tomorrow is a very important anniversary...

... of the day I got my new eyes!

Even though I looked like this for 6 hours of recovery, it was worth every embarrassing second. I HEART my year-old "new" eyes!

NYR 6-30-11 - two things to be grateful for!

I am truly thankful for:

1. Surviving a sleepover with three 8 year-old boys. There was a lot of loudness and commotion and running and screaming. I'm sure the lady below us with the one month-old baby is even more thankful than I am.

2. Getting a great report from my eye surgeon three months post-op. 20/20 and no myopia!

NYR 3-31-11 - NEW eyes!.

Me as Super Fly with Mac for back-up support


Today was Surgery Day and I was sooooo nervous. But having paid the fee the day before and not being one to lose a significant amount of money because of nerves, I had to go through with the procedure.

Jimmy took me to the surgery center at 8am for surgery that was supposed to start at 8:45. I had barely checked in when they told me to take off my jewelry and leave it with Jimmy and come on back. This was a good thing because there was no time to sit around and think about the lasers that were getting ready to burn my corneas up.

I realized very quickly that this was more serious than I expected. They made me change into scrubs, complete with that hairnet thing and booties to cover my feet. They'd said to wear comfortable clothes and so I assumed I'd just stay in my clothes and not actually look like I was going into surgery. (As a side note, the scrubs were very comfortable and pretty high-quality and I kind of wished they'd let me take them home.)

Next step was getting all these eye drops put in my eyes. Some were topical anesthetic (to which I said "double up the dose please") and some were antibiotic (or at least that's what I think she said). They took my blood pressure, which must have been normal despite the fact that I honestly felt like I couldn't breathe.

Then they escorted me back to the operating room. I saw Dr. A scrubbing in outside the room, just like he was on an episode of ER. He even had that little surgical hat thing on that George Clooney always wore and ripped off his head when something went wrong in the ER.

Where I got the idea that I was just going to be in street clothes, sitting in a opthalmaologist's chair, with Dr. A in his suit, wielding what looked like a dental pick, lasering up my eyes, I REALLY HAVE NO IDEA. None of what I saw looked like anything in my surgical daydreams.

This room was SERIOUS BUSINESS.

Like very medical and sterile and high-tech.

I asked before going in if I could listen to my iPod (on low volume, of course) because I really thought some Enya would relax me and I could practice deep breathing as if I were in a yoga class. (I'd already asked if I could take a Valium and Dr. A said no to that.) The nurse said no to the music, but assured me that I wouldn't need the music because they play ambient music in the operating room.

Let me tell you there was no Enya playing. It was this very futuristic, Star Wars sort of music that made me feel like I was in a science fiction movie.

I had to lay on this table with my head nestled into one of those things that you put in a baby's crib to keep him from rolling over in his sleep.

The instructions were simple: all I had to do was focus on the red blinking light, which was in the robot-like thing stationed over my head. If I had lifted my head up quickly, I would have busted my forehead open. I.WAS.TRAPPED.

Dr. A is so soothing and confident and keeps telling you that you're doing great and that everything's going perfectly that you feel a sense of peace.

But then he tapes your eyelashes open and puts this separator in your eye so it can't close or blink. And you know you're really trapped. And that your eyeball is getting ready to be burned. And that if you try to escape, you will likely require stitches in your forehead or at least have a bloody nose. And your eyeballs will be burned forever by the laser striking the wrong part because you moved.

You feel pressure on your eyeball, the laser starts, you smell burning, the blinking red light is suddenly splayed into a million blinking red lights and you think at that moment that your cornea is cut open, you stay very still then because you don't want to ruin anything at this critical moment, Dr. A dries out your eye, you feel him poking around the center of your eyeball and assume he's pressing it closed (or whatever you do to get that corneal flap to stay shut), and then he announces that one eye is done.

It seemed like it had hardly even started.

The second eye goes as smoothly and painlessly.

