Lasers and Teddy Bears

On a cold Friday afternoon I found myself in the waiting room of a LASIK center with several other individuals sitting in our chairs, sharing the 1000-yard stare and waiting for our name to be called. For the 34th time in a row, the office’s promotional video looped back to the beginning and began playing all over again on the sole television around us. The customer testimonials raved about the center’s eye surgeon. First up was a typically attractive brunette, followed by a hispanic woman. Rounding out the rainbow of testimonials were an overly tan Caucasian man, an Asian girl, and a black guy who looked a tad cross-eyed (a bit concerning). All of them were praising the surgeon and how great the staff was and how amazing their post-op results were. The video’s intended effect to allay any fears about the procedure was beginning to reverse its effects. I began to imagine that we had already begun the LASIK procedure, the untold secret 1st stage of the operation: the brainwash effect.

I got up from my chair and walked over to the window overlooking down to the streets several levels below. Leaning against the glass, I combed the darkening night for anything of interest. That’s when I heard a chuckle behind me and could overhear someone telling the receptionist, “They must be going crazy, with that video on an infinite loop all day.”

“Want to watch some TV?”

The last remark sounded like it was directed to me. I looked behind me to see the man in charge of the LASIK office’s finances giving me a smirk. I gave a nod and replied, “Sure.”

I was led into the second waiting room towards the mid-section of the LASIK office, invisibly slapping myself and wondered why I hadn’t thought of this sooner. Well, in all fairness, I thought, I had no clue my wait time would amount to nearly three hours. Subjecting patients to this waiting game can’t be too good for their nerves.

Seconds later, with the remote control to the television in my hand, I was surfing through the channels, ecstatic I had been freed from the shackles of brainwashing. A couple of the other patients who had also been waiting settled into various seats in the second room around me. As the unofficially designated TV channel-setter, I decided SportsCenter may not have been of much interest to all our gathered viewers (there were 5 of us including myself) and so I settled on There’s Something About Mary. ‘Lo and behold, I had just flipped to the channel when the funniest scene of the movie flashed on the telly and Ben Stiller’s character was frantically searching the bathroom just after he had “cleaned the pipes” /  ”choked the chicken” / “spanked the monkey” before the big date. The guy sitting to my left and I unsuccessfully stifled our laughs as Mary reached for the “hair gel” dangling off his earlobe. In retrospect, I’ve concluded that watching this particular movie scene has to be one of the most effective ways to break any level of tension amongst a group.

Before I knew it, my name was being called and my turn was up. I left the remote control in plain view in the middle of my seat, telepathically sending everyone in the room behind me a message: “First one to grab it gets to change the channel!!”

As I was led to the operating room the surgeon’s assistant began chatting away, informing me the operation was to take place in two separate parts in two different rooms. She specifically mentioned the second room was kept at a very cold temperature due to the equipment. I wasn’t paying much attention to her, as I stared at the empty chair in front of me, focusing in on the sharp realization of what I was about to do.

“You’ve taken the Valium, right?” she interrupted my train of thought with her first question.

“Actually, I haven’t been offered any,” I responded.

She paused to look at me for a second. “Do you want it?”

Before I can answer she prompted, “You don’t look you need it. You look calm.”

She raised her eyebrows and tilted her head as if to say, “Am I right or am I right?”

I nodded. “Yeah, I wasn’t going to take it anyway.”

(Call it strange but when I was told that around 90% of their patients take Valium before the operation in order to quell their anxiety, something within me wanted to face my surgery completely drug-free, alert and aware of what was happening to me. I almost viewed it as an uncalled-for challenge. To proudly go where 90% of this LASIK’s center’s patients had never gone before.)

Plus, I’ve always felt extremely at ease in hospitals, dentist’s offices, and doctor’s offices. Not sure if this is a good thing.

It was go time. I positioned myself in the chair and politely declined the small teddy bear they offered for me to hold. No valium. No teddy bear. The girl offered twice again, took a closer look at my reaction, then shrugged it off. My eyes were propped open with a hand-sized tool that prevented me from blinking even if I tried (though allowing me to feel the sensation that I was). Not as unnerving as I thought it would be. I was then doused with a good heaping of numbing drops, for local anesthetic. This was administered twice in several large doses, spaced about a half-minute apart. They flooded my eyes but they felt like natural tears and were cool, almost refreshing.

Within minutes, the eyeball-cutting-machine descended onto my left eye and I was told I would feel “some pressure”. This was true. An incision was made in my outer cornea in first my left eye, and then my right. I don’t know how this apparatus was able to do this without blood spurting everywhere. It just did. It was slightly nerve-wracking (nothing that left me uncontrollably dry heaving in my seat). It’s just that you’re not exactly aware of how much you’re in control at this point. If I accidentally sneeze could I possibly puncture myself in the eye? What if on my 10th attempt to blink the tool loosens and all of a sudden an incision is being made on my skin? Fortunately, the questions fade as quickly as they rise. The first part of the procedure took all of five minutes.

“We’re now going to head into the other room. You can get up now, slowly.”

Are you serious? You’re not going to wheel me in there?

I uneasily got up from my chair and stood straight. My eyelids felt half shut and I had the sensation that a hair was stuck in both my eyes, or a contact lens was threatening to fall off. It wasn’t painful, but it was discomforting. Everything looked like as if I were looking through a steamed window, or a thick cloud of mist. I was told to expect this.

