The eyes have it. And want to give it back.

As an editor of a trade newsletter I have to review legal and compliance articles for our monthly publication. These articles are seldom fun to read. And since I don’t write these articles, it is a chore to slog through words that are only found in legal dictionaries and decipher enough acronyms to fill an entire gallon of alphabet soup.

Lawyers and those who dwell in regulatory purgatory seem to relish the use of words and phrases known only to those of the same breed. It’s like a secret language they share and are fiercely protective of their right to confuse common folk like me with their $64 mil words.

In recent months, my right eye has been wholly uncooperative in the proof reading process. Blurry vision in that eye forces me to cock my head at odd angles in order to focus. Two ophthalmologists are stumped by the fact that a cataract has formed in my right eye. Usually affecting those who qualify for senior citizen discounts, cataracts are not very common in people my age. It’s nice to be acknowledged as “too young” though it would have been better if the reasons were flawless skin or tight abs, not an untimely eye affliction. (For the record, I have neither flawless skin nor tight abs.)

This leads me back to proofreading legal and compliance articles. I have to conclude that this arduous task is what ultimately caused my right eye to cloud up. From a medical standpoint, I am too young to have a cataract. I have not suffered trauma to my eye recently. (Getting bashed in the face with a door 20 years ago by an angry ex-husband does not count.) I am very good about wearing sunglasses and my regular glasses are UV protected. So it stands to reason that compliance and legal articles cause cataracts in unsuspecting editors. All the run-on sentences, multi-syllable words, and cryptic abbreviations are hazardous to your optical well-being. And let’s not forget those annoying symbols. Is § really a necessary part of our language? Yes, it is which makes it even more irritating.

My cataract surgery takes place in early March. Though I have to check into a hospital, they will let me go home after the procedure and I am deemed lucid enough to walk out the door. I’m sure I’ll be forced to wear one those tacky hospital gowns that never quite cover your behind. Local anesthesia is all I’ll need says my doctor, though I tried my best to negotiate for general anesthesia, which is denied. I may get some back up drugs, but I must be awake for the procedure.

“Don’t worry,” my doctor reassures me. “It’s a fun surgery!” Maybe for him, but invasive medical procedures are not high on my list of fun things to do. But I give my doctor credit for enjoying his work.