The Actual Procedure – Surgery Day pt. 3

“Try not to move”, the doctor says as I’m rolled underneath a large laser producing machine. “Try to relax and don’t move”, I heard the doctor’s voice say as surgical instruments were strapped to my head.

Here’s the setting:
I’m at the TLC Laser Vision Correction Center. I had a Valium maybe 30 – 40 minutes ago and yet somehow my nerves are racing more than I remember them ever doing in the past. The room I’m in is sterile and mostly occupied by two large and odd looking machines; there is also a large viewing window so that friends and/or family can watch as the procedure is being performed. I can’t really see any of this though as my glasses have been taken from me and multiple drops of different liquid prescriptions have been placed into my eyes. There are blue booties over my shoes and similar covering over my head. Large wads of cotton are taped over my ears and I’m lying on my back squeezing a stuffed toy version of ‘Goofy’. My eyelids have just been lifted up and taped to my forehead so that I cannot blink. My laser vision corrective surgery is about to begin.

“Just keep looking straight ahead”, a voice says. Thankfully some of the drops that were put in my eyes were numbing drops as a device made to hold my eyeball completely still is placed directly onto my eye. I don’t really feel it, but it does give me extreme tunnel vision. The crazy part comes next, I hear the doctor say “Suction”, and the device actually sucks up my eyeball. Again, there isn’t any real pain at this point, but the sensation and accompanying vision loss is at little discomforting. On a side note, for days after the surgery I had red circular blood rings around both of my eyes as a result of this device. Too bad I didn’t have this operation around Halloween.

The next crazy part is when the laser actually starts up. All that can be seen is a blinding flash of light, almost strobe-like as it continuously fires in rapid succession. A loud ‘zap, zap, zap, zap, zap’ fills the room. “You are doing fine, the first part is almost over”, says a soothing female voice. Then the light and noise fade and I’m pulled out from underneath the first laser. Here the doctor jabs a needle-like hook into my eye to lift up the corneal flap. Apparently I didn’t get enough numbing drops in that eye because I felt the prick of the needle and kicked my leg real hard as a reflex as well as yelled, “Owe!” Mere seconds later a nurse was above me putting more numbing drops into each of my eyes and then I was maneuvered under the second laser.

This is where the real fun begins. The laser fires up again with its ‘zap, zap, zap, zap’ and blindingly bright light. Every ounce of my being wanted nothing more than to close my eyes and assume the fetal position. And just as I think things can’t get any worse, what’s that… ‘What is that foul smell?’ I think as the laser continues to zap my eyeball. The realization hits me. That awful smell is my own burning eyeball! Then things get just a little worse still. As the nurses are continually lubricating my eyes with some sort of liquid, simple saline I assume, a lot of it runs down my throat and I begin to taste something kind of like burnt marshmallows. You heard right, burning eyeball tastes remarkably like a marshmallow.

Because of the “slight discomfort” that I’m experiencing, I twist, pull, and tug on Goofy so much that by the end of the surgery the poor stuffed toy is hardly recognizable. The rest of the surgery goes as expected. To my surprise, my heart does not jump out of my chest despite how rapidly it is beating. If not for the first needle in my eye, the procedure wouldn’t have really hurt at all. It was very nerve wrecking mind you, and the bad smell and taste didn’t help, but it really wasn’t that bad of an experience overall. Okay, so actually the feeling was, what I hope is, the closest thing to actual torture I’ll ever experience.

But after about three minutes everything is over. Laser vision correction is surprisingly fast and I was under the lasers for less than five minutes in total.

As soon as the procedure is over, the doctor says you did great and the nurses help sit you up. Then they walk you over to the exit and the last thing they say is, “What time is it?” Looking at the clock on the wall I answer, “3:15”. To my astounding amazement, I actually just read the wall clock from across the room. Success!

Honestly, my vision directly after the surgery was kind of like looking through skim milk. Everything was very blurry and milky, but surprisingly vastly improved to the point that I didn’t need my glasses to tell time any more.