My fists were clenched, my teeth were grinding together, I was sweating and my legs were locked on the sides of the chair. I didn’t want to flinch because my opthalmologist was drilling away with a laser in my left eye, which was clamped open like the guy in Clockwork Orange.
Bright flashes of yellow, blue and green raced through my sight, even though I had been temporarily blinded by the laser. “Almost done,” the doctor kept saying until he finally was finished and I unclenched.
“You were great,” he said. “Do you know how many wimps I get in that chair?”
My torn retina was fixed. A few hours later I could see again, drive my car and watch a hockey game. Three days later, I couldn’t see out of my right eye. Back I went to the opthalmologist, who told me, “I’m a retina guy, but you have a scratched cornea.”
The doctor patched my eye and gave me a prescription for eye drops. For three days I was in agony, couldn’t blink or withstand any light.
A week later everything seems fine. And when it comes to our eyes, I realize that we’re all wimps.