(For part 1 go here. Yes, I realize I used a similar comic for that entry, sue me.)
I mentioned before that my natural eyesight is pretty terrible. This is due in part to my thin cornea. Because of that defect I was not a candidate for LASIK, instead I had to have a procedure called "
photorefractive keratectomy" or more commonly "PRK." PRK is actually the original laser eye surgery, conceived and first used by a researcher at IBM and a German ophthalmologist in 1987; because IBM and Germans is a pairing that has
never scared the hell out of everybody.
The specific differences in LASIK and PRK are subtle, but not without their squick factor, so be warned before reading further. The same cool beam laser is used in both surgeries, but in LASIK a corneal flap is cut in the eye and folded back whereas with PRK the surgeon brushes aside a protective layer of cells (the educational material I received makes a point of using the word "gently" when describing this), so that no incision is made. I promise, that's the last time I talk about cutting eyeballs in this entry.
I arrived at the clinic at 8 a.m. on March 13th. The pre-surgery process is similar to a standard eye exam, but with what appears to be more expensive equipment. After the exam an eye doctor talked to me about the surgery and counseled me on possible side effects, most of which I knew about already but was a bit curious when he blew past the possibility of "haloes" which I hadn't heard about and kind of wanted to talk about more but in all the nervousness and paperwork kind of slipped my mind. The eye doctor also took this time to tell me that the surgeon likes to say a prayer before operating and would it bother me if he did so. I told him that he could sacrifice a chicken and bathe in it's blood if he thought it would help. I was the only one that thought that was funny.
After the exam I was shuffled into a waiting room with a bunch of other patients. This is the part that feels the most like an assembly line. Everyone is given a robe and shower cap, placed in comfy chairs and given more paperwork. Also, drugs. Lots of drugs. Nurses walk in a circle through the room, going from patient to patient giving the exact same directions and the exact same drugs. After getting my allotment of pills, liquids and paper-cuts one of the nurses told me that the surgeon liked to say a prayer before he started, I decided to abstain from voodoo jokes this time and told her it was copacetic.
Finally I was brought to the operating room. The surgeon introduced himself and explained that he liked to pray before operating and would it bother me if he did? It was at this point that I decided I would have much rather heard the warning about the whole haloes thing three times rather than the prayer, but told him to go nuts. After the surgeon's chat with Jesus I was leaned back and given the
Clockwork Orange treatment.
After the anesthetic eyedrops were applied and the protective layer of cells was "gently brushed aside" the entire world went white. This was the most nerve wracking part, but thanks to the kind nurses and their generous medication regimen my thought process was little more than "huh, that's weird, I wonder if I should be freaked out about this. Also, what did they mean about haloes earlier?" At this point the actual surgery commenced and lasted less than a minute per eye. The thing to know about the surgery itself, aside from it is really fast, is that you know it's taking place because you hear the laser and, more importantly, smell your eyeball burning. It smells like burnt hair. People that don't cringe when you talk about "corneal folds" (I guess I lied earlier) almost invariably go into convulsions of disgust when I tell them it smells like burnt hair.
After they finished shooting me in the face with lasers (which is one of my favorite sentences that I've ever gotten to write) they put on a bandage contact lens. And that was it.The whole process, including the collect call to God, took all of five minutes. And I could see immediately. Granted, everything was a bit fuzzy, but I could see without my glasses for the first time since the eighties. As I left I was given instructions and a bag full of equipment and eyedrops. The equipment consisted of sunglasses, which were, and continue to be, an absolute necessity. I was immediately sensitive to light and continue to be to some extent (I'm told this will go away after a while). I was somewhat worried that the sunglasses would be the type you see cataract patients wearing, but they actually weren't too bad.
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| They couldn't laser off the coffee stains on my teeth, unfortunately. |
That picture, incidentally, was the last time that I would smile for the next few days. Even with the sunglasses the world was entirely too bright. I had to close my eyes nearly the whole way home. I told my dad, who graciously gave up his morning to drive me to and from my appointment, that I wanted to keep my eyes closed and he was very understanding. By understanding I of course mean that every five minutes or so he would say something along the lines of "hey, look at that!" and then point at some innocuous out of focus spot on the horizon that seemed to be made out of pain. I would then explain again that I couldn't see too well yet and that the light was pretty uncomfortable for me, he would apologize and then five minutes later repeat the whole process.
Also included was a pair of goggles and some tape.
I was instructed to wear the goggles while sleeping so that I wouldn't rub my eyes and to use the tape to secure it to my head. Unfortunately, I couldn't figure out how to make this work since the tape didn't stick to my hair.
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| Probably a good thing that tape was so crappy, or that joke would have been painful |
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| I look like a really shitty superhero |
In the end I tied a knot in the strap and still managed to pull the goggles off in my sleep almost every night. The only other thing in the bag (aside from the medicated drops) was a fleece vest.
Guys, I'm not gonna lie: this confused the hell out of me. They never warned me that one of the after effects would be a sensation of warm arms and a cold torso and I never experienced anything like that.
All in all, if you asked me even three weeks ago if I was happy with the results (and believe me, a lot of people did) I would have told you no. One of the things about PRK is that it is more painful and takes longer to heal from than LASIK. They tell you that right up front, it's a hell of sales pitch. For the first few weeks everything is blurry and guess what: there are haloes around everything. I had to put in eyedrops constantly; my eye doctor told me to do it every fifteen minutes. I could hardly work because I couldn't see my screen unless I was about a foot away from it.
But it gets better after that. One morning at the end of March I woke up and it was like a switch had been thrown. I can see at 20/20 or better and I only need to put eyedrops in occasionally. I still get haloes (of course) every once in a while, but I've been told that will dissipate. And best of all I don't need to wear glasses anymore. Overall I am very happy with my choice.
Plus, I got a snazzy vest.
