Goop

“Don’t be a goop,” my grandmother used to say whenever I said or did anything ridiculous.
As I lay under the warm duvet in the clinic watching a cat run through the little courtyard outside my window, I wondered if my abject terror at the coming operation was just a bit over the top or had it gone all the way into goop status.
I had heard from the doctor who would knock me out, the admitting clerk and the nurse that “Vous êtes très drôle.”
Great!
Not only was I going to let someone stomp through my eye, they found me funny. I had a future career as a comedian for the medical profession.
I really was totally unaware of what happened and soon my ever-so-patient housemate was telling me to watch my step as I left the clinic. I was back speaking English. I had been worried that the stress would drive the French from my brain.
Now that the bandage is off, and although it will take a few days for everything perfect I’m shouting down the stairs “I can read the clock without my glasses,” “I brushed my teeth without my glasses,” etc.
Seeing that is a novelty and when the second eye is done, it should be even better.
If my grandmother were alive, I would admit to being a total goop about the whole thing.