I am surrounded by aging people. Cataracts are a disease of the elderly. My patients shuffle in on stiff knees, look at me with eyes wrinkled and hooded with age. Being with E, on the other hand, is like being with someone slowly coming to life. At first she could only stare at me owlishly. Then she grew a neck and her head stopped flopping around. Then her hands came alive. Nowadays her legs seem to be getting stiffer and stronger.
But boy, those hands. She is starting to fling things with great abandon. She sits in her high chair grabbing her plastic letters; she chews on each for a moment, then throws them aside. I watch them sail across the room. There goes the G! the E! the I! Hm, I think. This could become a problem. Meanwhile she looks at me in utter innocence. Where did they all go? Do you have more?
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