It's all looking good

After a week of wearing my specs and no eye make-up, I was ready for my laser eye surgery. I went for my pre-surgery appointment and the optometrist's assistant failed to capture the depth of my cornea. "You've got really big pupils. It makes things difficult." We might have to reschedule your surgery.

"I've already rescheduled it and I've taken a week off work to fit around the op and the subsequent check-ups."

"Well, if you go half an hour earlier for your appointment on Saturday, they can run the tests again."

"Good."

Saturday rolled around and my mum picked me up to take me through to Glasgow. My appointment was at 11am, but we got there at 09:15am. "Don't worry, we'll just take you just now." "Oh. Scary."

They ran the tests and everything was fine. I was shown into a waiting area. There was a comedy door. I say 'comedy' because it was like something from a James Bond film. It had a few signs on it saying: 'Danger. Laser surgery in operation.' 'Lasers beyond this point.' 'Flashing light indicates lasers in action.' And there was a flashing light. Absolutely hilarious. Instead of making me feel like I was going for some hi-tech op, it made me think of people running around with light sabers.

A camp guy in scrubs came to get me and took me through the comedy door. I met with the surgeon who gave the impression of being very competent. That made me feel better. The camp guy then took me through another door and told me to take a seat. It wasn't so much a room as the space between 2 doors. He ran through the instructions for taking me eye drops and anaesthetised my eyes. He told me to remove my jacket and scarf and said he'd take all these through to my mum, "except the scarf. I might steal the scarf. It's really pretty." I had to wear a stupid surgical cap and was taken through the other door to the operating 'theatre'.

It was kind of like a dentist's surgery. There were four people in the room with me: the surgeon (handy), the camp guy (a reassuring presence by this point, if only because it meant he wasn't trying on my scarf), a woman in scrubs (later deduced she was 'suction nurse') and another guy in scrubs who asked me my name and date of birth (let's call him 'question guy').

Camp guy asked me to get into the chair and put my head in the middle of the head rest. I duly obliged. The surgeon asked me to slide up a bit until I could see the flashing orange light. Done. This is what happened next:

He put some kind of clip device on to keep my right eye open. He put lots of drops in it. He put a metal looking thing in front of my eye and took it away again. He put a suction cup on my eye and asked 'suction nurse' for 'suction'. She did and said: "suction progressing well". I lost my vision for about five seconds. It came back. The surgeon said: "don't move" and my eye started going mental (this was because I knew the next part would be the slicer creating the corneal flap). This was over in milliseconds. The surgeon pulled the flap back and told me to keep watching the orange flashing light. A clicking sound started to go off (it was a bit like firing a toy gun) and I could smell my cornea burning. The surgeon then put the flap back down and kept putting drops in my eyes.

Then they did the same with the left eye. It was all over in 15 minutes. Camp guy asked me to sit up and took my hand. I could see. It was amazing! He took me through to the space between the doors and gave me my back of drops and my sexy night-time goggles. He took me through to see the surgeon again. The surgeon checked my eyes and said it was all "extremely successful". Good. A new person in scrubs came to collect me and walked/paraded me through the shop floor (look everyone, another successful laser eye patient, give us yer money). We got to the door leading into the waiting room where my mum was, but instead of going through it, she led me to another door about two metres along the same wall. We walked through this door. It was the comedy door, which I now knew to be utterly pointless and gimmicky. It leads to exactly the same places as the ordinary door. What a joke!

My mum told me that she'd been really worried about me. "Why? I was only away for about 15 minutes." "Well, the guy who came to get you in the first place came back out and spoke to the receptionist. Then he came over and asked if I was your mum. I said I was and he said 'don't worry. She's going to be fine.' I suddenly started wondering what had happened and why you wouldn't be fine. Then he went away and came back with your bag, jacket and scarf. I felt like I was being handed your possessions and that's all that was left of you. I thought you'd been completely lasered."

We got to the car and I got in and pulled down the visor so I could look at myself in the mirror. I gasped and said: "I'm beautiful!" My mum almost choked on her water. "What are you like lady!" My eyes were starting to get quite sore and it was difficult to keep them open so I dropped the seat flat, put on my shades and tied my scarf over the top of them. Every so often, I would come out with some nonsense like "I'm melting" (in the style of the wicked witch from The Wizard of Oz) or, when we stopped at traffic lights I would slowly sit up like Dracula in his coffin and turn to the other cars (with the specs and scarf combo). I never run out of ways to amuse myself.

When I got home, I put my drops in, popped some pills, slapped the goggles on and went for a nice long snooze.

Two days later I went for my post-op. My vision is better than 20/20 apparently (which I think, technically, means I can see your soul). My eyes definitely aren't as dry, sore and tired as they were with the contact lenses, so it's all looking good.

Mince pies update

So I realised that I would have to change the date of my laser eye surgery after all. Apparently, you're not supposed to do any excercise for a week after it and running is a big no-no. "You could dislodge the corneal flap". "Yeah, I probably don't want to be doing that, let's just reschedule."

After all my hard work with 'the running', there was no way I was going to cancel my 10K. So now the 10K is on the 5th October and the laser eye surgery is on the 11th and I have about 3 weeks off work (incidentally, the magazine should be going to the printers next week - finally) and everything is grand. Except that I have stress excema on my eyelids and am wearing sudocrem for eyeshadow. Good look!

As I was paying for my eye surgery, the woman asked where I worked. I told her and she said: "You're entitled to a discount." I thought, "discounts are good, maybe I'll be £50 better off".

More like £500!!!

How fantastic is that news? I'm elated.

Mince pies

In my week off, I also managed to get to the optician's for my laser eye surgery appointment. I know loads of people who have been getting this done, including my 70-year old Grandad. I met him on George Street after he'd been in for a check-up and he was walking along the street wearing black-out RayBans. My Grandad has a full head of shiny white hair so he looked a bit like a reversed-out Ray Charles.

Anyway, I figure if my septuagenarian grandfather can do it, so can I. What I was forgetting was that he is minted (mostly because he does the rounds of the pensioners' lunch and dinners and doesn't really spend much money). I however, will have to forgo a lot of cocktails and unnecessary purchases in order to fund mine. Apparently, because I have such enormous pupils I don't qualify for the standard (reasonably priced) treatment. "Yeah, but you just said you put drops in my eyes to purposefully dilate my pupils." "Ha ha. You're funny." Hmmm, I wonder how many people have 'enormous pupils' and 'don't qualify' for the standard treatment.

The optician was manic and seemed to have received some kind of training in order to try to hypnotise me with her eyes, her smile and her quasi-American voice. She kept telling me that the advanced (expensive) treatment was approved by NASA and all the astronauts were having it. "Oh, I'm not an astronaut," I said, "I know I left the occupation field blank but that was just because I don't think you need to know what I do for a living." "Ha ha. You're funny." Also, it's annoying that they give you a price per eye. "So that'll be £1000 per eye." "Actually, I think I'll just get one done." "You just want to do one eye?" "Yeah, I was thinking the left one, and I can wear a patch over the right one. Patches are totally in this season." "Ha ha. You're funny." Honestly, it felt like I was being sold a time-share.

I told them I'd think about it. I want to explore why I don't qualify for the standard treatment. I mean, I'd much rather have the cool astronaut treatment for my enormous pupils (and probably will), but I hate bullshit and I'd like to know if that's what I was getting today.

After the eyes, I'm going to get my teeth whitened, then the botox. I'm toying with the idea of trying to build myself into a bionic woman/Robocop. You know, just for a laugh.