Dr. A announces that the surgery is all over and has gone perfectly. Your eyelids are taped shut, you get mini cups taped over your eyes for protection which means you can see nothing, and you realize how terribly awful it will be to be blind and you pray possibly harder than you've ever prayed for anything in your life that you're not blind when Dr. A takes off the bandages this afternoon. Your blood pressure is checked again and it must still be normal because they say you can leave. You're escorted to the dressing room where Jimmy helps you get dressed in your clothes because sadly they don't let you keep the scrubs. And then they send you home.

Just like that.

Not 10 minutes after the surgery is over, you're being led like a blind person to the car and you vow to yourself to give money to every blind panhandler you ever see again in the future. Being blind stinks.

You come home, lay on the couch for hours and doze off and on with the Food Network on in the background. You know that time is passing only because every time you wake up, you hear a new host's voice. Ruth keeps checking on you and keeps layering blankets on top of your slumbering body until you are not only blind but trapped under pounds of wool.

Finally it's time to go back to the doctor's office to get the bandages off for the moment of truth.

Jimmy came back from work to escort me to the doctor's office and since he didn't know where the entrance to the building was and he didn't understand my blind girl hand directions, we went all the way around the building for absolutely no reason. I learn quickly that wasted steps are a terrible thing to a blind person. And I know people are staring at my cupped eyes and wondering what terrible fate struck me. Which makes me even more self-conscious.

We entered Dr. A's office, he removed the patches, and I.COULD.SEE.

Like I could read his Emory University diploma from across the room.

What a miracle. What a marvel of modern medicine.

For renewed good eyesight and the kind, caring demeanor of a lovely doctor, I am truly thankful.

NYR 3-30-11 - glad to be home

For flights that worked, for a successful pre-op doctor's appointment and for sleeping in my own bed, I am truly thankful.

surgery is scheduled

Next Thursday, 7am, is the big day. Wow, I'm excited!

results of the cornea evaluation

Because I know you've been waiting with bated breath to find out the health of my cornea, I just wanted to share the good news.

The doctor called me this morning - on a Saturday (can you imagine?) - to tell me that all my results came back great.

My corneas are better than average in terms of thickness, elasticity and one other thing that I forgot to write down. So now I just need to call the receptionist on Tuesday (Monday's a holiday here) to schedule the big procedure.

I am moving forward!

NYR 3-27-11 - the cornea evaluation

I had my cornea evaluation and I honestly felt like I was at the Mad Hatter's party. The first test involved a spiral of black and white lines - like a bullseye - with a light in the center. You had to stay focused on the center light while the lines started spiraling. My head was hurting by the end of the first exam.

Then I moved on to the second of the four tests which involved staying focused on this light on a screen (with my head pressed up to the goggle things to see the screen) while the technician did whatever she was doing. I didn't know if I could blink and all I wanted to do was blink. It was like a mind game that I lost.

The third test involved looking at this light (with your head pressed right up to the machine) until a puff of air is shot right into your eye. I jumped every time the air puffed no matter how much I told myself I was ready this time. (The only positive to this test was that the puff had some nice little faint scent that was very pleasant.)

The final test involved the technician smearing this stuff on the bottom eyelid, which immediately made my eyeball feel like it was swollen. The she started poking my eyeball with this computerized rod.

What did any of these exams test?

I HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA.

I got a big stack of beautiful color printouts to take to my ophthalmologist.

I read through the printouts before I delivered them to the doctor today, but they meant NOTHING.

I'm waiting for the doctor to call me back but until then, do I have any idea whether I'm a good candidate for Lasik?

NO.

For knowing that no matter what, I don't have to do those eye tests ever again, I am truly thankful.

NYR 3-15-11 - saying goodbye to contacts forever?

I took the first step in a process for a procedure that I said I'd never ever do. I had my first consultation for Lasik surgery.

GULP.

Ever since that school nurse in the 5th grade made us take an eye exam and I was sent home with a note "to the parents of Susan West" that said I couldn't see, I've had a love/hate relationship with Dr. Price of Summerville ophthalmic notoriety. I've loved him through nearly 30 years (literally 30 years as he's still my ophthalmologist although I think he's getting ready to retire) of helping me see better, but I've hated (okay, strongly disliked) my visits to see him.

