You don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone

Republished from Vernacular Nicely Said issue #41 —

I would have written sooner. But, you know, busy and all. I’ve been pumping out industry award submissions. Making people sound better than they actually are. No porkies, but let’s call it high-gloss varnished truth. And still plenty of clients hit me up for customer case studies – like Spark, who is using Elon Musk’s Starlink Satellite to solve coverage issues for Kiwi businesses working in the rural back-blocks. Cracking stuff.

I’ve also had a decent quiet patch – and just as well, because last month I was effectively blind for 10 days. Nothing dramatic. I’ve had the lenses in both eyes replaced. That’s right, the originals were sucked out and plastic fantastics inserted. This process, by the way, is known as cataract surgery. Only now it’s available to anyone desperate to rid themselves of glasses.

I’ve been wearing specs since my late teens. A design fault that has seen my vision fade faster than most other parts of my human self – other than my hair, which burnt out many years ago.

All my adult life I’ve paid a fortune for lenses that weighed less than the fat ends of DB bottles. Even so, my specs still dented the bridge of my nose. My most recent pair of readers were +10s. That’s pretty blind, or “functionally blind”, according to my eye surgeon.

Wearing specs is also a tax on playing sports – they fog up or fall off your face. And then there were sniggers from beach goers watching me exit the surf and cut zigzags across hot sand to locate my towel. Never mind the commotion that erupts when you rub lotion into the fleshy back of a sunbathing stranger.

The kind folks at the Eye Institute did my right eye first. And before you ask, Polkinghorne worked at the other outfit. Post surgery eye tests provided a guide for the type of lens to be inserted into my left eye. But the complicating factor was the 10 days between surgeries – I could see everything but focus on nothing.

I wasn’t allowed to exercise, lift weights, sweat, or shower – for the entire period. Walking was OK. That was it. I went all Forrest Gump and notched up 100+km. Bucket and flannel showers.

Now with two bionic eyes, the specs from which I was once inseparable have been shut forever inside their cases. They languish in darkness and I feel sad for them. We were such good friends.

As I write (glasses free), four days post-surgery (and still with 6 days of ‘just walking’ to go), my eyes are adjusting to their new world. My vision isn’t as sharp as it was – but then I’m not wearing glasses amped up to +10. But tests confirm 20/20 vision.

It will take some time to stop my early morning hands crabbing across the bedside table in search of glasses, or from launching at my face to push sliding specs back up to their nose perch.

I keep touching my temples, once hidden behind the strong arms of my reading glasses (incidentally called eyeglass temples), and marvel at fingertips feeling sensations of blood throbbing through delicate veins. Just yesterday I drank from a glass and as I tipped it up to drain its last, I saw the vessel’s interior and the many tiny bubbles encased in its walls. How many other magnificent details of life have I missed?

The things we take for granted.

Read Nicely Said issue #41