Cataract Surgery

I’m much too young for this

I will get cataract surgery on both my eyes next month. I didn’t think I would get the surgeries this early — I’m 57, and the average age of cataract surgery is somewhere between 65 and 70.

According to my research on the Internet, however, I’ve found out:

As the procedure has become safer, opthamologists don’t have to wait for cataracts to “mature” anymore.
Baby boomers (of which I am one) have been getting them at earlier ages
Some people’s professions necessitate them getting the surgery done sooner. (I’m assuming spending much of one’s day in front of a computer might be an example of this)

What should I expect during surgery?

Not much — I will be out for the surgery. But likely they will make a small incision in my eye to access the lens, break it up using some sort of ultrasound probe, and suck the former lens out. They will insert some sort of lens in my eye, which may or may not correct vision, and stitch me back up.

What will after-surgery look like?

I’ll have to wear a patch, or an eye shield, not sure which. I will probably have to wear these for a few days, especially during sleep. I won’t be able to bend down or lift things for a few days. I will have to use proprietary eye drops that my opthamologist supplies.

In other words, recovery looks a lot like recovery from other minor surgeries.

Why I’m glad to get the surgery

My right eye is cloudy despite correction and my left eye not so much (but beginning to get there.) The sight in the right eye is like someone smeared vaseline on it. My two eyes together yield a strange amalgam of sharp and blurry. It’s almost (but not quite) like seeing double.

The cataracts make it harder to do computer work and increase my eyestrain to the point that i get headaches. I don’t anticipate using my computer less, given that I work as a professor and as an author, and I compose everything on computer.

I’m glad I don’t have to suffer like my mother did, waiting until the cataracts were “ripe”, or mature. She spent years with muted colors, with struggling to do her cross-stitch and embroidery, with cursing her advancing age.

Today’s cataract surgery guidelines are much more humane, and I am thankful.

Years of growth

The background

Three years ago, I sent a manuscript to a major publisher who took direct submissions (as opposed to only agent-pitched works). I was optimistic about the manuscript, as I am always optimistic while sending manuscripts off.

I shouldn’t have been, I guess. Three years later, I received an email from the editor, form letter, that said they rejected the manuscript.

Three years later! I forgot I had written them. I don’t remember what manuscript I sent them!

Gratitude

I am grateful for the rejection. It wasn’t the nicest or most personal rejection I’ve gotten, but it is by far one of the best. Three years ago I wasn’t as good a writer as I am now. I have learned much in those three years and improved my manuscripts with the help of developmental editors and re-edits. Looking back, I wouldn’t have been proud of that document if it had been accepted.

So I will try again with another book (if I can figure out which book) and a new cover letter and send them another, if I can bear the three-year wait time. Ok, maybe not.

Catch me in the comments

What’s the best rejection you’ve ever had?

Thank you for being part of my writing ritual

It’s inevitable — after I write a blog post about losing my will to write, I have a productive day of writing. I should be ashamed of crying wolf all these times, but as I’m a writer, I’ll take it.

Writers often have their rituals — some have to have a room where they write, some use a specific pen or typewriter. Some warm up before they write, some have to listen to specific music.

Mine, apparently, is whining when I’m in a writing slump. And morning coffee, but I don’t think that’s a writing ritual as much as a general morning ritual. And writing my blog instead of starting straight into the novel or short story I’m writing.

That means you, reader, are part of my writing ritual. When I feel hopeless about writing, I look at my total visitors for the day. I only have a consistent average of 25-30 visitors at a time, but that’s more than I started with. You give me the belief that greater things (or at least a little bit better things) are possible for me.

I know I whine sometimes, but it’s because I’m scared I’m going to lose my writing. But I imagine you reading, and I feel better and the words come out.

Thank you.

Day 44 Lenten Reflection: Gratitude

I can’t help but run this topic — gratitude — through a COVID-19 filter, seeing as the pandemic is fresh in my mind.

I am grateful for essential workers. My day proceeds to be relatively normal because of my ability to shop for food online. I would be protected in the hospital because health care workers are still working. The mail gets to me every day because postal workers are considered essential.

I’m grateful there are not very many cases of COVID-19 here in Nodaway County, Missouri. We seem to take social distancing seriously, we are sheltering in place, and wearing masks when on necessary errands.

I am grateful my job allows me to work from home. I am the main breadwinner in my family, and a loss of my income would be tragic for us.

