Yesterday--as I've posted--I had cataract surgery on my left eye (the right one was two weeks ago) at the Cleveland Eye Clinic in Brecksville. This morning, things seem very good. In fact, I've not "seen" the world look like this since I was in my twenties. Clear. Bright. Colorful. (My left eye is a little teary; that will subside.)
Some things I remember from yesterday, some things I've thought a bit about ...
- I remember very little of the surgery itself. Earlier, they'd given me some drugs to hold under my tongue and allow to dissolve. By the time they wheeled me into the operating room, I was pretty much out of it. I remember seeing no one; I remember seeing no thing. I did hear some voices (can't tell you what they said) and some, strange, strange, strange lights.
- Oh, I do remember one thing--something like this: "Your old lens is out, your new one in ... we're just cleaning you up."
- My surgery was scheduled for 10 a.m., and we were told to arrive at 8:40. We did. The waiting room was full. And as I looked around the room, I realized something: Virtually everyone there was, well, older (elderly, even), and this is now my "new demographic." Most of my days I spend around people of all ages (coffee shop, health club, other public places), so it's odd to be in a room full of people, all of a certain age. In a way, it was the feeling I first had in kindergarten ... a feeling I'll have again if I must go to an assisted-living or nursing facility.
- The people waiting for surgery displayed a variety of physical health. Some shuffled as they walked; some needed canes. Some were enormously heavy; some were frail and bent. And I understood--again!--how fortunate I am. Although I am 73 now, although I am dealing with metastatic prostate cancer, although I have a number of other medical/physical "issues," I am still (relatively) mobile and (evidently) "healthy." For the nonce, of course--always "for the nonce."
- I would say that virtually everyone there, waiting, was on Medicare. (As I am.) The original Medicare law passed in July 1965 (I had just finished my junior year at Hiram College), and so for my entire career I paid into the system. But ... I have already spent far more than I ever paid in. Far, far, far, far more. Hell, the immunotherapy I underwent last winter consumed alone more $$ than I ever paid into Medicare!
- Because of Medicare (and my supplemental policy via the Ohio State Teachers Retirement System--STRS), the surgery (and subsequent meds) cost me only about $220 out-of-pocket. Total.
- And this is what insurance is all about, you know: everyone pays; most everyone benefits (to some degree); some (like me) benefit heavily. We help one another. It's what this country is supposed to be about; it's what a government is for. "To promote the general welfare," as the Preamble to our Constitution says ... Promote, not deny, decrease, diminish, denigrate--and some other d-words I could think of.
- In my mind, people who work to eliminate Medicare and Medicaid--people who work to take away and/or diminish health insurance for others--are, well (let's be kind), cruel. Inhumane. (It's pretty safe to say that those who advocate such things are not the uninsured?) To me, the idea that you have to deserve health care is pompous and morally blind. And, in my view, anti-American.
- About those drugs they gave me ... back home, I napped like a tired baby, almost all afternoon. Last night, I slept like a person with no conscience. And I realized I'd love to have that drug every day, every night.
- Naw ... that's addiction, right?
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