As I write this, I am two days post-cataract surgery. To write it at all, I am dictating to my sister. Nothing will be the same in a few days when the Gazette hits your doorstep so please take this column with a grain of salt (whatever the hell that means … take it with a teaspoon of sugar for all I care).

Think of it as fake news if you wish.

First, and I am not proud of this, I instantly fell head over heels for the handsome young surgeon. Whether this is transference or Stockholm Syndrome I do not know. The lobby in his building is filled with elderly women who haven’t had these kind of feelings since Elvis demonstrated what can be done with male hips. No wonder the medical team checks your blood pressure so often.

Immediately after surgery, a sweet young thing informed me I would not be able to wear make-up for a week. Well, hell, there’s a downer. I haven’t been able to see well enough to apply make-up for ages. Last time I tried was maybe my Junior Prom. I ended up looking like a first cousin of Ronald McDonald. I believe I will be able to handle this gut wrenching development.

I bought reader glasses in advance to be prepared. Yesterday, I gave them a whirl. The Foster Grant people should not attach the glasses to a case and the packaging with those plastic strip dealies. Note to FG: Your customer is buying your product because SHE CAN’T SEE CLOSE UP.

By the time I got the damn things ready to wear, I had cut the corner off the case and bent a bow of the glasses. I believe I have mentioned before that patience is not one of my virtues. And you know how everyone you know who wears readers can never find where they set them down? Yeah. That.

Unexpected instant results:

My arm isn’t long enough to get my wrist far enough away so I can read my watch.

I was told that I would be surprised how many wrinkles I see. This is true. But I did not expect to see them on you. Everyone seems to have aged in the last two days.

Through the haze, my face appears featureless and pale to me, sort of like a big round moon. I realize how much I always counted on the frames of my glasses to add verve, personality. A friend is extremely concerned that I am going to rush out and have glasses tattooed onto my mug … think raccoon here. I doubt this is a genuine worry. If I can’t do make-up for a week, I doubt they allow eye tats either.

All in all, I think this is one of the most amazing things available to us as we age: better vision. Cataract surgery brings definition back into your life. It also allows me to really mean things like I’ll be SEEING you on the “Back Nine.”

Linda B. Myers is a founding member of Olympic Peninsula Authors and author of the PI Bear Jacobs mystery series. Her newest novel, The Slightly Altered History of Cascadia, is available at amazon.com. Contact her at myerslindab@gmail.com or Facebook.com/lindabmyers.author.