The Cataract Operation

The needle is formidable now that the patient sees it. A prick in a few places the eyeball is surrounded with seas of novocaine. The scalpel next, a steady but bold and swift attack, the pupil sliced from top to just a tip of tissue, flips downward like a window exposing cloudy gel. Now comes the hook, a piece of silver wire, curved, and in and out then up and down until the bloody mess comes out. It was the lens, now useless, an empty space remains. Quick stitches now, then back, a sandbagged bed for fourteen days. While heavy glasses looking like the bottoms of Heineken bottles are made especially for you. 'You're good as new', the doc, in happy mood pronounces now. He is relieved that you survived and that was nineteen-sixty-nine.