I am grateful I am an introvert. Other than occasional restlessness, I am pretty comfortable with my new routine. It gives me time to edit my novels.

I am grateful for the collective of ladies locally who are supplying as many citizens as they can with colorful cloth masks.

And finally, I am grateful that neither my husband nor I have gotten the virus, because we are at the age where it could become risky.

Sometimes, life goes bad and the only thing we have to be grateful for is being alive. I could be there at any moment; life can change in an instant. I will marshal my gratitude if that happens.

Largesse

In a retail miracle, the Microsoft store in Oak Park Mall gave me a new Surface Book 2 even though my old and dysfunctional one was a month and a half out of warranty.

Although I’m grateful for this, I can’t help but wonder if I would have been afforded the same leeway if I had been darker skinned. I think of white privilege all the time now, and it taints my pleasure at receiving the benefit of the doubt, the under-the-table deal, the nice gesture.

And, damn it, it should. I should be wondering. I should be questioning, because things aren’t going to change for my black and brown friends unless I quit taking generosity for granted.

Some of you are going to disagree with me. Maybe many of you will. But I want generosity to be distributed to people despite their color and ethnicity. I want people not like me to receive largesse. That doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate good gestures, it means I appreciate them so much that everyone should experience them.

Indolent Days

Hours stretch into nothingness on a hot Sunday — no reason nor inclination to go out, no desire. But I do desire — it’s time for me to finish a long, drawn-out wrestling match with a novel.

I spend a long day writing in the corner of the living room, held in a bubble where the outside world with its triple-digit heat index doesn’t touch me. I triumph over the tangle of words I sorted out to create this story.

In this, I have privilege, a virtual room of my own and the space to be creative, an air conditioner in the heat, time enough for timelessness.

What can I give in return? Gratitude for this moment, this place, this space in the universe. Time and heart to help those who struggle. My words, that they may comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable, as Mother Theresa once said*.

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*To those who object to my quoting Mother Theresa, I agree that Mother Theresa was a disturbing figure who had the means to lift her afflicted charges rather than comfort them, yet did not because she believed that suffering glorified God. As such, she has much to answer to. On the other hand, her statement makes a great mission statement even though she failed to live up to it.

Day 41 Reflection: Travel

I don’t do tourism well.

Sightseeing overloads me with buildings, paintings, terrain with no context. A whirlwind of “I have to see the Mona Lisa” and “You haven’t visited here until you’ve seen the mountains.” I see things without understanding their context, and I drift along from thing to thing.

When I travel, I want to engage with my destination. I want to learn, to make sense. I want to experience the destination with all my senses and make sense of it in my mind.

I want my tour guide to take me to the mountains and point out the flora there, explaining to me what plants make good tea and honey. I want them to show me the restaurants where the locals eat so I can get a feel for their lives, to set me up in an artsy coffeehouse so I can observe people. Tour guides aren’t equipped to do that, so I have to do it myself. Travel becomes a research project, but that’s okay.

My biggest preparation as a traveler, however, is internal. I prepare myself for the cultural differences and adopt humility, because I am the outsider and will make mistakes. I open myself up to gratitude for the experience.

Travel without gratitude, in my opinion, is hardly worth the time spent.

Day 27 Reflection: Gratitude

Everyone knows that gratitude makes people happier.

Maybe not everyone, but popular psychology instructs us to write gratitude journals, naming a magic three things per day that we feel grateful for. One can find gratitude journals in hard-bound form, in smartphone apps, and in Facebook memes. That’s because gratitude journaling works, according to research in positive psychology (Emmons and McCullough, 2003).

Some days it’s hard to write anything in the gratitude journal. Days when little things go wrong one after another, we hug those hurts to ourselves as if to use them as currency to bargain with our Maker for better luck. When we fall into negative self-talk, learned patterns of pessimism, we can’t find a thing to be grateful for. Gratitude doesn’t come to mind when we suffer from depression or post-traumatic stress disorder.

I have those days of suffering, given that I live with Bipolar 2, which I’ve been open about in these pages. I also wrestle with negative self-talk. I’ve wrangled these two into submission for the most part, but still depression and darkness pop out at times.

I challenge the darkness with gratitude:

I am grateful for my bipolar disorder, because it has made me take care of myself. I am grateful because it has given me insight into suffering.

I am grateful for getting my manuscripts rejected because it has forced me to work harder and improve my writing.

I am grateful for my struggles because they remind me that nothing is simple in life.