Of eye coverings and blurriness

I just took the eye covering thing off my face. It's called une coque oculaire — it's shaped sort of like a cockle shell and was taped to my face yesterday after the operation on my right eye. The doctor recommended wearing it until this morning. And I'll have to put it back on every evening for a week before going to bed.

My right eye feels like it has a few grains of sand in it. I just put some saline solution eyedrops in it and I'm waiting to see if that reduces the irritation. In an hour or so I'll start my next regime of medicated eyedrops. One is called Yellox (two drops a day for two weeks). The other is called Chibro Cadron (four drops a day for two weeks, and then two drops a day for another week).

Things I've read and been told make me believe that the improvement in visual acuity will be gradual after the cataract operation. I hope that's true, because right now I can't see any difference in my vision when I close the eye that has not been operated on and just look with the eye that was operated on yesterday. I'm right back where I started from, in other words. Maybe I just need to give it all some time to adapt to the new lens. For now, what I see with the eye that has been operated on is just as blurry as before.

Yesterday when I came home I couldn't read or even watch television, because the coque oculaire I was wearing prevented me from putting my glasses on. Without them, I couldn't see the computer monitor or TV screne clearly. It was too blurry, so I couldn't write a blog post. Two weeks from today I'll be in the same situation, because the other eye will have been operated on the day before. If I decide to go ahead with it...

During the operation, I was completely conscious. There was no pain. There was a little monitor I could look at and sort of see what was happening inside my eyeball. It was like a 1970s light show, with bright colors moving around on the screen. The procedure took only about 15 minutes. Then the doctor said to me Bon, c'est fait. I got up and walked out of the operating room. I sat in a waiting/observation room, with sat with six or seven other people for nearly two hours. I was served a cup of tea, a little container of apple sauce, and four Petit Beurre cookies. My blood pressure was taken several times, and various drops were put in my eyes. Once the taxi I had reserved showed up, I would be allowed to leave the building. I was told not to drive myself for the rest of the week.

At two o'clock the taxi driver arrived and drove me home. As we left the building, he turned around and looked at me intently. I know you, he said. I've met you before. I didn't recognize him. He asked me where I lived. In the Renaudière hamlet, between Saint-Aignan and Mareuil, I told him. Yes, of course, he said. Many years ago, you bought a house there from a good friend of my wife's and mine, Madame Kientzy. Yes, that's right, I told him. It was you and your compagnon who bought it, he said. Yes, his name is Walter, I told him. We've been together for more than 40 years now. The driver said he had seen me around Saint-Aignan a few times, including at the supermarket, so he figured I still lived here.

He went on to say that Madame Kientzy had often told him and his wife many times that she was really pleased that Walt and I were the people who had bought her house, because she was sure we would like it here. Knowing we would take care of the place and enjoy it gave her comfort. The driver told me he and his wife still talk on the phone to her regularly. Walt and I saw Madame Kientzy (prénom Josette) often over the first seven years we lived here, but then she moved to Tours and we lost touch. So now I know she's still living. She was born in June of 1927, I remember, so she just turned 97 years old. She lives in a retirement home now. I'm pleased to have news of her, and I have to figure out how to get in touch with her.