In Case of Emergency

As she slipped on the capri jeans, Pam felt an unexpected bulge in her front left pocket. "Wow--money!" she exclaimed to the empty room. With any luck it would be a $20, but she'd take a $5 or even two crumpled ones. It was always exciting to find money she had forgotten she had. But when she dug into the pocket, the money didn't feel like money. It had something that felt like pseudo-paper around it, and whatever was inside kept squirming from side to side. "What the heck is this?" she asked the clock radio. Was it a candy wrapper gone bad? An old receipt with a wad of abandoned gum? When she pulled out the gold foil Magnum condom, the dresser mirror reflected Pam's relief, then remembrance, and then disappointment. Pam had found her emergency condom on the floor of her car while cleaning it out before taking her mom to Target. She stuffed it in her pocket because she didn't want her mom to spot the shiny wrapper while they were sitting in traffic on Peninsula Boulevard and then get interrogated about what really happens at those writing conferences in Vermont. Pam didn't know why she brought the condom in the first place. It wasn't like there were any strapping young men at these writer retreats--at least not men who were straight, unattached, had real jobs and all of their teeth. It was her damn friend, Cliff, who had wished for her to find someone, and who told her to keep her eyes, mind, and heart open because his good friend found his wife at one of these things. And if Pam were going to entertain the possibility she might find love in Vermont, then she might as well bring along some protection just in case. She sighed as she held up the crumpled condom. Her "just-in-case" moment hadn't happened in the eight days she had been in Vermont, and she doubted it would happen in the two days she had left. But according to the expiration date on the wrapper, she had until November 2015.


Tangible Prompt: Condom

Prompt: Missing Something

The doctor asked, “When did you first notice something was wrong?”

The lion switched his tail from side to side, while he thought back to the moment his problem began. He had been taking his usual 4 o’clock nap under the umbrella tree when he had overheard the birds gossiping about a foolish young male gazelle that had twisted his ankle trying to graze on an untouched patch of grass near a ravine. The elders had warned the young ones to stay in the flat areas, but this one must have been too good to eat where everyone else ate–he slipped five feet, banged his hind hoof on a rock trying to stop from sliding all the way down.

The lion thought the story merely the chatter of old birds until he saw the gazelle herd making their way to the watering hole at six minutes past sunset. Sure enough, the young gazelle normally in second to last had been moved up to a less vulnerable position closer to the front. The lion remembered his heart beating fast then. The excitement from knowing the classic feint attack would yield him dinner and a midnight snack. The lion sprang from the deep grass–first charging the youngest in the herd to get the other gazelles to rush to defend the weakest one. Then he circled back, pounced on the injured young gazelle, dragged him by his bum leg away from the others who watched helplessly as the lion’s plan unfolded without a hitch. They dared not give chase; better to sacrifice the foolish one to teach the others to stay in line.

The young gazelle was scared and dazed, but not yet dead. As the lion raised his mighty paw to finish off his prey, he caught his own reflection swimming in the young gazelle’s frightened tears. The lion felt a pang in his chest, first like a prick of a honey bee, but then the pain spread wild and fast like the flames of an untended fire across the Serengeti. And just as quickly as it started, the pain stopped. The lion eyed his would-be prey but it only churned his stomach. He had no choice but to let the young gazelle go.

“And that’s when I thought something was wrong,” the lion told the doctor.

“Well, according to your X-rays you’ve lost more than your appetite. You’ve lost your heart for the kill. It’s a condition that affects lions of a certain age, but there is a cure. I’ll give you a referral to a specialist down in Oz. He’s seen a lot of cases like yours. I’m sure he could help.”

Writing Prompt: Mushrooms

"If it's a fungus, how come it doesn't have a smell?"

