuff to help them relax. I'll have my procedure wherever they promise me the best drugs.
As I viewed the surgery, what came to mind was the children's promise rhyme that goes something like, "Cross my heart, hope to die. Stick a needle in my eye"? It sufficeth to say that the poet might have seen the same videos.
Well, I suppose it's time to shut my other eye and go to sleep. Or perhaps I'll just wait awhile and try to imagine more some more pleasant things before I venture off to bed.
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