Fe fo fi stick a laser in my eye...

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Fe fo fi stick a laser in my eye...

Written by Eric Mathurin

Saturday, 03 June 2006

[sigh] There has to be a better way to do this.

The laser is noisy and will make a burning smell. What they must have left out during the editing of the pre-operative literature is that the smell the laser makes is of burning eyeball.

A few minutes prior to the laser going to work on my eye the surgeon had put in some numbing drops. That was nice. But that was also followed by the sticking of a metal clamp under my eyelids to stop me from blinking.

Must. Resist. Urge to blink.

I couldn't help but be reminded of the book A Clockwork Orange—helpless to stare at the big machine looming over me. That vision abruptly faded as they applied suction to my eye and the room went dark. A few seconds later I could feel and hear a motor moving across my eyeball. That, my fellow droogies, was just a flap being sliced open across my cornea. Obviously, when everything went brighter after that, it was the surgeon lightly lifting that flap of cornea from the rest of my eye. Like an onion being peeled. And the term "laser surgery" sounded so innocent!

Must remember to stare into the blinking red dot...

Where the hell is that blinking red dot?!?

"Please stop moving your eye, sir."

Oh, right.

Then, the next eye. "Some people think the second eye hurts more, but it doesn't. It's just that people know what's coming and somehow it seems worse."

Obviously this is a line that they also didn't feel necessary to put in the literature. Might frighten the children. And the adults.

Still, when both eyes were done, I sat up and looked around, impressed. I could see! They didn't blind me! My precious, precious, sight! Hey, I this isn't too bad—even though everything is hazy.

Back in the darkened lounge, the anaesthetic drops started to wear off. Okay, no problem. Just a bit of pain.

Just a bit of burning pain.

Why, oh, why, did I say I didn't need Gill to be here with me?

As I waited in growing discomfort I had a series of drops administered.

Oh, no, nurse—I don't mind if most of the eyedrops are going all over my face and into my ears—serves me right for barely being able to open my eyes. No, please don't give me a tissue so I can wipe myself dry; I'll just grasp around in the dark until I can find something, like a Kleenex, or another patient's shirt...

Shortly afterwards, another doctor examined my eyes. Or tried to. "Open your eyes, sir."

Um, they are open!

At least, I'm trying to open them. And must you shine such a bright frickin' light into them?!

Afterwards, as I manoeuvered my way down through the quiet corridors of First Canadian Place, I thanked my stars that there are always taxis available outside. I slipped into a cab wearing huge, dark sunglasses, my nose full of snot and tears running down my face, and asked him to take me home. He didn't seem fazed.

He probably just thought I was on cocaine. This is downtown Toronto, after all.

Back at home I started on the regimen of drops: 2 kinds every 4 hours, another kind every 15 minutes, and another set for when I'm going to sleep. Since I wasn't really encouraged to do or look at anything for the first day these little tasks kept me busy.

The other thing that kept me busy was my burning eyes and splitting headache.

But... hey... I can see the time on the microwave from across the room! Woo-hoo!

[drop... drop... drop]

Boy, this is gonna be a long day.

[drop... drop]

Can't wait to go to bed and show off my lovely eye-protectors. Hey, look at me—I'm "The Fly".

[drop]

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