Margot fingered the mushroom from the stem and sniffed it for the millionth time. She held it up to the sunlight and peered under the white curved head as if staring at it would set the funk free. Holding it up over her head like that reminded me of the clown we saw on that TV show who tried to shield himself from a downpour with the tiniest umbrella. The thought of it made me burst out laughing, clutching my stomach and gasping for air. Of course, Little Miss Sensitive took offense to my antics. She whined that I was making fun of her for asking a stupid question then threw the mushroom at my head. It landed in a thud at her feet–exactly what happened to that poor clown–which made me laugh even harder. As the baby of the family Margot thought everything was all about her. When she began to pout, I straightened up. We were having fun outside being together in the garden, trying to get along for Mom's sake.

"It's a different kind of fungus," I explained. "Not like Joe's athlete's foot that grows because he doesn't change his stinky sweaty socks or that gross stuff living in the nasty showers up at Camp Winnatonka. Most mushrooms are edible."

"Edible? What's that?"

"It means they are fit for human consumption, or in words that a fifth grader would understand, it means you can eat them."

"Oh I get it," Margot said "If mushrooms had a bad smell, we wouldn't eat them."

"Exactly."

Margot picked up another mushroom from the ground, twirled it between her fingers, sniffed at it, peered under the brim and then set it back down.

"So cancer must be a fungus like mushrooms. If it had a smell, maybe Mom would have known it was there."

I pulled my little sister close to me and said, "Maybe, Margot. Maybe."

Writing Prompt: Coffee Beans

The aroma of Jamaica Blue Mountain brewing in the kitchen must have infiltrated her dream. Her subconscious mind alone could not have conjured such a scene. She was behind bars again – a caged animal on display at the zoo. Usually, in these recurring dreams she'd pace the floor, look beyond the bars, past the photo-snapping tourists and ogling schoolchildren and focus on the object of her desire. If she focused long enough her animal paws would morph into human arms and legs and she could walk past disappearing walls to the thing she knew she needed. Years ago when she lived in Los Angeles, the onlookers were always the last celebrities she saw on the late night talk shows before drifting off to sleep; the object was always food, water or some other basic necessity. Those dreams stopped after she moved to another state. She figured she had found the freedom she craved.

Last night she was that caged animal again, but this time only he stood watching her. She paced the floor staying toward the back, wary of his presence. Then he reached through the bars, coaxed her closer with his treat – chocolate covered coffee beans. She ate them one by one from his left hand oblivious to the diamond-studded collar he placed around her neck with his right. She felt the collar clasp around her neck, constrict her airway until she could no longer breathe; she woke up gasping. She stared at the two carats on the finger second from the left and wondered if she had made a mistake.

I Like...But I Never

I like that girl on the bus, but I never get a chance to talk to her. It's like fate is trying to warn me–she snores, has unresolved daddy issues, is batting for the other team. I could deal with all of those things, except maybe the batting for the other team part. But then again my sister, Paula does too, so I could introduce them. But I don't think she does, or rather, Paula doesn't think so. I had been talking about the mystery girl on the bus so much, Paula drove me to the stop in the morning to see if this girl warranted being the object of my obsession. It didn't take Paula 15 seconds to declare my girl was not part of "the family".

"She does seem–how can I say this nicely–out of your league, Jeff."

I must have had that deer in headlights look Paula says I give her when I don't quite catch her meaning because she continued.

"Let me give you an example. You like wine, right Jeff?"

"Sure I do."

"Well, she's more of a Cava and you're more like a two-buck Chuck."

I sat silent for a moment trying to absorb the meaning in the metaphor–and then I got it!

"So you're saying we both like wine, but our tastes might be different, and I might like a wine she does not like and vice versa, but if that's true, at least we have our interest in wine in common and can use that to build a successful relationship."

Paula smiled weakly, patted my shoulder. "Jeff, the bus is here. You'd better go before you miss your chance."

