Eyeballing

A miner for a cataract of gold?

I saw the stylin’ Doc Davies yesterday for, what I’d thought would be the final post-left-eye-cataract-cutterage exam. She was, as uszh, resplendent in leopard print go-go boots, black wool leggings and a sort of Aztec-y patterned mini-dress under her official white doctor coat. Primo physicianing, great sense of humor AND she's a fashionista – a surgeon with it ALL goin’ on!

Turns out I’ve got one more procedure to endure on this peeper (laser this time – YEA!) and then I can finally get new glasses. I’ve got to wait another month in order to be sure the lens she inserted has had enough time to take hold – stick and shit.

Moof. Hate waiting.

And then we scheduled surgery for my other cataracted eye. Early July. Should be a shorter, less complicated operation since my right eye hasn’t suffered the slings and arrows of nerve damage.

I’m moving ahead, getting shit done, becoming a healthier human. Sounds awesome, no? Yes it do BUT this is mega hard cheese. I know this is, ultimately, smart and good – I’ll be in way better shape and have seriously improved vision. Going under the knife is scary though. (DUH!) Putting my eyes on the line, when I’ve already lost my ears, seems freakily dimbulbed BUT not having corrective surgery is lightyears away from being the smart move.

WHAT the hell is this? OK, OK,
I get it – this is some kind of cataract
illustration BUT it looks a fuck-ton
more like one of
Matthew Inman’s comics.

I’m swimming in a sea of counter-intuitiveness.

The Amazing Bob should be here to help me through this shit. We’d takes deep breathes and then he’d spark me straight up with humor. We’d slapstick and laugh our way through. I’m trying to spark my own self up. It helps that Doc Davies plays along, lets me snap pics of her in her official miner helmet. She doesn't mind that I click away at the Oatmeal-esque medical  illustrations on the white board or the bloody eye chart.

I didn’t, by the by, get past the biggest row of letters yesterday. Hence, the need for supplemental lasering.

If TAB was here we’d hit Saint Fratelli’s for surgery cake – always a mood elevator. OK, I did hit Fratelli’s but have yet to indulge in the vanilla frosted alt-Zoloft I picked up. I’m attempting to get back on and stay on the diet train (after having fallen off during the cold winter months). Instead,  I came home, had broccoli salad and crawled into bed with an old Christopher Moore book that I remember enjoying the hell out of – Practical Demonkeeping. Eh, it's still fun and funny but my fave's of his are:

Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ’s Childhood Pal 

Verily, the story Biff has to tell is a miraculous one, filled with remarkable journeys, magic, healings, kung fu, corpse reanimations, demons, and hot babes. 

and
A Dirty Job

Charlie Asher is a pretty normal guy with a normal life, married to a bright and pretty woman who actually loves him for his normalcy. Yes, Charlie's doing okay—until people start dropping dead around him, and everywhere he goes a dark presence whispers to him from under the streets. Charlie Asher, it seems, has been recruited for a new position: as Death. 

I believe I'll dig those up for some full-throttled, buttercream frosted, escapist rereading.