“So, Mr. Gilbert, do you have any other questions?” asked the fifth person I had to talk to before having my cataracts replaced.
“Why, yes, I do,” says I. “What is your concern?”
“Well, I’m imagining you have my head in some kind of vice for stabilization. You have plucked out the old lens, but have not put in the new one. Suddenly, the 8.5 magnitude earthquake we’ve all been dreading hits. The lights go out, ceiling tiles are falling, and all the medical team heads for the door, leaving me on the table.
“When I get up to run for cover, all the vitreous humor drains out of my eye which then collapses on itself. What then?”
“My, you certainly can go to the dark side.”
For my first procedure (the left eye), so many people wanted to confirm which eye they were operating on, it was laughable. So when I checked in for surgery on my right eye, I used an eyebrow pencil to help them be clear what we were doing. They all laughed like hell.