Last Day In Barcelona

Bree saw him standing near the Sagrada Familia metro station at Carrer de Mallorca. When the Blackberry buzzed thirty minutes ago, she was at the top of the sacred church memorializing the Excelsis and Hosanna inscriptions on the towers as vacation photos. Rafael said he would call her after he got off duty from behind the hotel desk - and he did. He said he would meet her at the metro station - and he did. Bree was not used to a man who followed through on his promises.

A knot formed in her stomach at the sight of Rafael’s gentle smile. He looked different in casual clothes and without his glasses - unsettled and unsure, as if taking off the uniform made him more vulnerable. Bree had come to expect his calm, confident demeanor every morning, his patience as the Rosetta Stone Spanish stumbled out of her mouth, his daily assurances that she would have a great time in each part of the city she explored. Without the glasses, Bree could see the discontent dwelling behind his eyes. It must have been what prompted him to see the States by riding cross-country on a Greyhound bus. Bree recognized her longing in Rafael’s eyes. It was the same feeling - the yearning for something more than ‘just enough’ - that compelled her to dust off her passport and fly to a place she had only seen in a Woody Allen movie.

Rafael gave her his helmet and Bree climbed on the back of his motorcycle. She wished she had worn a more practical dress, one she did not have to keep hiking up past her knees for fear of getting caught on some wayward piece of metal. They made their way through the streets of the city, whizzing past sights more familiar to her after nine days. He headed southeast toward Montjuïc, where she had visited on her second day. The guidebooks and tourist websites advised her to take the funicular to the top for the best views of the city, but from that vantage point, a familiar wave of isolation overcame her. She decided to experience the rest of the city hands on, absorb its energy through her pores.

Bree clung to Rafael tighter as they spiraled up to the top. He took her by the hand and pointed out the Olympic Village, Park Güell and La Sagrada Familia, all the places he knew she had visited. He nuzzled his nose against her neck, cheek and earlobe in a slow, winding pattern, touching all the soft places she had forgotten existed within her. She wanted to hold on to this moment longer than she knew it would last. It should have been enough for her to see his smile everyday, watch his fingers steady restless glasses on his face. But of course, Bree wanted more. She wanted to free him from the hotel desk he had chained himself behind, from the lives they both had settled for.

Writing Prompt: Uncommon Pairs

He gave her his helmet, which seemed to her the most romantic gesture. She climbed on the back of his motorcycle, wishing she had worn a more practical dress - one she didn't have to keep hiking up past her knees for fear of getting caught on some wayward piece of metal. They made their way through the streets of his city, whizzing past sights more familiar to her after nine days. He headed south toward the lonely mountain, the one she spotted on her fourth day, but decided not to visit. People told her the mountain provided the best views, but she preferred to experience the city hands on, absorb its energy through her pores. She clung to him tighter as they spiraled up to the top. She wanted to hold on to this moment longer than she knew it would last. It should have been enough for her to see his smile everyday, watch his fingers steady restless glasses on his face. But of course, she wanted more. She wanted to free him from the sinister desk he had chained himself behind, from the life he had settled for.
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Writing prompt was to use uncommon pairs of adjectives and nouns. Pairings are noted in bold.

The Tango Embrace

The Tango Embrace: The Influence of Traditional and Non-Traditional Gender Role Attitudes (Taylor, Gebhart, Boggs and Omarova, 2009)

