The Vision Thing

I have double vision which is not half as bad as it sounds. If I buy 6 bagels it looks like a dozen. Every ball game is a double-header. When I come to a fork in the road I take both. On the other hand 30 minutes of a so-called Republican debate feels like I’ve wasted an hour of my life. I reported my double vision to my ophthalmologist… both of them.

On Dec. 16th I’m having surgery to correct the problem. It seems that the lens, from the cataract procedure four years ago, has slipped. Who knew I had a slippery slope of my own? It’s called subluxation. They are going to replace the lens, insert it in an anterior position and suture it to the tissue. Ouch!

The medical term for left eye, is o.s….oculus sinister. Southpaws in sports are lefties and there’s nothing sinister about them. I suppose early on all things left were suspect. In my case it is well-named. My left eye has let me down or I’ve let it down.

I’m OK with surgery. I usually just put myself in the
medical team’s expert hands, hope they got a good night’s sleep and close my eyes. Except now my eyes will be wide open. At least one of them.

Jeepers, creepers, where’d you get those peepers / Jeepers creepers where’d you get those eyes? / Gosh oh, get up how’d they get so lit up / Gosh oh, gee oh, how’d they get that size?
My peepers have become weepers. I’ve become a lachrymose sort of guy. The cataract surgery from 2011 also left me with dry eyes which is characterized by wet eyes. Blocked tear ducts produce constant tearing. I not only cry for Argentina. I weep for America after a Ted Cruz sound-byte. I even cry during football games…and that’s before the concussions.

I’ve grown accustomed to my eyes, compromised as they are. They’ve helped me stumble along this far. I’m willing to forgive them for picking out the wrong man at a police line-up. I couldn’t even spot Groucho Marx, without his mustache and cigar, photographed with his other four brothers.

Either I am color-blind or Peggy is. Not that I go through red lights but I see forest green where she sees teal. However we both agree her eyes are green…. all four of them. It’s become a daily challenge to pick out matching socks for her.

If I go blind maybe I’ll suddenly learn how to play the piano like Ray Charles though my preference would be George Shearing. If l live another fifty years I might just go to Costco and buy a new pair of eyes. Except they’d probably come six in a box. I’d have to go door to door to get rid of the surplus.

I’m expecting a full recovery. The test will be whether every sandwich still looks to me like a club. Otherwise I’ll have to rely on my third eye which is turned inward where everything is blurry anyway but is seen with imagined 20/20 acuity.