A Tale of Two Oculae

Oyez, oyez, oyez! Gather 'roond, good people, and list tae a tale of woe and of joy, of fright and redemption. Why, of very light and dark.

Gather roond, you people, and prepare.

A muckle good friend of mine, one I ken quite intimately, learned one or twa years ago that he had contracted cataracts, gifts from far too much time altogether in the sun in his decadent youth nae doubt.

At any rate, said Scotsman elected tae ignore said cataracts upon the advice of his doctor, as that worthy said the cataracts were small and causing but minor problems. Last year, though, said doctor offered tae remove the cataracts, but Himself was loath tae dae so, fearing the loss of a very dear part of himself, y'see. Oh, he took himself off tae yet another doctor, this an opthalmic chirurgeon, who must have noticed my friend's discomfort, but chose tae defer the slicing awa' of his een. The doctor, Cundiff by name, told my friend that he felt surgery at tha' time wasnae really required and that my friend could probably dae quite well by using fish oil.

My friend tried that, but his een, of course, continued to deteriorate. Himself finally chose tae have the surgery, and here's where the tale turns personal. That friend, if ye've no' figured it oot by noo, was meself, y'see.

I had me right eye taken oot yesterday. Weel, 'twas only a wee part of me eye, but it reads better this way, noo doesn't it? The surgery went quite well, although my vision was really blurry that evening. Part of that is a stupid plastic shield over me right eye that the chirurgeon forced me tae wear. I knew I'd get tae tak' that off today, but 'twas a royal pain in the arse, nevertheless!

The surgery was a surreal experience. All the bright lights! Wooooowwwwww, maaaaaaannnnnnnnn! But it dinna' hurt. Weel, tha's no' exactly true: the initial cut intae me eye stung a bit, but what hurt the worst was when they started the feckin' IV - IN ME HAND, THE BASTARDS!

The oddest part was when the doctor was removing the old lens. The lights (note the plural there) I was supposed tae be staring at throughoot the surgery suddenly coalesced into one BIGGGGG light. Yep, I saw a bright light before me eye and, oh, I wanted tae follow it but I just KNEW that, if I did, some bastard would just yank me back. Sheesh, a man canna' even die in peace anymore. WHERE'S THE RESPECT, DAMMIT?????

That bright light wouldna' release me, either. I wanted tae close me een, find the blessed, peaceful darkness, but wasna' allowed tae. It finally became that the light was all there was. I occasionally felt a cool liquid in me eye - the right one, the left being able tae close - and heard voices - detached and no' real - but the entire world was the light. Finally, though, I heard the doctor say he was ready tae put the lens implant in place. I could see again, albeit mistily at first, but soon clearing. The Light became twa again, and 'twas done.

I was really tired after the surgery, but I think that's because of the Versed they gave me. Disrespectful wankers they were, too: they shot me up with this stuff that made me feel realllll dreamy, BUT WOULDNA' LET ME SLEEP! Does the disrespect NEVER end? Apparently no'.

The nurse led me oot tae the recovery area after the surgery. No problem with tha', or tha' she sat me doon in this really comfortable chair. The problem came when she asked me what I wanted tae drink. I told her Glen Morangie, of carse. She laughed - and here's the truly barbaric part of me tale - and said she'd drunk it all.

Och! Weel, I dinna let that bother me over much, y'see.

"Okay," says I, "I'll have a Guinness instead."

Once more the woman laughed evilly.

"The doctor drank tha' during the surgery," she says.

Weel, at least tha' explained tha' liquid I kept feelin' drippin' into me eye during the ritual. HUNH! The damn' doctor said it was just a solution to keep me eyeball irrigated. Och, aye. Right. 'Twas him spillin' his Guinness is what it was.

And tha', good people, is me sad and tragic tale. Why, 'tis enough tae bring tears of utmost sorrow tae The Bard himself, i'tis. But, 'tis over noo, at least until I get the other eye done in the next month or so. I survived the unholy ritual, and I'm the stronger for it.

Gramercy for readin' me tale. As Wild Billy Wigglesword his ain self once said, "all's well tha' ends well." And, noo, good nicht.

The Auld Scot