This study examined attitudes toward gender roles and how such views support or conflict with the traditional roles of male as leader and female as follower in Argentine tango. We hypothesized that dancing partners with congruent gender role attitudes would be more likely to have a favorable experience of the tango embrace. The Bem Sex Role Inventory was administered among participants attending a tango festival western North Carolina (N=100) and used to categorize participants into traditional and non-traditional gender role attitudes. Four males and four females scoring as highly traditional and highly nontraditional were randomly selected from the group of participants to dance with each other (N=16); the partner order was also randomized. After each dance, individuals rated the embrace on several factors: comfort, sense of connection, musicality expression, line of dance navigation, and likelihood of partnering again. In addition, tango instructors were asked to observe couples as they danced and rate each couple on the same factors. Analyses controlled for the following factors: height difference, weight difference, race/ethnicity, age, level of overall dance experience, and level of Argentine Tango experience. Results indicated that male gender role attitudes influence the experience of the tango embrace. Couples with a traditional male leader and traditional female follower had the most favorable rating of the dance experience, followed by a traditional male paired with a non-traditional female. A non-traditional male paired with a non-traditional female had the lowest rating. Looking at the dance experience for individuals, females rated dances with traditional males higher than dances with non-traditional males. The dance experience rating for males was not related to the gender role attitudes of their partners. Observed experience of the tango embrace was not related to the congruence of the couple’s gender role attitudes; only the level of Argentine tango experience was positively correlated with tango teacher observations of the tango embrace. Future research should examine whether these findings are generalizable to individuals having androgynous or undifferentiated gender role attitudes and same-sex tango couples.

Writing Prompt: Red

I'm waiting for Mars, my ruling planet, to align itself in the seventh house - the house of love and partnership. You would think I would want Venus there. Surely, she could bestow upon her loyal subject the grace and beauty of true love. But the goddess of love has not granted my wish. The queen of all things feminine has softened my heart into putty for commitment-phobic hands. It has taken me months to recover from the meltdown of the fickle flame that fizzled out as soon as the word "exclusive" came out of my mouth. And it wasn't a question like, "Can we be?" or "Are we?" It was simply a statement of fact - " I am seeing you exclusively." I said it as a way to say, "I like it here. I'm not going anywhere."

Of course, I wanted a progression - a year long construction on a solid foundation, not a house hastily built during the frenzy of the real estate bubble. When he said, "This is not working out," he might as well have flung a brick at my head and knocked me unconscious. Unconscious was the way I felt - walking around numb to the pain and suppressed anger - vulnerable prey for the next vulture singing promises of friendship and love.

Venus made me too weak for the game of love. She told me to let down my defenses, wear my heart on my sleeve. I need Mars to take the reigns - reinforce the troops and bolster their spirits. He will invent a different strategy and plot out a new course of action. He's an expert at the game of love - and he plays to win!
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Writing exercise for Written Word - pick a color and write down what you associate with it, then right about that. This version is slightly different from what I read during the workshop.

A LASIK Story

My LASIK story starts in 1989, my senior year in high school, when I saw an episode of 60 Minutes on a new surgical procedure in the former Soviet Union. The procedure was called Radial Keratonomy (RK), which involved making small incisions in the cornea to change it's shape to correct a person's vision. I remember watching the show in complete amazement. I had recently convinced my mother to let me get disposable contact lenses - thanks in large part to the fact the NY State Employee Health Insurance Plan finally started to cover them. Even though the Cold War was still on and all that cutting kind of freaked me out, I knew having better eyesight was possible and by the time I grew up the procedure would come to the US and be much safer than cutting your eyeball.

Fast forward to October 12, 2008, my 36 1/2 birthday. I attended Myron and Anna's lovely tango-themed wedding. Weddings always get me thinking about the future (usually along the lines of, "He'd better show up soon. I'm running out of good eggs.") and my half-birthday always gets me thinking about the next birthday. For three years running, I have done something BIG on or around my birthday. In 2006, I cut off "all that beautiful hair" and went natural. In 2007, I threw a party for my 35th birthday in my new house. The 2008 birthday present was a skydiving adventure with my good friend, Natalia. What would it be for 2009?

A confluence of events prompted my decision to finally try LASIK:

1. Running out of contact lenses, which meant I needed to go to the optometrist and get my eyes checked. It would be a good time to see if my eyes even qualified.
   
2. Annual Enrollment, which meant I had to decide how much money I was putting away for my health spending account.
   

My eye doctor took a picture of my retina and confirmed the health of my eye for LASIK. So I opted to put away three times as much money as last year in my health savings account.

