Did you know there’s a pirate’s club that meets in our area on Thursdays every two weeks? Folks sit around with their eye patches. Well, okay, probably only a few say, “ARRRR!” like a pirate.
OK, it’s not a pirate’s club. It’s a bunch of folks waiting for a post-cataract surgery checkup.
Last year I learned I had cataracts. They kept getting worse and worse.
So I found myself at the local outpatient surgery center on a gurney being readied for cataract surgery, The Lady of the House by my side.
What does one do before you get pumped full of sedatives so a surgeon can cut on your eye?
You chat up with the line of folks who come and go, each one asking, “That’s the LEFT eye we’re working on, correct?”
You just hope they compare notes before the surgery.
Finally, one them marks an “X” over my left eye with a marker.
Meanwhile, there was the prep nurse, Nurse Beth, who had spent most of her career at the hospital in Bisbee, Arizona where I once lived with the happy hippie-folk. It was like old home week.
We got to talking about her Arizona ranching days and such things as calf castration.
“Ah!” I said, “Mountain oyster time.”
Right away Nurse Beth, The Lady of the House and I were engaged in a lively discussion about “mountain oysters,” what folks call the lopped-off testicles of the male calves.
Boil them, peel them, then deep fry them was the consensus.
“Oh yeah, deep fried,” said a voice from the other side of the curtain.
“Anything deep fried,” agreed another voice.
“We’re talking about mountain oysters,” I spoke up.
“Oh, no thanks” and “Sorry, not for me” came a chorus from the other side.
Soon I was whisked away to the operating room: The Lady of the House was nearby, the prep nurse had been to Bisbee and soon I’d be a member of “The Pirate’s Club.”
Grant McGee is a long-time broadcaster and former truck driver who rides bicycles and likes to talk about his many adventures on the road of life. Contact him a his blog: grantmcgeewrites.com.