I had eye surgery last year. Old things were removed and new things were put in their place. It was a whole ordeal. Although everything went fine, I wasn't in a big hurry to get back to the optometrist anytime soon.
When I finally did go back, something interesting happened. Even before my regular doctor came into the room, the assistant who examined my eyes through a scope asked a question. "Did Dr. Cornea-Slicer do your surgery?" (The surgeon's name wasn't "Cornea-Slicer," it's just a placeholder that delights me.)
I said, "Yes, it was Dr. Cornea-Slicer. How did you know?"
"From her stitches," the assistant replied. Then when my actual doctor came in to do her own examination, she echoed that statement. Not only was she impressed with the surgeon's work, she acted like she'd recognized a Banksy on a brick wall or cracked a code known only to a select few.
A thought occurred to me. What if the stitches in my eye spelled out a secret message between surgeon and doctor: Remember that conference in Cabo? The late night walks on the beach? I miss us.
Or if their shameful night together in Cabo ruined both their marriages, the surgeon's message would be different: You need to stop posting your bullshit on Facebook! I've moved past this. Why can't you?!
Even worse, what if my doctor's natural instinct upon receiving love letters from an ex is to grab them in her long-nailed fingers and crumple them into a ball?
More surgery for me, I suppose.