Mouth, Mine, Big, and Me

I'm wearing clean underwear now -- deep blue featuring smiling monkey faces. if you must know -- and it's a good thing, too, but I'm not sure how long that will last. I'm headed to the doctor to have my eye looked at.

The web designer with whom I've been working writing content is close to settling a contract with an eye doctor who performs that Lasic thing, and I joked that if it was an eye surgeon, I could, maybe, get a discount.

As it turns out, I was told to call this guy, who may or may not be the one for whom I may end up writing. I'm not sure if I'm really getting any discount, but today's consultation is free.

There are two things that have prevented me from having my eye repaired. Two years ago I noticed that my right eye, the dominant one, was unable to ever give me a clear picture of our beautiful world. It was like looking through wax paper. I went to some nearby optometrist type guy or other and he used some instrument to look into my eye and told me that it was a cataract. You can't see it from the outside, but I can't see, either, so we're even on that.

He said it would cost between a thousand and fifteen-hundred dollars to fix, and I left it at that. Not to get political, but I don't have that kind of money to spend, not yet, so when something goes wrong, I pretty much have to live with it. I'm not old, but getting older, and things are beginning to go wrong. Since I don't have insurance, I'm pretty much stuck with dealing with maladies in the way humankind did for its first couple thousand years: waiting and hoping I recover and that it fixes itself.

Even if I had the money, I can't imagine being awake while someone slices my eye open and takes out the offending cataract. Sorry, no. Worse, they'd have to sew it back together, so I've been resigned to losing my depth perception and having only one good eye. It's a small price to pay for all the wonderful things I've seen, including undressed women.

The surgery, I figured, would be even more expensive with a general anesthetic.

I know some cataracts can be removed using lasers or sonic treatment, but that's even more expensive, I thought. That "in by noon, out by four" treatment would be great, but not if it meant someone slicing my eye open and me having to lie still.

Anyway, today I'm going in for my free consult. It may be that he can use non-surgical means and I can get my vision back. It may still cost more than I can afford, or it may be that he's planning on using a scalpel, so I don't know.

What I *do* know is that whenever I mention something, people want and expect me to take care of it.

Follow up:

Yes, I *do* have a cataract, the "Dense (traumatic) Cataract" as shown on the doctor's web page (which I, incidentally, had nothing to do with).

Yes, it can be safely and easily removed through surgery, in as little as ten minutes.

Yes, it requires me to have my eye sliced open and needles stuck it for that length of time.

Yes, people are stepping up and willing or actually helping me get this done. Everyone is eager and prodding, and I feel ashamed of my misgivings and squeamishness. Dr. Soroudi, who's strikingly handsome and reassuring, thinks I'd do just fine. I have all the trust in the world in him but very little on my own ability to remain rock still while the surgery takes place.

He wants me to get Medi-Cal, a welfare type thing, I guess, and we'll see what happens. I honestly just don't know.