Friday, May 19, 2006


Leave it to me to be in the tiny percentage of people who have problems with their LASIK. Maybe this is some sort of karma for my relatively spotless medical history, which features only one cavity (at age 27), no broken bones, and no chicken pox. If this is my biggest problem, as my Jewish-when-it-suits-her-to-do-a-fake-Yiddish-accent mother would say, I should be so lucky.

And it wasn't even a big problem. I'd been told I might have to go back in and have something like this done, I just didn't think it would be for this reason. But it's all the same procedure, and it's all covered by the initial fee, which is helpful in remaining zen about it.

I promised the squeamish I wouldn't describe how the surgery is done (and whatever you do, don't do a Google image search for "microkeratome," even after you've had LASIK - some things are better left unknown), which makes this sort of hard to explain, but it suffices to say that my right cornea wasn't healing quite the way it should have. My vision was improving (a combination of actual improvement and me getting used to it and beginning to compensate), and my doctor said it should eventually get all better on its own, but I'm an impatient person by nature, and my crazy summer job - which involves a fair amount of driving (I haven't been behind the wheel since last summer, and before then for five years, so our definitions of "a fair amount" may differ) - starts in three weeks, so when he offered a quick-but-inconvenient solution I was all over it.

So today I went back to the hospital to have my cornea...for lack of a better word that won't induce squeams, let's say "adjusted." Since I was such a brave little soldier last time, I was expecting to be able to tell you that this was a quick and simple procedure, as it involved no blade and no laser. It also, sadly, involved no valium, which might be why it was, in fact, horrible. Whatever the reason, I freaked out and was completely miserable until it was over and I was released from what I've come to think of as the Rambaldi Chair. I now have a contact lens – something I've never worn before – on my right eye acting as a sort of a bandage. It's wicked uncomfortable and making it impossible to tell if anything's better or not. And to sleep. Tomorrow I'll go to the doctor again to get that taken out, and we'll see where we are (no pun intended). I trust my doctor implicitly and I remain generally upbeat that everything will be fine (even with the problems I've had this week I could see better than I could before the surgery), but at this moment I'm cranky and stressed.

I decided not to let this detour ruin my plans, so I walked from the hospital to the opening of the new Apple Store, where I waited on line for an hour, saw Steve Jobs from 100 feet away, got a free t-shirt and did not win a laptop. (This terse description sounds cranky; in fact it may have been the high point of my day. I'll post pictures later.)

Then I returned home to find an infuriating (literally, I'm furious about it) letter from our building's management company about noise complaints from our crazy neighbors downstairs, who seem to think that we should somehow be able to levitate around the apartment so they can't hear us walking from room to room and occasionally pulling out chairs to sit in. This while our upstairs neighbors apparently have subwoofers on the floor, facing down, because they believe we enjoy hearing the low end of every CD they listen to or TV show they watch. Seriously, people, it's time for you to get a house. In the country.

Updates on all of these events tomorrow. Unless of course my eye falls out.

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