Well, that was unexpected.
I like the new ocular surgeon. I like his practice, where they have their shit together and run on time and address you with basic courtesy, instead of acting as if you should be grovellingly grateful to be in a medical office receiving perfunctory attention from scrubs-clad people young enough to be your grandkid.
I like being told “actually, your corneas aren’t that bad, and the only thing that makes sense is to repair the cataracts and see how your vision is then. And oh, of course, it would be the minimal surgery if we do have to go on to a transplant.”
That bitch I consulted last year was ready to whip off my whole corneas and stick entire brand new ones on. At least, if she had any other suggestions, I didn’t hear them.
The intake forms had the usual rude questions about your health status and habits, and then, rather unexpectedly, at the bottom a horizontal line across the page, with the direction: “Mark the point along the line that best describes your personality.” At the left hand end of the line was the word “Easy-going.” The far-right end was labeled “Perfectionistic.”
I made an X mark at the extreme right-hand end, then on reflection scribbled it out and drew another at the absolute right margin of the page.
They need to know, I’ll tell them.
I have a date August third with someone who does nothing all day every day but measure eyes for replacement lenses. It seems like no one is rushing this. Well, another month to get back in condition from that godawful pandemic year, when I couldn’t get to a gym and spent half of it recuperating from forty-four staples worth of surgery. You want to be in fighting shape in case they need you to punch the cataract while it’s down.