This summer my trusted eye doctor did surgery on my eyes. It wasn’t anything unique or unusual: like some 30% of people over 70, I had cataracts. The experience is common but my reaction was not.

First a word about the disease and the surgery. For some people, cataracts affect their ability to see color, but for me the big problem was glare. Night driving had become like running through a scary fun house where even small lights created a dizzying blur.

In surgery, the physician removes your clouded lens and replaces it with a prescription lens that frees some patients from glasses occasionally and some patients from glasses entirely. Most are thrilled.

Specifically, my idea of how I would feel after surgery came, I’m embarrassed to say, from Facebook, where I love watching videos of babies being gifted with their first pair of eyeglasses.

Here’s what happens with the babies.

The gloved hand of some medical person lowers eyeglasses over the infant’s eyes. At first, the baby tries to push this strange contraption away, but seconds later a smile emerges.

Usually, the mother is holding the baby, expressing excitement and joy. The smile grows. Babies know instantly that a new world has opened to them.

I pictured myself, also in a new world, with the same happy smile.

Sadly, this was not my experience with cataract surgery.

The first problem I had, one that no baby shares, was trying to decide what sort of new prescription lenses I wanted. I had to choose. Did I want to maintain my good close vision or to see well at a distance? Was I interested in a third option, namely to have one eye see close and the other far away, a popular choice called “monovision”?

Given my passion for kayaking rivers and seeing wild animals, I chose to see well at a distance. I knew this meant that I would no longer be able to read without glasses.

A second problem I failed to anticipate was how confused I would become during the two-week period between surgery on the first eye and surgery on the second eye when I saw poorly no matter where I looked.

I drove, but nervously, fully aware that I had no depth perception. Reading exhausted me. In one eye, a new floater developed. I couldn’t help but think constantly about my eyes.

After I had the second eye done, things improved but not as much as I hoped. It was as if someone had thoughtfully presented me with a third ear–a good addition–but I didn’t know how to use it. I kept stumbling over changes, some positive, some negative.

My eyes, which since fourth grade couldn’t clearly see 3 feet without glasses, were suddenly handed the great outdoors. This was wonderful.

Also, I could read my bedside clock in the middle of the night. It used to be a blur. Instead of removing my glasses for a haircut, I could watch the whole process.

But I struggled with the fact that my powers had been reversed: I saw distance with my naked eye but I couldn’t see close up anymore. Between me and my books, a lifelong intimate relationship, there were now always glasses.

At the same time, the woman in my mirror, now clearly visible from 3 feet, did not look like me. Where were her glasses? Did she look older without them?

I didn’t feel quite right either. I have long thought of myself as a person who can adjust to new circumstances in a normal way and in a normal amount of time. But during this experience, at every stage, I became persnickety and sought perfection. I kept wanting to see what I couldn’t see and focus where I couldn’t.

Once I began thinking obsessively about how my vision was changing, I couldn’t stop. Even after a month, I wanted my old glasses back for distance and I wanted to wear no glasses while reading.

But I had done something irreversible and I couldn’t get my old lenses back. Instead, I returned to my doctor and bought new eyeglasses that maintain my distance vision but also let me see up close.

My new prescription, although it gives me good vision, is hard to adjust to. I’m still working on that today, as I type. At what distance should I place my computer?

I try to appreciate the positive sides of this whole experience. My night vision has improved. For the first time, I can see my way around a swimming pool. If I ever lose my glasses out of doors, I will not stagger around terrified. With my new distance vision, I’ll simply find them.

However, the biggest thing that has changed is my view of myself.

Altered circumstances that some people seem to handle with ease — I’m thinking of seventysomethings who are thrilled with cataract surgery — have thrown me. I’m not like a Facebook baby who is instantly happy with something new.

I saw myself as an easy adjuster, but that vision was flawed.

— Marion Franck has lived in Davis for more than 40 years. Reach her at marionf2@gmail.com.