On Thursday I had LASIK eye surgery performed on both of my eyes. while the result will be several days, if not weeks, in the making, I am pleased to say that I am already noticing differences.
Being analytical (“You think too much,” says P) I spent the days leading up to my procedure looking at things in my life with and without my glasses. I wanted to have fresh memories of what it was like before so as to make the “after” less subjective and more objective. For example, two days ago I could not read the ingredients of my shampoo bottle in the shower, I could not read entries in the phone book (with or without my glasses) unless I used a magnifying glass. Late in the evening after my eyes had lost the effects of the dilation I discovered that out to about six or eight inches I could read anything. Even the fine print on the prescription bottle. Even the phone book. It was an amazing feeling.
This afternoon I had a followup visit, mostly to ensure that the flap made during the procedure was seated properly and to see if I was doing okay. The doctor assured me that in the coming days and weeks, as the incision healed, my vision would continue to improve.
Here then is my story…
Preparation After arriving at the clinic I was taken into the surgery suite so that pictures of my eyes could be taken. Afterwards drops to dilate my eyes were administered and I was taken to a small examination room. There the assistant reviewed with me the post-operative procedures I was to follow. I realize that she has given this spiel hundreds if not thousands of times, but that didn’t stop me from feeling a bit put off by the rote, almost sing-song manner she used for her delivery. There are two medicated drops I need to put into my eyes four times a day for the first week. One is a steroid to combat swelling, the other a antibiotic to fight infection. She was very deliberate in telling me that I should place one drop in each eye (“drop, drop”) and then wait a minute before repeating with the other drops (“drop, drop”). Doing them too close together might wash the first set out before they had time to be absorbed. We also reviewed the use of artificial tears for the next month to prevent dry eye, and two methods of covering my eyes while I sleep for the next week to prevent accidental rubbing. The final step was to take a Valium.
Consultation Next i met with the surgeon to discuss the procedure and to answer my final question about depth perception. Initially the doctor and I were not on the same wavelength and I was feeling increasingly apprehensive. My fear was that having monovision would destroy my depth perception; I’ve always had excellent eye-hand coordination and losing it scared me. Eventually we reached a common language and he was able to allay my fears. I fully understand that it will take my brain a while to adapt to the new visual cues it receives from eyes with two different focal ranges, and I am willing to accept some short term clumsiness as I adapt. The surgeon himself has mono vision and leads an active sporting life, so I am confident I will regain most of my prior coordination.
Purple Light and Acrid Smoke Going into the surgery suite and laying down was extremely difficult. Even with the Valium I was very anxious at this point. The assistants were ready for my nervousness and gave me a stuffed tiger to old in my hand while we were underway. Drops to anesthetize my eyes were put in and then the doctor taped my right eyelids open. The tape must have been very mild as I wasn’t really aware of it’s going on or coming off later. Then a speculum was used to hold the lids completely apart. A suction device was placed on my eye and he wiped the surface with something before making the flap incision. In the consultation he had warned me that my vision would blank out momentarily when the incision was made. When it returned he lifted the flap and asked me to focus on a red light. I could hear the computerized voice of the laser as it worked through the reshaping of my eye’s surface. “Acquired.” “Twenty-five percent completed.” “Fifty percent completed.” And so forth. And I could see, haloed around the red target light, faint purple flashes as the laser buzzed on and off. Once the “burn was completed (and I could smell the acrid odor of the removed flesh) the doctor removed the suction, speculum, and tape. I was repositioned for the left eye and the process repeated there.
After a minute or two laying down I was able to sit up and walk to the recovery room on my own. The assistant put in the first set of steroid and antibiotic drops there while I reclined in a comfortable chair. After a minute the doctor came in and had me move to a scope where he could look at my eyes. He explained that the procedure had gone flawlessly, and answered my question about what holds the flap in place. Nothing. Just the natural mechanics of the eye, and the surface tension of the tears in the socket.
Nap time After getting a ride home all I did was sleep for nearly four hours. Wearing the goggles to protect my eyes was odd, but the Valium really wiped me out. Putting the drops in my self proved to be difficult at first. Had I to do this over again I would have practiced before hand. Once I got the hang of it I was able to do the “drop drop pause drop drop” dance without getting my cheeks or ears all wet. Thanks to a poorly timed followup call from the clinic (at 9:30 pm) I was awake for a long time last night, and I found wearing the goggles itchy and uncomfortable. This afternoon, during my checkup I mentioned them to the doctor and he suggested I try the cups which are taped on instead. They fit much closer to my face and don’t have a head band to deal with. I’ll try them tonight. It is very strange to move about without glasses on at all. I’ve worn glasses full time since getting out of college, and I wore them most of the time since high school. Not having the world framed by my rims is truly odd. I set aside my last pair, and of course Michele’s last pair, but took the rest we had amassed with me to put in their donation bin today. Hopefully someone who isn’t a candidate for LASIK, or who can’t afford it, will benefit from a pair I no longer need.
