When Honey went to the eye doctor for his regular exam, he received some bad news. “I have to have eye surgery!” he told me. My mind quickly conjured up all sorts of horrible maladies.

“I have to have cataract surgery,” he explained.

Cataract surgery is very common. In fact, almost everyone will have to have it at around age 70 if they live long enough. It is out-patient surgery, takes about 30 minutes and they don’t even put you to sleep.

I tried to reassure him. Of course, just like every sniffle is man-flu, every eye problem is a near-death experience. Thank goodness surgery was scheduled soon, so I would not have to hear him obsess about it for months.

“You have to drive me — I won’t be able to drive!” he exclaimed. Not being able to drive for a man is almost worse than having surgery.

By the time the day finally arrived, Honey had only reminded me about a dozen times that I would have to drive him. To be fair, he knows how much I hate to drive downtown during rush hour. But in a case like this, there is really no choice.

For some reason surgery is always scheduled at the crack of dawn. “You have to get up early.” Honey obsessed. I didn’t need an alarm as he woke me up 30 minutes before it went off, not that he was anxious or anything.

“You can drive there,” I said, “And I will drive us home.”

The traffic was bumper to bumper. For some reason the state has installed new electronic speed limit signs and the highway department loves changing the speed limit to 30 mph creating rear-end panic among drivers. It used to be officially 70 mph and unofficially as fast as you can crawl in heavy traffic.

Honey mumbled and complained and I held on to the door handle as tightly as possible. I am sure that if we ever have an accident they will say, “If she had only held onto the door tighter, it wouldn’t have happened.”

They always have you arrive an hour early for medical procedures so you have plenty of time to get nervous. The surgery, however, went without incident. The drive home did not. When I went out to get the car, it was pouring rain, and I don’t mean ordinary rain. It was monsoon.

My umbrella, of course, was in the car as who knew it would rain. I had no choice but to go outside through the rain as the nurse was waiting at the front door with him in a wheelchair. I was soaked to the skin getting to the car.

“How was the surgery?” I asked.

“I don’t remember,” he said. That seemed a little strange, but whatever…

The drive home was a nightmare, rain so hard I could not see anything except the fuzzy taillights of the car in front of me and the many puddles on the road.

The air conditioner was on and I was freezing as I was soaking wet. I could not take my eyes off the road long enough to adjust it. “Can you turn the air off?” He tried, but couldn’t see and managed to poke every button but the right one. By the time we arrived home, I was a Popsicle.

The good news is we made it home in spite of cold air and rain storms. The bad news is we get to do it again in two weeks for the other eye. They only do one eye at a time because — well — it’s your eyes, for God’s sake. Just in case something goes wrong, you will still have one left. Reassuring isn’t it?

The second trip was much less eventful than the first. I asked the nurse why he can not remember the surgery from the first eye. “I thought they did not put you completely to sleep.” I mused.

“You are awake,” she said, “But the sedative we use causes temporary amnesia.”

He made it through the second surgery without incident, and we made it home eventually after detours to Petsmart and Publix. Honey can almost see now except for small print. He is sure he can drive to his regular Bridge game tomorrow. I just hope he can see the cards.

Copyright 2025 Sheila Moss