Friday, February 01, 2008


I've been freaking a little lately over the seeming inability of my left eyelid to rise above "half-mast" ever since the accident at the beginning of the month. So last week I called the opthalmologist I saw that fateful day and got an appointment to see him on Wednesday of this week.

He put my mind at ease.

Basically, he said that yes, it isn't healing the way he (and probably I) would like but not to worry, it is fixable. However, he cautioned about plunging too soon into a surgical solution to a problem which still, might, fix itself. If I opted for instant surgery I might wind up having to have it done twice, once to fix the damage and twice to fix the cure.

He advised waiting another 2 months, until April, at which time we'll look at it again and decide then whether or not to take the surgical route.

The surgery, by the way, is little more than a routine "lid-lift" which he would do on an out-patient basis in his office. He showed me some photos of others whom he has performed this surgery on and they all looked fine to me.

I didn't waste any time after that exam in calling all my friends and sharing the good news with them! I was relieved, and so were they.

I got home that afternoon and found an odd little card with a note from my late mother's cousin asking me to give him a call, that he had something he wished to discuss with me.

Naturally my fevered alcoholic brain leapt to all kinds of wild-assed conclusions about what he wanted to talk about, without a shred of evidence to back up any one of them. The absolute last course of action would be to just pick up the phone and call and ask him what he wants.

Heaven forbid!

Yet, that's what I did. Last night. Before the (truncated season) premiere of "Lost."

He's rounding up pallbearers for his (yet to be announced) funeral.

I told him, "yeah, sure, whatever, sign me up." I understand that with the death of his brother a few months ago, he's feeling very alone and very mortal these days (he's a whopping 14 years older than me.) I feel that way sometimes, too. That's why I'm signing up with the Neptune Society to have everything preplanned, right down to the cremation and scattering at sea. If any relatives or friends want to come along, that'll be fine, but there's no requirement for anyone to attend the festivities, when the time eventually comes.

But my 2nd cousin adheres to his Catholic faith which, although it permits cremation, forbids scattering the ashes. So no matter what, there'll still be something of him that'll have to be carted to the graveyard and planted in the plot.

I want to join Carl Sagan (or Gene Roddenberry) and return as quickly as possible to my natural state as "star stuff" among the elements which compose the universe.

I mention all this because as a recently converted and thoroughly devout fan of "Lost" I am amazed at the number of non-deaths on that show. Nobody on that damn island seems to stay dead, no matter what.

If you looked real close last night, at the scene where Hurley found the shack where Ben once took Locke to meet "Jacob" and did a frame-by-frame exam of whoever it was sitting in the rocker, you would've seen Jack's late father. And the last time anybody knew, he was dead in a coffin in the cargo hold of the crashed airliner.

Like I said, nobody stays dead for long in "Lost."

I wonder who'll come back to life next?

1 comment:

Bev Sykes said...

I have a few suggestions for who should come back to life next. Sigh.