Amateur Eyeball Surgery

As if the fact that there are now practicing lawyers out there who were born after I graduated from high school wasn't enough to make me feel old, I find I have developed a caratact in my left eye.  It has gotten progressively worse, as these things do, and now I find I must Do Something About It.

I am no stranger to eyeball surgery.  About six or seven years ago I decided to jump on the Lasik bandwagon.  My vision was horrible - my left eye, for those who know what this means, was a -11.0, and my right was a -7.5.  My glasses were approximately three inches thick, and my contacts were so thick than I practically had to lift my eyelid up and over them in order to blink.  On the theory that I did not want discount or amateur eyeball surgery, I went with an actual M.D. recommended by several friends, Dr. Richard Carlin. 

I quickly found out that I was Not a Lasik Candidate, as I was closer along the spectrum to "Ray Charles" as opposed to "Long Distance Sniper."  Never one to take no as an answer, I had something called Phakic Intraocular Lens Implants, in which a permanent contact lens is slipped either in front of or behind (I forget which) my natural lens through a slit in the side of my eyeball.  I've linked a clip to a YouTube video of the procedure here, but please don't watch it unless you like really gross but fascinating things. 

A few days before the surgery, I asked the doctor about specifics, including what sort of head restraint they would use.  I was told, "None."  "Seriously?"  I said.  "You just expect me to keep my head still while you take a razor blade to my eyeball?"  In fact, I was, and I did, despite the Clockwork Orange contraptions hooked up to my eyes, mainly as a result of being petrified to even breathe and a phenomenal cocktail of pharmeceuticals.  The results of this surgery were amazing.

But here I am, facing it again.  First, I was asked to watch a video explaining what a cataract was and my different options.  This was a pretty new video, because it described some pretty new techniques, and was obviously made with high definition computer generated animation.  Despite the newfangledness of the look, somehow they resurrected that guy who narrated all the filmstrips in the 1960's to do the talking.  I spent a while pondering why, with all the voice talent in this world, they would choose to reanimate that guy and make him talk.  Then it finally dawned on me.  I was the only one born after Eisenhower was president getting cataract surgery.  This guy's old fashioned voice is probably very soothing to most people watching the video.  And soothing is what you need watching a computer generated cloudy cataracty lens being liquidated by a laser and sucked up by something that looked like the drapes attachment to a vacuum center.  I was then told that the plastic lens to be inserted was folded up “like a taco” and slipped in the slit on the side of my eye, where it would unfold itself, much like a regular soft taco does over my lap every single time I try to eat one.

Then came the measuring.  In theory, and, I hope, in fact, my eyeball was being measured in every way an eyeball can be measured, including but not limited to counting the cells on my retina.  I think I looked into about 8 machines, each of which looked weirder and more science-fictiony than the next.  There were rotating laser lines, odd bursts of green light, seizure-inducing quick flashes of white light, blue dots, and instructions not to blink for upwards of ten minutes.  They all seemed like something and eye doctor would tell you NOT to stare at or do.  Most of these machines looked like something you'd order out of the back of a comic book.  I'm not 100% sure there were that many things to measure in my eyeball, and so I am suspicious that some of those lasers might have been scanning my brain for passwords and my mother's maiden name.  After that was over, I was tested for the amount of tears I produced, which involved numbing my eyeballs and sticking teeny tiny tongue depressers under my eyelids for five minutes while I kept my eyes closed.

Dr. Carlin has taken sharp objects to my eyeballs before with great results, so I'm assuming this time around will be no different.  I have no reason to believe whatsoever that any of those machines planted any subliminal messages whatsoever in my brain.  Brain.  Brawn.  Brawny.  Macho.  Taco.  MMMMmmmmm.  Tacos.  Does anyone want to go to Taco Bell?