Because I was feeling kind of fragile, I wrapped myself in a super long, super soft white sweater and fluffy white scarf to go to the eye doctor yesterday. My dear friend drove me there with all the care she could summon. Another friend met me there and brought me a little tulip plant and a muffin. I felt loved and treasured, what a joy. And the second procedure was about how I imagined the first would be, and was not. The drops to constrict the pupil hurt a lot, the laser did not. I thanked the doctor, the nurse, the friends and I took my wounded eyeball home where I put on my warmest sweats, curled up with a cup of suisse mocha, my muffin, my puppies and my DVRed soap opera. Then, the anesthetic wore off, and there was another oh-my-God moment before the Tylenol kicked in. I guess you really cannot drill holes in an eyeball without some consequences. However, I woke up on my left side in the night, not even a twinge, and I could not sleep on my right side for a week after it was operated on. And it was all worth it to know that I will never wake up blind from sudden onset glaucoma. It was all a miracle to begin with.
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