’Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the home,
Not an eyelid was open, not even my own.
The windows were shut to keep out winter’s chill,
And, tucked in toasty tight, we slumbered until—
A clattering crash wrenched me straight from my sleep.
Was that woodpecker back? No, the noise was too deep.
I raced to the foyer, inspecting the scene,
Night vision enhanced from beta-carotene.
I opened the door with a slow, careful motion.
Strewn on my lawn was the cause of commotion.
Santa, his reindeer, the toys, and the sleigh
Had spilled from the sky, much to St. Nick’s dismay.
His glasses were shattered, he squinted his eyes.
“Mrs. Clause? Is that you?” He asked me, surprised.
“I am not your wife. Can’t you tell us apart?
Stand six paces back; have a look at this chart.”
Santa rose to his feet, snowy boots making prints,
Tossed his now-broken glasses aside with a wince.
“I think it’s a…four. Or maybe a three?”
Poor jolly old Nick couldn’t see the big E!
“Oh Santa, I’m sorry, you’re blind as a bat.
But luckily, I have a treatment for that.
Come to my office, I can cure your poor sight,
Get you right back to work on this Christmas eve night.”
He furrowed his brows, and he asked me my name,
Apparently doubting the truth of my claim.
“I’m Dr. Corsini, and yes, it is true,
I’ve helped many a pilot before, just like you.”
“A veteran, eh? Thank you for your service.
But I’ll have to admit, I’m a little bit nervous.”
He stepped to my doorstep; his interest was piqued.
“What’s this miracle cure of which you now speak?”
“Santa, you are the miracle; this is quite basic.
I’m talking, of course, about something called LASIK.
It’s painless and quick, twenty minutes or less.
You’ll be right back to work but without all the stress.
“No more contacts or glasses? I could jump with delight!
We have no time to lose; I’ll have LASIK tonight!”
With a whistle, his reindeer hopped into position.
Santa gathered his toys to prepare for the mission.
He gave me the reigns since he still couldn’t see,
And I flew Santa’s sleigh straight to Suite 203.
I examined his eyes without air puff or dilation,
“Santa, great news!” I exclaimed with elation.
“You’re a candidate for SMILE—it’s LASIK sans flap.
Less dry eye, faster healing.” He tipped me his cap.
I went over the risks and we each signed consent.
Down the hall to the laser suite, off we both went.
Numbing drops, Betadyne, and a surgical bouffant,
“Patients pick the playlist – anything you want!”
“Nat King Cole!” Santa chose with a rosy-cheeked grin.
“Great choice, Nicholas. Now let us begin.
Just fixate your gaze on that blinking green light.
That’s excellent. See? You had nothing to fright.
Your first eye is finished, now onto the second.
Aha, you’re all done! You can rise now,” I beckoned.
Santa stood up and smiled broadly at me.
“Holy holly—It worked! Thanks so much, Dr. C!
I won’t rub my eyes. I’ll remember my drops.
And there’s just enough time still to hit all my stops.”
He sprang from my office, unhindered by glasses
And boarded his sleigh to bring gifts to the masses.
But I heard him exclaim, now armed with great sight,
“HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT.”