My husband and I just so happened to both have our eye exams today. They were so close together that he left me in the waiting room to drive to his appointment.
Mine wasn’t awful BUT she said I have plaque in my left eye. Just the tip of the iceberg, she said. It means I have plaque either in my heart or carotid arteries which means, if left unchecked, a heart attack or stroke within five years. (I’ve already had a stroke.)
After I got out I wandered over to the Sports Bar in the strip mall (blindly, eyes dilated) to wait for hub. I ordered an innocent tea. Squeezed the lemon wedge and shook in the sweetner.
I don’t want to be “sick” again. I don’t want to be sick anymore. Once again my body has a time bomb in it and I’m tired of the ticking. I ordered a beer.
Electric slide time passed over the speakers. The server watched my booth while I went outside to smoke.
Plaque. Scalp-stuff/smelly-underyour fingernails building a dam in my arteries.
I went back in and ordered a pitcher (of ying ling, BTW. Usually my “reach” is Rolling Rock.) Went to the restroom where I noticed my eyes were glazing with either unshed pitypoor tears or impending drunkness.
While salting another mug the hub came in. “How’d it go,” I asked.
“Okay, except I’ve got a cataract forming in my left eye.”
“Really. I’ve got plaque in mine. I’m going to have a heat attack.”
He sat down in the booth and I poured him a beer. “Bitter,” he said.
“Drink up,” I told him. “It gets better.”
…“So. Anytime soon?”
“Notchet. Yours?”
“Slow-growing.”
We drank our beer, both wishing we could puff away in comfort like in the old days.
“Makes me feel better, tho, that you’ve got a cataract,” I told him, my spirits brightening.
“Yeah?”
“Well, the universe isn’t out to get me. We’re just old.” Never let it be said that I’ve passed up the chance to enjoy company’s misery.
We drank our beer and poured another, commemorating the fact that today we learned that our left eyes suck.