The assistant asked if I was okay and asked me to place my hands on her shoulders to lead her into the second room. I considered it for about two seconds, and though slightly disoriented, I told myself, I can take the six paces by myself to walk into the other room through that open door.

She stood at attention, her back facing me.

“That’s okay,” I said.

Her head whirled around. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Okay then. Right this way.”

I carefully walked into the second room. Successfully. I am officially the man.

I laid down in the second chair, and no joke, this room was setup like a walk-in refrigerator. I wouldn’t be surprised if the entire staff kept their lunches in here. I started to shiver and did not hesitate to accept her offer this time, a dark blue blanket. I was also welcomed by a second teddy bear, this one twice the size of the previous one. At her pressing, I accepted the bear without putting up much of a fight and lay still. I found it soft and huggable, and began to question whether it was a mistake to have neglected the first teddy bear.

Again, there was no time for such musings, as things were proceeding rapidly. The eye surgeon entered the room and stationed himself behind my head. He began by using two long, thin hand-held tools and goes to work on my left eye. In my mind, I reminded myself he was a trained and highly qualified professional who had performed this thousands of times throughout his career. I convinced myself that this man could open eye flaps in his sleep. From my vantage point, he was stroking my eyeball with what looked like two giant sharp forceps. It was exciting. I felt like Woody in Toy Story 2, having his eyeballs polished by a toy repairer and being restored to original, pristine condition.

After a few minutes, a second instrument descended over my left eye. What followed was perhaps the most interesting part of the entire process: the actual LASER. It emitted a noise that sounded more mechanical than what most of us would imagine a traditional laser sound (pew! pew! pew!) would make. It sounded like a series of very loud and rapid snaps, almost as fast as a machine-gun. This was in conjunction with a rapidly flashing white light in the shape of a ring.

If you’ve ever seen the horror flick The Ring, you’ll recall that the actual ring of light represents the perspective of the girl looking up from the bottom of a well she was pushed down into, watching as a halo of sunlight is created as the top was sealed shut. This laser looked exactly like that. I wouldn’t be surprised if half of all LASIK patients feel the way that little girl did, looking up helplessly, stricken with fear.

I was told to focus on keeping my eye as still as possible. This was harder than I had anticipated but I did my best, even as the scent of burning eye-flesh entered my nose. Fortunately, I had read up on other patients’ experiences and was expecting this. It was very faint and it only lasted for a few seconds. (I predicted it would smell similar to burning hair but it was nowhere near as putrid). And as I continued to focus on looking straight into the rapidly flashing laser, I began to see weird blotches of colors. Colored spots began shooting everywhere, as if I were experiencing a psychedelic break-down. I wondered if this is what people see after they ingest shrooms. It was very strange, and difficult to put into words.

“This is really weird. This is really… cool,” I blurted out during a short pause.

The last few minutes spent on my left eye involved the ophthalmologist going back to work with his tools. Back and forth he went, as I presumed he was slowly closing the flap that had been created on the cornea, ensuring it folded back properly and in good position to heal successfully without any complications. None of this hurt or brought pain in the slightest.

Every minute or so he would murmur, “very good” or “just like that” or “you’re doing great”. Hearing these words felt like getting injected with shots of confidence. It was all I could do to prevent from shouting, “No, YOU’RE doing a great job!” I was at the complete mercy of a person who could have permanently blinded one of my eyes with a twitch. So anytime he said anything that wasn’t an “uh-oh” or a “hmm” made me want to weep for joy. And this is probably one of the very few situations where crying about it would actually help, since my eyes were drying out.

After the same process was repeated with my right eye, the surgery was essentially complete. I was led outside of the room and rested on one of their leather chairs for their post-op patients towards the rear of the office. The ophthalmologist’s assistant sat next to me and we exchanged conversation for the next 15 minutes, or long enough for me to question whether they treat each patient this kindly. It began with her explaining to me the usual do’s and don’ts following LASIK surgery. I nodded along and sat there resting, keeping my eyes closed and occasionally opening them to see how my vision was. I threw a couple questions at her and felt satisfied with her answers.

If you ever decide to undergo LASIK treatment, a word of caution: for a few seconds immediately following surgery, you’ll experience a “omg it went terribly wrong” feeling in the pit of your stomach because you’ll look around and everything will be blurry as hell. You will also literally feel as if your eyes have been cut or scratched, like someone tried to stitch an open wound on the surface of your eyes. But it’s entirely normal (and temporary). Also, you’re immediately given protective plastic cups to place over your eyes (to prevent you from rubbing your precious eyes while they heal) and sunglasses (because you’ll be very sensitive to light). So I was gingerly looking around while in my chair with a gnawing sense of concern but didn’t realize until later just how much the plastic goggles + sunglasses were limiting my vision, in addition to the fact that the healing process hadn’t taken effect yet.

Our topic of conversation moved onwards toward random things, including the finance guy and how he came off as a giant douche. After a while, one of the LASIK center workers walked past the open room and gave us a weird glance.

She giggled, “They probably think we’re flirting back here.”

I feign amusement, eyes still closed. “Mmph… yeah, probably.”

“It just feels so good to sit here, y’know? I’ve been working all day. Sometimes… I need a break.”

“How long have you been working here?”

“Almost 10 years.”

I mentally blink. “So… how old are you? Like… in your late 20′s… er…”

“I’m 36.”

“Oh.” Time to wrap it up.

I left the office in a cab. I couldn’t wait until I had my vision back.