Final Thoughts The hardest part now is not rubbing or touching my eyes. When they start to get dry or begin to feel like something is in them, I go apply some artificial tears. I’m sure that being patient while the incision heals and my brain adapts (could be three months) will be a struggle at times. However, the incredible detail I can see now up close is amazing, and as my focal distance returns in the coming days my patience will be rewarded. Driving is doable, but curves seem to sneak up on me. Walking and navigating stairs has not been an issue so far (even with “unbalanced eyes”).
Post script: I can only see to type this by hunching over towards the screen. As that is an uncomfortable position to maintain, much of this posting was done in the part of my focal range that is still fuzzy. Please forgive any typographical errors until I can re-edit this piece with fully healed 20/20s.
Yesterday my LASIK procedure went smoothly and without any complications. The doctor said the surgery went perfectly. There are plenty of things to write about, however, I’m still in the first 24-hour period where the flap hasn’t started to really heal yet. So everything it a bit fuzzy around the edges.
With my left eye covered I am able to read up close things that I couldn’t read before - even with my glasses. And some distances are now coming into focus for my left eye. Together, however, they are still producing an off-focus view of the world. Driving in to work there were lots of halos around street and traffic lights.
All-in-all I am pleased with the whole experience. More tomorrow, when I can see better still.
Last evening I had a call from my mother. She had been to her weekly chemotherapy appointment and wanted to give me an update on her condition. During the course of the appointment her doctor, who by all accounts seems like a caring and concerned individual, and whom my mother clearly trusts implicitly, asked her if she had informed her family about her condition and the fact that it is terminal. That she has isn’t really the point, the point is that he wants to make her aware that time is running out for such things.
In February when the return of her cancer was discovered he indicated she would have perhaps two months to live untreated. Because of the treatments through out the last year her body no longer has the ability to recover from the rigors of a full treatment regimen. She has been able to have some treatments, mostly to provide her with some comfort, however she is on three pain medications now and they are increasing the dosage steadily to keep up with her needs.
We had a good conversation, some laughter, some tears, and a solid connection between mother and son. I must say that I am impressed by her courage and strength facing her own mortality. My plans are to be there again in two weeks but I am giving myself permission to go sooner if I feel I need. I’ve written a letter to her trying to sum up all that she has meant to me, and saying the final things I need to say. Mailing that today will be difficult as it is one more reminder of the awful truth bearing down on me and my family.
Today, in just a few hours, I am having laser keratotomy done to both of my eyes. LASIK, as it is commonly know, uses a low temperature (cool) laser to alter the curvature of your eye’s lens so that images land on the retina properly. In my case I have two situations that need correcting: I am mildly farsighted and I have an astigmatism in each eye. The eye surgeon calls my prescription “interesting.”
A common misconception about farsightedness is that people can see things far away just not close up. Turns out that it means (in my case anyway) that you can’t see close up or far away. Toss in a different astigmatism in each eye and I have great difficulty focusing on anything with out corrective lens. Since I need a different correction for up close computer work than I do for driving or distance work, I have bifocals. In a word, glasses suck. Bifocals suck twice as there are two lens in your way all the time.
So today I go under the knife, er laser, for some corneal adjustments. To quote the surgeon, it’ll take five seconds instead of three, since they are doing two procedures at once. My left eye (the dominate one) will be corrected to 20/20 and have the astigmatism removed. My right eye will have the astigmatism removed and be made slightly nearsighted. This technique is called mono-vision and the idea is that my brain will adapt to using one eye for distance work and the other eye for up close tasks. I’ve known of people who had mono-vision contacts that worked on the same principle; this’ll just be permanent. I have been assured that a very high percentage of people rapidly adjust to mono-vision but, should I prove to be the exception, they can adjust the right eye to 20/0 at no additional charge.
I’m hoping that I can get a DVD of the procedure today, and of course I’ll be cataloging the after effects in the coming days and weeks. Only not for a day or two as I am not supposed to use a computer or read or do anything strenuous with my eyes for 24 hours. Not use a computer for 24 hours? That’s crazy talk.
After my epiphany last evening regarding the root of my seemingly endless supply of anger I cried and cried. I haven’t been crying much lately, in fact, looking back over the past few weeks, I haven’t really been feeling much of anything for a while. It is obvious in the light of a new day that my anger was blocking the rest of my emotions and since I wasn’t expressing my anger truthfully, I wasn’t getting to anything.
The crying wasn’t gut-wrenching or anything, it was just a steady outpouring of pent up emotion. By the end of the evening there was even some laughter mixed in with the tears. A phrase that Michele and I used together throughout our relationship cropped up in a television show I was watching. It was delivered with the same dry whit she displayed. Hearing it made me suddenly feel light and free; it was a reward for having finally expressed my true feelings. In that moment I knew that Michele was letting me know that she understood my anger at her, that she was okay with it, and that she was proud of me for finally getting down to the truth of the matter.
I’m not done with my anger, or grief, or any of the other difficult emotions swirling around me in the wake of her death. But I have taken a huge step forward in processing them and accepting them. Without acceptance these emotions will always haunt me and trip me up. With acceptance their power over me will diminish and fade, and I can go back to being myself.
