We Can Rebuild Him…
I KNOW THAT I’VE BEEN WRITING a lot about my cataract surgery lately. Some people tell me that they have found it somewhat interesting. Others have called it all rather “yucky.”
And they are both correct.
For the last month it has dominated my life. Once the entire process is complete I will have spent more than six weeks either getting ready for, having the, or getting over having my eyes tinkered with. Not my idea of a fun or exciting time. It is somewhat interesting from my point of view, but that’s about it.
For my wife, the lovely and Annie Oakley of the eyedropper, Dawn, this six weeks has had her squirting stuff in my eyes, getting up early to drive me to and from the hospital, and keeping track of which drops go into which eye when and how often. She has created charts to keep track of it all. Her charts look like the train schedule for The Orient Express.
I am Impressed and Thankful.
Until my eyes calm down and settle into where they are going to permanently reside my view of the world is constantly changing. Trying to focus on anything it a hit and miss affair. When I pick up something to read it is all “miss.” Once things stabilize I will get some reading glasses – something that will make me look more professional, like I actually know what I’m talking about. I wonder if they make Tweed glass frames? Probably not.
I was thinking back over my life last night, as Dawn was lubricating my eyes, and my need for medical intervention. It seems that I have had the need for some serious Witch Doctor attention every 20 – 25 years. I’m in my early 70s now so I figure that I’m good until the year 2040 or thereabouts. By 2040 I think that the only way to avoid more doctors is to be already dead. That, however, is not in my plans.
Our son, Alex, recently announced that he plans to live forever. So far, so good. I don’t think I would want to live forever. For one thing the thought of how much junk mail I would have to deal with makes my head spin. The number of advertisements I’d get from that Hearing Aid Company and the offers from Direct TV – it’s appalling. I’d snap.
No, with my life as it is – residing in a body that by all rights should have had more recall notices than a Ford Pinto, I’m doing OK.
As time moves on and medical technology gets even more clever I could have defective parts replaced. Knees, hips, and other joints are already available. Organs can be transplanted from people who take that curve on the Interstate too quickly and I just read where they have done a face transplant.
In time we will get to the stage where we will be a collection of spare parts snapped together like a bunch of Lego blocks. Where would the “real me” be at that point?
Unlike Alex, I will not live forever. I’m just trying to get through the weekend. Everyone I love is here Now. The Past is the Past. I am part of The Now with limited prospects for The Tomorrow.
I have new lenses in my eyes. I can see clearer now and the future is in front of me, but it is, by some plan I think, hidden in a fog of possibility.