...the eyes have it

I'm trying to justify such an extravagence as lasic. I was suffering pretty terribly. I was legally blind and rapidly becoming sensitized to the lenses. At night, my eyes were so tired they ached too much for sleeping. Soon, I would be in line for a new pair of glasses, which would cause the glass commodity market to spark out of control. For the good of the economy, I needed lasic.

So I did it! In the first hour, I found light of any kind to be an irritant and the eye-drops tasted bitter. (Trust me, the eyeball’s connected to the tastebud, and the tastebud’s connected to the…) Other than these minor issues, I’ve had no other side-effects, no pain, no burning, and no extra tears.

If it weren’t for my trusty drug reaction, I would have nothing to write about. I don’t remember much of that first night due to drugs. It happens every time. I warned the doctor that it would be better for everyone if I didn’t have the “relaxant.” I do “tense” so much better. The nurse reassured that five milligram tablets weren’t really anything to worry about.

At least that’s what I think she said, by that time I was snoring softly into my chest. She asked the husband to tilt the chair back, hoping to stop the mouth gape and drool. I vaguely remember meandering my way, with a double escort, to the operating table where I laid[1] down with relief, but when they said skooch up to the top, I started giggling.

I was pudding by that time and if they had told me to slosh on up, I might have attempted it. They tape your eyes open and the little machine sucks the eyeball up, which was a good thing because I couldn’t have managed that on my own. My memories end with me staring blankly at the blinking red light.

I slept like a baby from the office to the house; and I don’t recall how I made it in from the car. After about four hours of lying peacefully in a “lovely repose with hands crossed over the chest pose” (and obviously looking more at ease than the husband thought I deserved), I was forcibly awakened.

If I didn’t have to face people again, all would be well. It’s that drunk-at-the-company-party/morning-after that is mortifying. The next day, doctor and nurse were both very circumspect and only casually noted that I had been quite relaxed. The nurse remarked that it’s nice that I’m petite… Me? [2] …that they may replace the swivel stool in post-op with an armchair and that when they replace the chin-holder on the eye scope, they may try to reinforce it.

I remember now why I don’t have drugs during childbirth. It’s because of my big mouth. I have no discretion under the influence. The husband said that just as I was leaving, I announced to all-and-sundry that the reason the husband didn’t have this kind of reaction to medication was “due to his extensive history with drugs.”

Reality Bite: Please shoot me! Or just shoot me up again, so I don’t remember.

[1] Grammatically correct here as referring to an inanimate object, except my editor says that in all actuality, if I were talking about an inanimate object, I should use a passive voice, not active—“I was laid down”. Whatever.

[2] I’m weightier than I look. That’s what the ski patrol said when he piggy-backed me to the bottom. Oops, another story for another time.

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