Well, it's official! I am now the recipient of Two Bionic Eyes. I survived the second cataract/lens implant surgery much better than the first one, and when they took the bandages off today I could see that I won't even be having a black eye, this time around! Or, not much of one, anyway. Not enough to go out and pick up some Rescuer-type men, at least.
Of course this looks scary enough that I could go out and attract some Psychotic-type men!
I will tell you a little bit about the surgery! Since last time I was awake and could feel the entire thing and it was agony, I was pleasantly surprised to be totally unconscious for this one. I know they don't technically put you all the way under, but I just begged that anesthesiologist to knock me out this time. He was so sorry and appalled that I had been in so much pain last time that he said he'd take care of it.
When I'm nervous, I babble. I feel so sorry for the people around me who think, for the first run-on paragraph or two, that I'm this bright cheery sort, but whom are surely backing away with fear and panic in their eyes after I've jabbered and jibbered non-stop for 20 minutes straight on any number of topics without so much as pausing for comments or breath.
As I was being wheeled into the operating room, I was blathering on about Kenya, where I've never been and have no desire to go, to the surgical nurse who had told me she'd just gone there. I waxed eloquent about elephants, and Isaak Dineson, and the Somali People. When I caught sight of the surgeon, I abruptly switched gears and started excitedly pontificating all about bass fishing. Dr. Peabody is a trout fisherman, but hey, bass-trout-bluegill, what's the difference? My goal is to be charming and to keep the conversation flowing! The life of the surgical party!
I reminded him and the anesthesiologist about my desire to feel nothing and then I went back to the topic of fish and a moment later I heard, "Okay, that's a wrap!" and I was being wheeled into the recovery room! I was so happy! I think I thanked everyone I could spot through the haze.
Patrick told me this morning on the way to the follow-up exam to have the bandages removed, that I was babbling about shoes in the recovery room. What's wrong with that, I ask you?