My eyesight has been pretty stable for most of my adult years and I've used contacts with little problem for the last 27 years. If I don't have my contacts in or glasses on, I can still see well enough maybe to drive a car although it would be blurry and I'd be a nervous wreck and would probably drive 14 mph the whole time. The whole point is that my eyes aren't that bad and I have a lot to lose in the eyesight department should something go catastrophically wrong in the surgery.

So I never considered Lasik.

Until I met the sister of a friend who came from the US just to have the surgery. She had the procedure done on a Friday and was playing tennis with me on Tuesday. No contacts, no glasses, no red laser-ed up eyes. Just playing tennis on a sunny day.

So I inquired into the procedure here because tons of people have it while they're posted here for a fraction of the cost that you'd pay for the same surgery in the US.

I started imagining myself swimming without worrying about water getting in my eyes or being able to read the alarm clock in the night without squinting. Or having a full-size bottle of contact lens solution that's clearly over the FAA-allowed 3 oz size confiscated from my carry-on bag when I fly. Or so that I don't lose another bottle of contact lens solution, having to remember to put some solution in the contact lens case so that, for instance, on an overnight flight to Brazil, I can take my contacts out while I sleep.

It all sounded like heaven.

So before I lost my nerve, I called the eye doctor's office on Monday afternoon at 5:20pm. I really thought nobody would answer and I might forget to call later. But lo and behold, the ever-competent Martha answered and said they'd had a cancellation for 7:45 the next morning and why didn't I come then?

Well Martha, I can think of a thousand reasons, but I doubt you'll buy any of them so yes, I'll be there at 7:45am.

The doctor's office is in a medical complex a mere 7 (long) blocks from my apartment so I didn't need to leave to walk there until about 7:15 and that gave me more than enough time.

What one should not do at 7am on the day of their consultation when they're leaving in 15 minutes is go to the FDA website on Lasik surgery. After reading about the cornea being cut open and flipped back and tissue being dried off and the calibrated laser zapping the cornea, I was ready to vomit. By the time I walked the 7 blocks, I was seriously nauseous, probably very pale, and was sweating like I'd sprinted there instead of leisurely strolled.

The very nice Martha saw me into the examination room, which looked very much like Dr. Price's examination room (except it is Colombia so there was a vase of fresh flowers). While I was waiting for the doctor to come in, I had time to quickly study his diplomas on the wall. He graduated from Emory University which pleased me and he's a member of the American Academy of Ophthalmologists (or whatever it's called). So he was credible and not some quack trying to get my money.

The doctor is very nice and instills great confidence. I told him I wasn't sure about this at all and he kept telling me that it's "just an option" to consider. No pressure. The exam was fine - I found out I have great eye lubrication (you can't have the surgery if you have dry eyes) and "beautiful" corneas. Based on the initial assessment, he thinks I'd be a good candidate for Lasik should I choose this "option".

I have been wearing my glasses since after the appointment yesterday in preparation for my big cornea evaluation which is tomorrow afternoon. If I pass that evaluation, then I just need to make the appointment.

The surgery is less than 5 minutes per eye, and he assured me the worst that can happen is that I'll still need contacts after it's over. Right. What about if he loses control of the laser and burns a hole in my cornea? Has he given that any thought?

In the last 8 years, this doctor has done Lasik on some 500 US Embassy personnel and countless other people, and he's never had any problems. I hate to be the naysayer, but there's always a first and I don't want to be the first. Haven't you seen the commercials for medicine on tv? It works great for most people, but too bad, so sad if you're the one who dies from the medicine that you were taking for your allergies.

The FDA website says this surgery is NOT for you if you're not a risk-taker. I am so not a risk-taker, but what I wouldn't give to swim in Brazil next month without contacts. Or to sit on the beach and not worry about sand blowing in my contact.

I think I'm going to do it. And I think I'm going to do it two weeks from tomorrow.

GULP. GULP.

For the very idea that I could be contact- and glass-free in time for my 40th birthday, I am truly thankful.