Okay, so it finally happened. I had originally been scheduled for cataract surgery for my right eye back in March (I was on the top of their list last December), given how quickly my eye was degenerating, but of course, Covid-19 knocked that right out. I haven't been able to drive in three or four months, which hasn't been the best; Christine, being high-risk, then had to become our only person for errands and other outings, and anytime I needed to go to the bank or to Staples, it meant piling everyone into the car to wait for me from the parking lot. I have been only able to errand and photocopy at the pleasure of my dear wife. At least the post office is only 900 metres from our house, walking straight west from Alta Vista to Bank Street.
Prepping for surgery, two days of pre-surgery eyedrops that Christine has been administering, which we has likened to "giving a pill to a cat." Four times a day. And for a couple of weeks after, as well. I don't care for it.
My right eye had pretty much been out for a while (like looking through increasing layers of gauze or cloud), and my left eye is going also (theoretically to be done also, as soon as this right eye heals). I suspect the toes I broke pre-lockdown were cataract-related, also, since I've had such a hard time seeing anything (stupid covid). I've been knocking around the house for weeks, banging into things (and people), none of which anyone seems to appreciate (including me). And then, we didn't hear a word re: scheduling until a couple of days ago, which meant mother-in-law was good enough to come over to lifeguard the young ladies during their e-schooling, as Christine drove me up to Pembroke for my procedure, which they had scheduled for three hours' worth of her sitting in the car out in the parking lot. And today, a follow-up appointment with my surgeon at his office in Stittsville (we went with him because we thought it would all go faster). I'm amazed at the amount of colour I can suddenly see, and startled at just how bad my left eye is. It is muted, cloudy, grey. But still: have I traded my blindness for wisdom? Or that other thing? Am I a reverse Odin? My two ravens, of course, offer no counsel. They flit about our wee house, making noise.