Crazy-Glue, Glass Eyes and Flat Tires

The last of my spring appointments in the medical realm of my life was polished off this week with a trip to the eye doctor. He says my cataracts are in the “iffy zone.” If glaring lights at night and daytime sun is bothering me then the cataracts can come off otherwise we can let them go a year or two. I’m in no danger to other drivers on the road, he said, and I asked if there’s a chance he’ll retire before my next appointment. “Yes, but I’ll find a good looking guy to take over,” he replied. I told him that in today’s world he shouldn’t exclude the possibility of a woman ophthalmologist taking over. “Oh, I’m not.” he said, laughing. “If you were a man I’d tell you I’ll find a good looking woman to take over my practice.” I went home thinking maybe I should have the surgery this year because I trust my doctor. I’ve been going to him for over 30 years, since he treated me in an emergency because I Crazy-Glued my eye shut and more recently he gave my husband 20/20 vision after his cataract surgeries. When I brought this dilemma up with the Gathering Girls they all thought I should wait until I get a young doctor because, they reasoned, a younger doctor will know better techniques and have steadier hands. I hate dilemmas like this. My dad once had a doctor have a heart attack and fall on top of him while he was laying on a treatment table, so I get what they’re saying. 

And for the curious-minded who want to know how one goes about Crazy-Gluing your eyelid to your eyeball, let me explain that it involved a wooden dowel and a hole where I wanted it to go. I filled up the hole with glue and then with too much force I pushed the dowel inside and the glue splashed up and into my eye. Talk about ball-of-fire painful! I went into that mode where you think if you scream-talk people will understand that it hurt like the devil had pushed a hot poker in my eye and he was twisting it at warp speed. I called Don who found the eye doctor and off we went. It’s such a common thing to happen that his office keeps a solution on hand that undoes Crazy-Glue. A chemical burn on my eyeball resulted but it healed surprisingly fast with no permanent damage. To this day I have never used Crazy-Glue without first putting safety glasses on. Eye issues freak me out. A couple of times I’ve rubbed my eye and accidentally flipped the lid outside in so it looked like I didn’t have any eyelashes at all. They were all up inside! Oh, yes, my eye doctor has gotten me through some strange things with his calm demeanor and sense of humor.

One of my friends from The Gathering (for people looking for friends) has a fake eye, technically called an ocular prosthesis. She’s had it since childhood when a neglected case of Pink Eye turned into a serious infection that caused her to lose her eye. Recently, she had an appointment to get a new eye painted by the only guy in the state who does that kind of work. It’s long process of literally sitting in a room while the “eye artist” works on the fake eye while using your real eye as his guide. Not able to let this tidbit go by without googling glass eyes, I found out an ocular prosthetic can cost $2,500 to $8,300 and the first known prosthesis was made of gold and worn by a woman back in circa 2900 BC. By the 5^th century fake eyes that were made out of clay were written about and by the 16^th century glass came into use. WWII soldiers brought on a need for lots of fake eyes and plastic eyes have been the norm ever since. In the U.S. there are only 170 ocularists (eyeball painters) and it takes a five year apprenticeship to get certificated. On e-Bay you can buy just about anything including vintage glass eyes for sale from $30 to $100. Ohmygod, do you think people buy those for do-it-yourself health care projects! If they do, I hope no one gets the bright idea to use Crazy-Glue to hold them in place.

I spent the morning yesterday talking myself into going to the gym when I really didn’t feel like it. But I bit the bullet and went anyway. Part way there I noticed a warning icon on the dashboard and in the parking lot of the YMCA I looked it up in the manual. My car was trying to tell me that my left, rear tire only had ten pounds of air---twelve when I first noticed it. I turned the motor off and back on, hoping that would cure it---works on computers---but the icon was still there so I drove to the nearest tire store and got in their service queue to wait a full two hours! I was given the option to make an appointment for the next day but I was afraid the air in the tire would be entirely gone by then. It was a good call. My tire had a screw in it. Emergency avoided. Of the seventeen others who came and went from the waiting room, I was the only one without a cell phone in front of my face. I felt like a dinosaur with a real book in my hands but it was laugh-out-loud entertaining and the time went quickly. I've had that emergency reading material in the car forever and it finally paid off. ©