PATCHED
“How much longer?”
“Not much, Mrs. Asvang. One more incision needs to be made.”
“It’s just my husband —”
“He’ll be fine, Mrs. Asvang. Please, all excessive facial movement must be avoided.”
Rita saw the drops fall from the bottle before they splashed across her eye, eating away at her vision, blurring sharp lines into disorder. The clink of tools, and then the pressure, like a thumb pushed against a puffed-up cheek, as the scalpel made a final slice into her cornea. A spritz of water and the dead skin skimmed away, the operating room came into focus.
Rita sat up. On the wall, painted in gold, she read, “If you see this, thank the doctor” and she handed her bear to the nurse as she was helped off the table.
“You’ll have a thirty-minute period of rest while the adhesive contacts settle. Just relax and keep those eyes closed.”
“And my husband. Can you tell him, tell Silas —”
“He’ll be informed Mrs. Asvang. Breathe and remember not to touch those eyes. They’re fragile for the first few hours.”
After more numbing drops to ease the swelling, Rita followed the nurse out to the lobby. Silas leaned against the counter, his features blurred in the dim light, but she knew all the angles and points of her husband.
“You’re late. Are your eyes okay? You gonna need additional surgeries?”
“Oh. I don’t think so. The doctor had to be careful with the contact bandages. I’m fine. I can see! No glasses!”
“And your
