Eye Can't See You

Today's guest blogger is Andy. For those of you who don't know, he is a cartoon.

Alas, he is also real person, in cartoon form. Now, let's all have a good laff at his health problems!

All of us conceal secret shames. Perhaps you like bingeing on giraffe porn, or have an addiction to "The Bachelor"? Maybe you like peanut butter and mustard sandwiches? I even have a couple of friends who are shorter than average. My secret shame, something I've kept hidden all my life, was that I had poor eyesight. I just covered it up with stylish eyeglasses.

"Does this hairnet make me look fat?"

With age, my eyes suffered diffraction from more cataracts than the Nile. So I had to finally paddle past my denial and schedule surgeries. That’s right, surgeries, for you see they can only operate on one eye at a time. I had a couple of pre-op appointments and they measured my eyes with lasers, sound waves and, for some reason, a rectal thermometer (which I enjoyed immensely).

The kids were off school on the day of my first surgery, so they accompanied Amy and me to the center. The children were so anxious about me that I think I heard one of them grunt at their iPhone as I said goodbye. As the door shut behind me, I heard Liam’s sweet call, “Hey Dad, do you know what the wifi password is here?”

A couple of nurses went to town on me, and not in a sexy way. They started an IV that I kept calling a four. Neither of the nurses ever asked why I called it that, ruining my Latinate jocularity. They put approximately 738 eye drops in and then discussed the previous evening's “Bachelor” as if I wasn’t even there. I even had to take my own photo.

"Thank God I don't need to blow my nose! Yet!"

Everything in the surgery center was blindingly white. White coats, white walls, white blankets, white lights and white people. The nurse said it was necessary to keep everything sanitary.

Finally, they wheeled me into the room with a high-tech laser doo-hickey and the machine that went “PING.” One minute of watching Laser-Floyd pulverized my cloudy lens. I assumed they would play “Comfortably Numb” during the laser show, but for some reason they chose “Brain Damage.”

"Nooo! Not The Shape of Water!"

Fully Syd Barretted, I had to change gurneys for the trip to the OR. This proved somewhat difficult as I could no longer see. Using echolocation, I finally made it to execution chamber and my anesthesiologist cranked up the Midazolam (versed). Suddenly I realized, “Why’s everyone so uptight about things. It’ll work out…” Meanwhile the surgeon chopped away at my eye like he was tossing a summer salad. All I could see during this was Thousand Island goodness. The 738 drops worked great and I felt nothing but love for my fellow human beings.

After about 10 minutes of this, the doctor slipped in my new lens and I could suddenly see betadine-tinted shapes. Before I knew it, I was in the post-op room. Amy was there and amused at my mellow.

The week between getting my eyes done was pretty hellish.  Unable to read, I was forced to watch cable television. Apparently, an election caravan was making a beeline to the southern border. This caravan would consume our entire country, or evaporate into thin air as soon as the election occurred.

Having one eye corrected and one not made my vision look roughly like this.

"This giraffe says we'll make bank if we fuck each other!"

It made me nauseated because I don’t even like Madagascar. 

The following Tuesday, I went in to get my right eye done. Second verse, same as the first. The following day, I went in for my follow-up appointment. The doctor asked if I had any questions.

“We’re going up to the Estes Y for Thanksgiving. Will I be able to swim then?”

“Sure you will,” he answered.

“That’s great because I’ve never been able to before!”