Recently, in a conversation with Laura, I used the phrase “instead of trying to be with people who look good, we should try to be with people who feel good.” She didn’t let that bon mot go by unnoticed. Thinking back on her comments about it, I realize that one of the cornerstones of my relationship with Michele was how we each felt towards each other, and more importantly, how we felt about ourselves when we were with each other.
I felt good about Michele, and I know she felt good about me. Moreover, I felt good about myself when I was with her, and I know she felt good about herself when she was with me. Too much of the time our society focuses on the surface looks and immediate sex appeal of another person, and builds a relationship on that rather temporal foundation. When the underlying person is finally seen, warts and all, the surface glitter is usually not enough to sustain the relationship. Because Michele and I met online and spent months on the phone before physically meeting for the first time, we were able to fold into our physical impressions of each other our already established emotional take on each other. Knowing the person on the inside only made the person on the outside more appealing.
The moral (or as Eddie Izzard would have it, marble) of the story? Follow what makes you feel good over that which only looks good.
One of the greatest gifts Michele gave me was the understanding that anger was okay. Growing up I had the idea that anger was something to be feared and avoided. As a young adult I was fearful of losing my temper, in a sense I thought that I would be hurt if I lost my temper, and worse, that the people around me would be hurt.
Michele showed me the err of my thinking. She literally provoked me in order to get me to lose my temper. She didn’t wilt or go away in the aftermath, she wasn’t hurt, and she didn’t stop loving me. In the months that have passed since her death I am sorry to say that I have been avoiding some of my anger. Oh sure, I blow up and lose my temper but I haven’t gotten under it to the root cause and expressed that anger.
This afternoon the walls I’ve erected around my anger came tumbling down. I wrote a powerful (in terms of release) posting and came to the realization that I was angry at Michele. Finally expressing that anger in a real, concrete way was incredibly cathartic. I know that having discovered the root of my anger is only the first step; a powerful first step to be sure, but only a beginning. Breaking through and allowing myself to express to her (as much as is possible) was a good start. Now I need to carry on and express all my emotions. Michele wouldn’t have it any other way.
One of the greatest gifts Michele gave me was the understanding that anger was okay. Growing up I had the idea that anger was something to be feared and avoided. As a young adult I was fearful of losing my temper, in a sense I thought that I would be hurt if I lost my temper, and worse, that the people around me would be hurt.
Michele showed me the err of my thinking. She literally provoked me in order to get me to lose my temper. She didn’t wilt or go away in the aftermath, she wasn’t hurt, and she didn’t stop loving me. In the months that have passed since her death I am sorry to say that I have been avoiding some of my anger. Oh sure, I blow up and lose my temper but I haven’t gotten under it to the root cause and expressed that anger.
This afternoon the walls I’ve erected around my anger came tumbling down. I wrote a powerful (in terms of release) posting and came to the realization that I was angry at Michele. Finally expressing that anger in a real, concrete way was incredibly cathartic. I know that having discovered the root of my anger is only the first step; a powerful first step to be sure, but only a beginning. Breaking through and allowing myself to express to her (as much as is possible) was a good start. Now I need to carry on and express all my emotions. Michele wouldn’t have it any other way.
Dead Run is the third installment of the mother-daughter writing team known P. J. Tracy, and it is an excellent page turner. The characters first introduced in Monkeewrench and further developed in Live Bait are back an in deeper trouble than ever.
Rating: Don’t start it the night before you need to be up early.
Michele I am so pissed off at you it isn’t even funny. You stole my future, you stole my dreams of a life together with you, you stole everything that I had to live for. And you left me holding the bag. I’m out here in the cold, alone, lonesome, miserable, with no reason to continue. I simply exist now.
Fuck you for taking away everything. Fuck you for not having the courage to fight through your demons. I stood by you every single day of our relationship. I walked through fire for you again and again and again. Better than anyone else I know what you faced down and what you overcame to get this far. And better than anyone else I know the demons that still haunted you and plagued your life. In the end I respected your wishes and didn’t force a medical solution on you. Your fear of doctors and of cancer were more than you could bear, so I understand the exit you chose for yourself. That doesn’t change the misery it has left me with however.
Every day now I lose my temper and rage uncontrollable. Every day now I hurt in side to where it feels like I’ve been kicked by a mule. Every day now I have to grit my teeth and find a way to get through the next minute or hour. Just so I can repeat the process and do it again. My mother is dying. Her white blood cell count is so low that she can’t withstand the treatments necessary to prolong her life. The doctor told her two months. That was a month ago. My father is talking about funeral plans. You abandoned me to face all of this by myself. I am so mad at you for this. I haven’t let all my anger at you out because I was protecting you. You called it when ever you said I was protecting someone at my own expense. Well, I’ve been protecting you from me at my own expense and it is eating me alive.
Sure I’ve been going to group, three times a month. They are pathetic. Mopey and whimpering and wondering what the fuck the death of their loved one means. Group isn’t giving me the outlet I need. I need to sit across from you with your feet in my lap and rage and talk and cry and explain and come to understand what all of this means. Only I can’t do that can I? You’re not here any more. You left me. I know you’ll understand when I say, I hate you.
And I love you.
And I miss you.
And I am broken inside.
And I am so mad at you.
And I miss you.
And I can’t make sense of this any more.
And I love you.