March 2009 rolls around. I know I want to get LASIK this year, but don't know if it will be scheduled in time for my birthday. I convince myself that doing on or around my birthday is not the point; waking up and seeing clearly for the first time in a long time is what matters. I schedule the appointment with the eye doctor for the first LASIK consult. She confirms I am a good candidate and recommends Duke (I already knew I wanted to go there). She also advises me to stay out of contacts two weeks before the consultation, since contact lenses affect the shape of the cornea. Thus, the dreaded glasses for the month of March. I HATE glasses. I can only see what is directly front of me. Once I move my eyes up, down, or to the either sides - all clear vision is lost. So I suffered through those weeks before the appointment (though my vanity did not allow me to go to the milongas with glasses on).

March 23rd - LASIK consultation appointment at Duke Eye Center. I took a series of tests to measure the thickness of my cornea and gauge the overall health of my eye. Then I waited to see the doctor. And waited. And waited. Almost finished Paulo Coelho's "The Witch of Portobello" while waiting. I waited so long, Karen, the care coordinator, took pity on me and didn't charge me for the visit. Then Dr. Carlson came in. He looked through all of my results and said everything looked good, but then asked, "Do you rub your eyes?". I told him I didn't think so. He looked at one test in particular and said, "I should be seeing red, yellow and green on this one. These results tell me you're an eye-rubber". Suddenly I felt like he was assigning me to special ed classes and I had to ride the short bus with the other drooling kids. He advised me to stop rubbing them and then said I could schedule the surgery whenever I was ready. Whenever I was ready. The words floated above his head like a balloon. I went there prepared for the worst. I had been a contact lens wearer for 20 years. Maybe my corneas were badly misshapen. I didn't want to get ahead of myself and think about scheduling surgery, only to be disappointed by the test results. I closed my mind off from thinking about the future, but here it was. I needed time to think about it a decision that would change my life.

April 1 - After a wonderful weekend at the Atlanta Tango Festival, I decided I was ready. I called the care coordinator to schedule the appointment. I was fully prepared for the next available appointment to be some time in May, but she said, "I have an opening on April 10th and April 17th". Naturally I chose April 10th - two days before my birthday, Good Friday, and a state holiday to boot! In nine days, what began as a glimmer of hope for a 17-year old would become a dream fulfilled for her almost 37-year old future self.

April 8th - T minus 2 days. I stood on the corner of Salisbury and Edenton in downtown Raleigh waiting for the TTA Express Bus back to Durham fighting back tears. My mind had settled down after the day's distractions to contemplate the enormity of it all, the potential risks and complications. Was I sure? Was wearing contact lenses that bad? Was it going to be worth my entire Federal refund check? I went to the Poetry Meetup not too sure how long I would stay or how much I would participate. I normally bring my own poems to share, but since the LASIK consultation I haven't been in the creative flow (I'm sure my subconscious mind had been thinking about the surgery all along). On the way home, I filled up at the Sheetz gas station on TW Alexander and Miami. I had a fleeting thought to go to the tango practica at Triangle Dance Studio; I wanted to see my friend, Janet - a nurse anesthetist, for some moral support. But since was already emotionally drained, I just drove home. Janet called me when she got home from class. It was late, but I was glad she did. I was starting to freak out, which meant I wouldn't be able to sleep. She reminded me I had done the research (though I was too chicken to watch the FDA video) and chosen the best doctor, local anesthesia reduced the risks of surgery, and that she knew of and I knew of other people who had had LASIK and absolutely loved it. That was enough to soothe my nerves for the evening.

