Stomp your glasses, get eye surgery

My eyes went bad early. For most people, it’s the changing shape of our eyes that makes our vision worsen as we age, and mine started changing in elementary school. The correction was slight enough that I could do most things without wearing my glasses. But the older I got the more I had to wear them.

When the doctor prescribed contacts at age 14 I thought I was saved. Glasses at night only. No more straps around my neck on the basketball court. No more four-eyes comments on the playground.

I loved my contacts. I loved them too much. By the time I came to Korea the contacts had sucked out all the moisture in my eyes. Add that to the air quality, particularly during Yellow Dust season, and I abandoned them completely.

So I was back to full-time spectacles. My optometrist brother hooked me up with good, fashionable frames for cheap. They looked good enough, fit right, and I hated them. Wearing glasses distanced me from my environment. They made me feel less engaged somehow, less part of my surroundings -- more of an observer than a participant.

Eye surgery is not a revolutionary idea, I realize. But, for me, a person who has always had a strong aversion to doctors and operations, it meant something that I would willingly pay to have a doctor slice my eyes with lasers.

I have a great Korean friend who is also a doctor. For the initial tests, he took me to a clinic recommended by mutual friends. During the evaluation, the technician put in anesthetic eye drops and pressed against my cornea with a handheld tool. I asked him if he was touching my eye. Then the room got hot. The problem came from what I couldn’t feel; I knew he was touching the surface of my eye but I registered no sensation. My blood pressure dropped. I went pale. Droplets of sweat formed on my brow. I put my head in my hands, focused on my breathing, and fought off a feint.

Glasses, I told myself. It’s either this or endless glasses.

I took a few more breaths, sat up, and told him to finish.

After the tests the doctor told me I had thin corneas and would need Lasek, not the more common Lasik, surgery. Clinics here offer Lasik, but Lasek is also used. Lasek is a variation of Lasik. In Lasek the outer layer of the cornea is cut with a finer blade. Then the surgeon covers the eye with an alcohol solution for around 30 seconds. The solution loosens the edges of the epithelium. After sponging the alcohol solution from the eye, the surgeon uses a tiny hoe to lift the edge of the epithelial flap and gently fold it back out of the way. Then out comes the laser to sculpt the corneal tissue underneath. Afterward, the epithelial flap is placed back on the eye with a kind of spatula.

I made an appointment for a month later. Then I went home and thought it over. I loathe going to doctors, but if I could see without any aid! It would cost 2 million won ($1,900), which was a good amount of money. But considering that I spent hundreds of dollars each year on eye care -- glasses, contacts and contact solution -- the surgery would pay for itself in less than 10 years.

The morning of the surgery I asked myself if I couldn’t handle the simple preliminary tests, how could I make it through the procedure?

Glasses, I told myself. And Xanax. I made sure my friend brought plenty of Xanax.

I went into the clinic and they had me go upstairs. Most of this was in Korean, which I don’t speak, and only the essential parts were translated to me. There was a lot of sitting around confused. Then somehow I found myself staring down a phlebotomist. I do worse with blood than technicians prodding my eyes (feinted at the blood bank in 7^th grade, went pale multiple times in high school biology.) After the translation the Vampire said he needed my blood to make serum for eye drops. It would help my eyes heal faster, he said.

He took out a strap, wrapped it around my arm, and drew out seven vials of blood. At about the sixth vial my blood pressure dropped again.

Glasses. Do you want to wear glasses? Do you?

Now the only thing left was the lasers. Before the surgery my brother had told me Lasek was a good option for my prescription. But he also said it wasn’t a common procedure in America. Patients find it too painful.

I was trying not to think about that when I lay down on the operating table. They kept the room cold. The doctor had a good, calm manner about him. He and his nurses administered anesthetic eye drops, a device to keep my eyes from blinking, and began the procedure. I looked up, down, and at the green light as per the doctor’s orders. In 20 minutes it was over.

I stood up and walked out of the room, smiling with relief, my eyes barely open but I could still see.

We stopped at the pharmacy and then my friend drove me to his house. The protective contacts made my eyes uncomfortable but I had eye drops for that. In fact, I had five bottles of drops, one made from my own blood. They gave me no additional pain medicine.

When I got to my friend’s home I took a pill and fell asleep. I incorrectly thought I’d wake up healing; hours later I sat up moaning, in severe pain. Nothing I had ever put in my eyes, not soap, not sand, not the wrong contact solution -- nothing had ever caused me more optic pain. I sat up and took two Tylenol ERs and put in the anesthetic eye drops. That didn’t dent it. I woke up my friend and like a good doctor he snapped into action, shooting me with a syringe full of painkillers. That did it.

That moment was the worst of it. I was back at work in five days and in a week I had nearly perfect vision. Two weeks later friends tell me my eyes look brighter. They do. And I already forgot where I banished my glasses.