Nothing sharpens sight like envy
~ Thomas Fuller
I finally did it. I went under the knife.
No, not plastic surgery. I'm on the Aging Gracefully, Damnit plan.
The LASIK "knife." Or rather, the LASIK laser. Try saying that fast six times.
The whole thing went down rather quickly. Phone call on a Thursday. Consultation on the following Tuesday. Procedure on that Friday. Good Friday, actually.
BAM! 20/20 Vision. Right out of the box. First time ever in my entire life. Fantastic.
Opening my eyes for the first time afterwards, with all the ointments and drops and goo in them. I read the time on my alarm clock clearly. From all the way across the room. Without squinting. Crazy.
I'm not free of the glasses, though. That pesky thing known as presbyopia has sent me to hunt down those ubiquitous reader glasses so frequently seen perched on the noses of Women of a Certain Age. I love what Wikipedia has to say about it:
Presbyopia (Greek word "presbyteros" (πρεσβύτερος), meaning "elder") is the eye's diminished ability to focus that occurs with aging. The most widely held theory is that it arises from the loss of elasticity of the crystalline lens, although changes in the lens's curvature from continual growth and loss of power of the ciliary muscles (the muscles that bend and straighten the lens) have also been postulated as its cause.
Presbyopia is not a disease as such, but a condition that affects everyone at a certain age.
Blah blah blah. The fact that it comes from the Greek word that means "elder" is enough definition for me. I used to think of it as when your arms finally weren't long enough to let you read clearly. Now I know better.
I rather like having to wear the reader glasses. I've found some really groovy looking pairs, which help the cool factor. And I am wating for an opportunity to do the dramatic Glasses Gesture, when I whip them off my face, wave them about with empassioned emphasis and cast a steely glare. I tried that once pre-LASIK. Didn't really work, since I was blind as a bat without the glasses and the drama of the moment was lost in a squinting, nearsighted haze.
When I tell people that I had this done, the invariable questions follow: "What was it like?" "Did it hurt?" "Are you happy with the results?"
I think that there's still a squeemish factor involved with someone messing with your eyeballs. Ergo all the questions. To the what was it like question, I say that it was really kinda trippy, with lots of lights and fades and funky sounds. And Valium. My little helper. And that for a couple of days afterwards, I looked rather like Hilary Swank in Million Dollar Baby.
Why did I do this? I did it for a couple of reasons -- to be able to see clearly without the hastle of glasses. And because I was sick and tired of having to see those specs on my face All. The. Time. Vanity, thy name is my own. And yeah, I'm really happy with the results. It was an adjustment at first, seeing everything so sharp and precise. I was alarmed at the dust and such that I noticed around my house. And the first time I looked at myself in the mirror was a bit of a shock, as I immediately noticed all the imperfections that had been gauzed over by my weakened eyes. But as I got used to what I was looking at, I decided that it wasn't all that bad. It's me. Plain and simple. Flaws and goofs and all. The visage of a life lived.
Although now I don't leave the house without at least some tinted moisturizer, a swipe of mascara and some lip gloss. You never know who you might see. Or who might see you. Including yourself.
I loathe narcissism, but I approve of vanity.
~ Diana Vreeland