April 9th - I read through all the instructions and warnings about the surgery before heading to work. Bad idea! I got hung up on the statistic that 98% of people saw 20/40 or better after the surgery. 20/40 is what I could see in my glasses. I wanted to see better than that. I wouldn't be satisfied if I could only see 20/40. By the time, I got to work I was almost in tears. I stopped by the front desk to talk to Doris, our admin. She had cataract surgery recently and now only wore glasses at night for driving. I stood talking to her for over 30 minutes - coat on, bag in hand. Like Janet, Doris talked me down from the ledge - reminded me I had done all the research; reassured me that I would be just fine. The busyness of the day took over and my mind concentrated on the tasks in front of me. After work I attended my first Passover Seder at Yana's house and got home close to midnight (who knew those things lasted so long?). I got more well wishes and reassurance from my friend, Susan in California and my writing friend, Wes, which was enough to help me sleep.

April 10 - My mind, on the other hand, was still working things out. I had a dream I tried to call home to NY but couldn't get the number right. I woke up thinking, I'd better let someone in the family know what is going to happen. I had thought about telling my mother before I had the surgery, but after the sky diving incident, I decided not to worry her. I called home and my sister answered, which she NEVER does before going to work. She asked, "Hey did you get my email? I was wondering what big thing you were going to do for your birthday." I said, "Funny you should mention that. I'm having LASIK surgery today." She was excited for me. I told her I would text her when I was done.

I piddled around until about 11 am - ate breakfast, replied to email, chatted on Facebook, called my old professor to wish her a Happy Birthday, posted to the dream blog - then it was time to get ready. I got dressed, made some Yogi Tea and threw an apple in my bag. My friend, Lanea, who struggles with timeliness, made it a point to be dressed and ready to drive me to the appointment. There was a line to check in and the lady at the reception desk seemed to be taking her sweet time. I waited patiently - I had waited this long to see clearly. What was another 10 minutes? There was a young woman in the line ahead of me with glasses and a nervous look on her face. I thought, "She must be here for LASIK too". Finally it was my turn to get checked in. The lady looked me up in the computer and then looked around for my chart. She got up and looked in another cabinet and still nada. A momentary thought flew in my mind, "Maybe this is a sign. I bet I could run out the door and to the car before anyone noticed I was gone." The receptionist sent another nurse to the back and the care coordinator appeared with charts in hand. I guess I was going though with the surgery.

Less than 5 minutes later, I hear my name and then nervous girl's name. They took us back to separate rooms. The surgical nurse repeated the tests I took during my initial consultation, then put me in the waiting room. Another nurse came in. She introduced herself as Dee, but the name on her badge said Debra. She was there to explain about post-op care and gave me a sheet of instructions to read and a bag of items I would need for my recovery. Nurse Dee left the room while I looked over the materials and through the bag. When she returned, Dee explained she had the surgery done 10 years ago and shared what to expect based on her personal experience. Immediately after, things will look milky - not blurry - just foggy, but that will clear up as the day goes on. She wanted me to keep my eyes closed as much as possible - I should only open them to go to the car, go to the bathroom, eat dinner and put the drops in. She went through the eye drop regimen for the evening - Vigomax (antibotic) and Omnipred (anti-inflammatory) - one drop in each eye, 10 minutes apart. Nurse Dee said I would see an immediate improvement the next day, but my vision would fluctuate for the first week. After 3 months, my vision should get better and after 6 months my vision should be great. She told me tissue takes about 6 - 12 months to heal and that I shouldn't be concerned if my vision is not where I want it to be immediately afterwards. Dr. Carlson was running late because he had to do a corneal transplant over lunch. Once he was ready, she'd bring in the Valium and I would be on my way. In the meantime, she helped me put the blue caps for my head and shoes, dimmed the lights, wrapped me in a warm blanket and reclined the chair. During the time I spent waiting, I set up the "LASIK went well" text messages to send to those who had wished me luck and napped a bit.

