Just Hang Up

Almost no one ever calls our landline phone except someone selling something or someone trying to scam us. I am almost tempted to unplug it.

Important message for today: Microsoft will not make unsolicited phone calls to help you with your computer. If you receive a phone call like this, hang up.

I hung up after I heard an Indian accent say,  "This is Microsoft."

Eye Spy Times Two

Eye Spy Times Two

My blog friend Joanne of www.cuponthebus.blogspot.com asked how our cataract surgery went. So here goes, Joanne.

We were given a little booklet to read when we first made our appointments, and the procedure and follow-up pretty much went as planned.

Our taxi ride to the hospital was uneventful, since the Dutch are always prompt and reliable. It is just curious that the trip back home was a bit cheaper than going, but that method of transportation worked out and was reasonable.

Although some folks sitting in the waiting room near the operating room complained of having to wait too long, we were escorted right in, "stripped" of our outer clothes and jewels, and placed on stretchers to wait. And we did. Wait.

My husband was scheduled first, but we both received our "drupples" for pupil dilation at the same time. Then later more eye drops. In the meantime the salle ( group prep room) was buzzing with nurses, etc. trying to get the morning schedule finished before 12 noon. We were in that group, but it wasn't until after 1:00 pm that we were finished.

I knew that the anesthesiologist would be the one to look out for. I listened carefully as he did his thing on my husband, but that did not help much when he finally got to me. Even if he did make small talk and find it interesting that we came to The Netherlands for our surgery. It hurt!😩

J. and I were a bit of a novelty everywhere in the hospital since we were both having cataract surgery on our right eyes at the same time. When the nurse started to roll me into surgery, the attendant checked my identification and birthday for the sixth time and stated my husband's birthday. Luckily my nurse was attentive and said that was incorrect.

When my son was born 33 years ago by Caesarean section, I remember a green tent that separated my upper body from my lower part where the C-section was underway. For this cataract surgery, my head was tented with a heavy meshed plastic with my right eye left uncovered for the eye doctor. If you have claustrophobia, this is not the procedure for you. As for me, I could breathe. More than that I can't say. I was scared to death😳

I was told that I would feel water streaming in my eye, but no more. That was correct. When the doctor began pulverizing the real lens, she warned me that there would be noise. I am used to that, since my favorite dentist sometimes uses machines that can be noisy, too.

The surgeon told me when she was going to insert the new lens. I could hear the irrigation machine say in English "irrigation on" and then "irrigation off" many times during the surgery. Then the doctor told me that the surgery had been a success.

Whew! I was still breathing. And sitting up on the stretcher. My nurse was still amazed that both my husband and I were doing this on the same day and asked how long we had been together. When I said almost 40 years, she said that was quite remarkable.

Well, J. and I walked through the hospital as one-eyed pirates like in the photo on my Wetcreek Instagram. We will be sleeping with eye patches for the rest of this week and dripping in two kinds of eyedrops four times a day for longer than that.

Our local optometrist changed out our right spectacle lenses yesterday. Reading is not quite what it should be yet. But that will come in the next month.

We take seeing clearly seriously. And we want to be able to do that for a very long time. So for right now, we are seeing eye to eye.

Don't Stir the Pot too Deep

I am an awful cook! Really! Want to have a piece of my gummy banana bread I made yesterday? Oh, that is baking? Pretty bad at that, too, unfortunately.

My worst problem is that I scorch (aka burn) the goodness at the bottom of the pot or pan. Then without much thinking, I dig deep and stir the pot. You can see it, can you? All of that disgusting burnt food that could have been so good has now ruined my meal.

Moral of this story: It is a good thing to stir the pot, but be prepared that if you go too deep what you find won't be worth much and won't make your meal great.

Under the Knife

Everyone (and I mean EVERYONE) says this cataract surgery I am going to experience later today is "a piece of cake."

Now is the time for me to begin my strict diet.

I really don't want that cake.

Hold the knife!

And What Does Your Father Do for a Living?

One of the first questions many people ask you when you are young is, "What does your father do for a living?" We all know that this question is just a euphemism for, "How much money does he make, and are you rich or poor?" Coming right out and asking how much salary he brings home every month is an outright "no-no," but the job question is "Kosher."

While riding here in the taxi to the Beltway Apartment from the airport last Thursday, the Dutch taxi driver politely asked my Dutch husband what kind of work he used to do before his retirement ten years ago. My husband proudly told about his lengthy employment in the travel business, and then I chirped in with my equally lengthy employment in the field of education. If it weren't for both of us working all those many years, we wouldn't be where we are today.

Back in the fall when L. found me/us, one of her questions was, "And what kind of work did your father do?" Hopefully by now L. knows that our family managed on Dad's meager salary until I went off to college, and then my mom went to work to supplement our family income. My parents would have never done as well as they did if it hadn't been for their double-income family situation.

And then this morning my Dutch sister-in-law had a question about what L. did for a living. I chuckled to myself. I do not really know. I can see what L. has on her Facebook page, and she told me what she studied in college, but I never asked her what she really does every work day. Basically the same is true for her husband, although he did share that information with my husband when they chatted on our first meeting.

When was the last time someone asked you what kind of work you do/did? Does it really matter? I am always tempted to ask, "Would you like to see my monthly bank statement? Can I introduce you to my friend/relative/someone I know who hasn't worked a day in his/her life and is richer than you are?"

My mom never knew what any of her grandchildren were studying in college or what her children actually did at their jobs. Just the fact that we all studied and then worked was enough info for her.

I think that I agree.