Wednesday, September 25, 2013

Lora gets LASIK

While in college I tried to limit my spending. It was really hard. I supplicated my poor sad self with DI books and dollar menus dreaming of the day I wouldn’t have to glue my phone back together and wear the same pair of contacts for months on end.

What ultimately lifted my spirits was making a list of things I deserved once I got my first real job. The list goes as follows:
  1.  A smart phone: I had a firm believe college kids did not deserve fancy phones with even fancier payments.  
  2. Books: Not just one or two, as many as I wanted whenever I wanted them exactly as I wanted them.
  3. New clothes: One day we will all realize we are better than Charlotte Russe.
  4. England: I was spending years studying about locations I could only dream of seeing. I was getting tired of dreaming and demanded reality.
  5. LASIK: Developing a stigmatism made me a teen movie transformation in reverse. Meaning instead of snapping my glasses in half, straightening my hair and buying new clothes to fit my shiny new exterior; I gained glasses, lost the will to do my hair, and began to wear clothes from my high school years. It was pathetic.

The first few were simple enough. Even the England trip fell right into place. The only tricky part was getting LASIK. Tricky in the sense I’m a pansy and don’t do well with pain. Luckily I had my LASIK experienced sister who painted quite the rosy picture. Between her and the doctor, I was under the impression I merely showed up, looked at a light, and BAM perfect vision.

The day of the surgery I was a tad nervous, but by no means worried. It’s when I had to sign the release that said I wouldn’t sue if they cut off my eye-flap. 

The nurse was conveniently on hand with valium.

Valium = :)

Two minutes after I swallowed my pill, I was staring at a laser with a cap strapped to my head, booties snug on my shoes and a teddy bear firmly clasped in my arms. The doctor then began to walk me through the steps of the surgery in a soothing voice. He told me I would feel a slight pressure and it could become intense. Apparently intense is code for blinding pain.

Poor teddy almost had his head ripped off.

The procedure was over in minutes and I was soon escorted out with a handful of drugs and instructions. The Vicodin was only to be used in extreme cases, so of course I downed that sucker the second I stepped out into the sun.  

It’s a good thing I did, because by the time I got home the numbing drops had worn off and my eyes were ready to explode. The sleeping pill however worked like a gem, but even it couldn’t take the pain away. The result was me stumbling around with sleepy limbs trying to find more drugs. I might as well have been wielding four pool noodles. When I finally made it to the medicine cabinet I just started pouring unknown amounts of advil down my throat. I finally passed out at 6 pm and slept until 7 am.

Big fan of drugs. HUGE.

Let me tell you the worst thing you can do after eye surgery besides pouring salsa in your eyes: going to work. I don’t know what was worse, navigating morning traffic through blurry eyes or starring at a bright computer screen for 8 hours.

Now I realize I’m a weak dramatic little thing. I realized this most when I was talking to my cousin who just had a baby.

Nicole: “They finally got the epidural in on the third try and then I was taken into surgery to have a C-section. The worst thing was all the epidural attempts gave me a spinal headache and I could barely get out of bed all week”

Me: “Uhuh uhuh that stinks, so yeah as I was saying, they put these really scary suction things on my eyes and as the darkness took over, my life started to play out before me…"

As I droned on I can only imagine she was thinking something along the lines of “yeah sure eye surgery, getting a human being cut out of you, same thing."

Now I feel the best way to test out my 20/15 vision is to take it overseas.