I probably waited for another 40 minutes before Dr. Carlson came out. We went through the consent form. I initialed and signed, acknowledging my risks at the appropriate places. At least I didn't have to sign away the rights of my heirs to sue like I did for the skydiving adventure. Then Nurse Dee came back in the waiting room with the Valium. She told me to dissolve the pill under my tongue to help the drug act faster. She put some drops in my eyes, and told me they would give me a local anesthetic in my eyes when I got into the room. Then the care coordinator nurse came back and put me in the first room. She helped me to lay down under the first contraption, got another warm blanket to put over me and left the room. I said aloud, "I'm not quite sure the Valium is working." I heard my own voice, but it took about 5 seconds for my brain to process what I said. Then I said, "On second thought, maybe it is..."

Before that sentence could process, the doctor and surgical nurse came in. They helped me position myself under the first device that makes the flap in the cornea. I saw the doctor swab my eye, then suction ring come down over my eye and I felt the pressure. My body immediately tensed up, so the surgical nurse scrambled to give me a stress ball. I concentrated on squeezing the stress ball, while I breathed deeply and relaxed my body from the shoulders up. Then it went black for a few seconds as the laser went over my eye and then I could see again. The suction ring was released from the right eye and put on the left. I knew what to do and expect this time, so it went much smoother.

The team moved me to the next room. Someone positioned under me the laser. The doctor put the forceps on my eye and told me to concentrate on the green light. Yana told me earlier to pretend it was a staring contest and really try to win. So I did. I saw the doctor peel back the flap, I heard the laser come on and then I saw him fold the flap back. I knew the Valium was working then because it all just seemed so fascinating. I was observing what was going on as if I was watching a show on television up close and not my cornea. The knowledge of what was happening and the fact that it was happening to me seemed to be in different rooms within my head.

Before I knew it it was over. Dr. Carlson looked at my eye and then the opthamologist, Dr. Feldman. Someone grabbed my purse and my post-op bag and walked me to the waiting room. Lanea walked me to the car like I was an old lady. Everything was milky, just like Nurse Dee said. My eyes just wanted to close. I could smell and hear the rain outside as I got in the car. I saw clearly enough to send the text messages out as we drove to CVS to fill the prescription for the antibiotic. As we waited for the prescription to fill, text responses came through. I held up my phone for Lanea to read them aloud to me.

I got home and went to bed - setting my alarm clock for 6 pm when I had to take the first dose with dinner. I woke up and looked at the clock sitting on the nightstand on the left side of the bed. I could actually see it from where I was on the right side of the bed - the first time EVER! Other things were still not too clear and I was still very much under the influence of Valium. I took the drops, ate quickly and went back to sleep. I woke up around 9:30 after a dream about recovering from my LASIK surgery, where the corneal flap in my left eye kept flipping up and would go down. Since I couldn't open my eyes to write it down, I called my home number from my cellphone and described the dream on the voicemail. I took the second dose of drops around 10:30 and called home to talk to my siblings until around 1 AM.

April 11th - 6 AM I get up and walk around the house, seeing things clearly as soon as I open my eyes for the first time in a very long time. I can read the items on my bathroom counter and in the shower - not just rely on my memory to recognize their shapes. I can see the clock on the microwave from the other side of the kitchen, the clock on the dining room wall from the bottom of the staircase, the three black boxes that spell out my initials PLT on the shelf above the television. I can see these things clearly - not in which the foggy haze that I had become accustomed to living. The best test was the public notice I removed from my front door. I could read every word from arm's length - not 6 inches away, like I would have to do without glasses.

Janet arrived at 8:45 to take me to the 9:00 post-op appointment. We arrived at the same time and older couple did. The wife had dark sunglasses covering her eyes - most likely from cataract surgery. The opthamalogist called us back at the same time. It wasn't long before Dr. Carlson came and checked my vision. He said my left eye was inflammed more than he'd like it to be and increased the number of drops I was taking. (The left eye was the one in the dream). Eighteen hours after surgery I had 20/30 vision. I asked him what my vision was before and he said, "Oh you were off the chart - something like 20/1800". And my vision will only get better.

P.S. Please forgive me if I annoy you by reading everything in sight. I'm seeing everything for the first time!