I finally broke up with my fifth sight companion.
Many preferred the thin and rounder frame, but I opted for this classic full, black rectangular rimmed glasses with a layer of blue-light protection. It helped me go through my newly gained astigmatism while continuing guiding through the blurry vision.
Soon, it met the same fate as my previous specs. The trial of time proved that the glasses had lost the bluish tint, and I still could see the blinding car lights’ glares. The rubbery pads had become loose after years of sitting on top of my nose, and one of the metallic arms was slightly off. If I were to get another pair, the cycle would return.
“You should do LASIK,” my father said, for the third time this year. “So you don’t need glasses anymore.”
“The glasses make your eyes smaller,” my mother added. “I want my beautiful, big-eyed baby back.”
My mother’s gadfly fuss and obsession with my physical appearance was nothing new. As much as glasses could make one look mature and wise, they still could not escape the stereotypical association with nerds and ugly ducklings. I knew a few friends who found people with glasses charming, and glasses had become a fashion statement.
Sometimes, my mother made some good points. Years of wearing glasses had flattened my nose bridge, and I could spot visible red marks on the sides of my nose.
“Fine,” I said. “I will have LASIK.”
This was how I ended up in an optical clinic, prepared to adjust my eyes to its original state.
A plump nurse was waiting for me in the changing room. She instructed me to change my outfit into a set of mint green polyester clothes and a matching sky-blue gauze surgical cap. I struggled with the loose pants that might fall off soon. My stubborn hair refused to be tucked into the cap as she would not allow me to wear my hair band.
Although the nurse had left me alone to change, I still feel a lack of privacy. This narrow corridor had two doors on each end of the room. I had to shove my belongings and clothes in a storage locker with no key and number, hoping that no one would take away my clothes. After giving an ultimate check on my attire and the locker, it was time for me to walk out in my new attire.
Everything in the operating room was pure white, except for the staff wearing their blue polyester scrubs and patients in green. The plump nurse took me to a partitioned room, where she would cleanse and numb my eyes for the surgery.
“How old have you started wearing glasses?” She asked.
“Eight.”
“Quite young.”
People of my age wore glasses when they were in primary school. I have never encountered someone who picked up glasses when they reached adolescence. If it was the case, they would put contact lenses instead.
“I’ll start with washing your eyes.” she jiggled a tiny bottle. “It would sting for a moment.”
I did not believe her. Washing my eyes could not be as painful as dilating my pupils, could it? I already suffered from the dilating drops from the Monday pre-op checkup. If it was to wash off the dirt in my eyeballs, it should be as relaxing as a facial spa.
The nurse added a drop of the solution into my right eye. As soon as the liquid hit my cornea, I closed my eyes to let it moisturise fully. Seconds later, a stinging sensation pricked my eye. I tried to open my eyes, but the light forced my eyelids to shut.
She was right. I felt the stinging sensation.
I could not open my eyes, but the nurse was a patient woman. She dabbed the excessive liquid off the corner of my eyes, lines, and lashes when I cracked my eyes open. If she were not working in an optical clinic, she would do well as a MUA. Once my eyes were free from any trace of dust, she applied the antibiotic and anaesthetic solution to my eyes.
The nurse took me to an eye examination device where I would meet Dr. Lee, my surgeon, for the first time. Soon, a short-haired woman sat in front of me. I could not tell how she looked, but my instinct told me she would be someone who would perform everything in order.
“Jenny, right?” she had the middle-aged woman’s voice. “Look straight so I can view your eyes.”
She adjusted the beam’s brightness to perform a final examination on my eyes. The invasion of the bright light during the pre-op examination was a rose thorn that penetrated my pupils. This time my eyeballs were numbed the light was just a fallen leaf’s tender touch.
“Your eyes are great,” despite the blurriness, I could tell she was smiling. “Focus on the green light inside the white circle and don’t move your eyes around.”
Dr. Lee guided me to the operation room with heavy equipment and two long, leathery surgical beds. I crawled into the activated bed with a device arching above my head. As Doctor Lee described, there was a white circular light ring with a neon green light flashing in the middle. Her assistants enveloped a layer of plastic over my body, except my eyes, which were fully exposed to the air.
“Are you feeling tense?” Dr. Lee asked.
How could I not? My hands found their way to the metal railing on the sides of the bed, locked firmly. My back was damp and hot, and the calm sides of my head were knocking in sync with my heartbeat.
“Do you want someone to hold your hand?”
I nodded. My right hand met a warm and tight grasp, reliving a portion of my jittery nerves. The show must go on. My right eye was already stretched wide and exposed to the light, and my left eye concealed behind an opaque cover.
“Now we will start the procedure.”
Dr. Lee moved a circular instrument to the top of my eyes. The world turned pitch black until the colours returned while Dr. Lee was flipping my cornea with a hook. The pointy needle at the end of the metallic tool was teasing around, ready to poke at the fragile epidermis soon. I imagined the pain would be akin to a sharp paper cut tear, but my sensory nerves did not respond to the movement of my cornea.
“You’re doing great, Jenny,” Dr. Lee placed another machine above my head. “Just continue to focus on the middle of the ring.”
Flashes of neon lasers raved on my pupils. My reflexes urged me to either close my lids or avert my gaze, but those were not the options. Voiceless moans escaped from my ‘o’ shaped lips, and my body petrified from the shock. An odd burnt odour hit my nose, the similar repulsive smell of the burning plastic. The pressure on my palm had become firmer and warmer. No matter how much Dr. Lee gave me the ‘good’s and ‘great’s, the stress signal had reached my temples, knocking hard.
Soon, the lasers died down and the white light of the room returned. After Dr. Lee adjusted my corneal layer back to its original place, I could rest my eyes once the pressure on my eyelids was gone.
“Right eye done,” Dr. Lee announced. “Moving on to the left eye.”
The psychedelic experience returned with more neon lights rave and burning stench. My body almost had an involuntary jerk from the stress and discomfort. If it was not Dr. Lee reminding me to stay still, my left eye would spiral into an unimaginable critical condition.
The struggle ended with the plastic sheets and eye cover withdrawn from my body. A forceful grip guided me to get to my feet and took me back to the examination device. Dr. Lee gave a fast examination of my eyes, making sure there was nothing wrong with the procedure.
“I’ll see you tomorrow for the checkup,” Dr. Lee said. “Get some sleep so your eyes can heal.”
I gave her a perfunctory nod and marched towards the changing corridor. My body felt like a pre-programmed bot, with my limbs moving stiffly. Swish, swish. My hands removed the mint surgery outfit and emptied the locker; my legs dashed out of the clinic towards the car park where my father was waiting in his black BNW.
“How’s the procedure?” he asked.
“It went well,” Closing my eyes, I arched back to the leather seat. “I just want to go home.”
Friday’s after-work traffic made the journey back home as long as travelling to KL. The stinging sensation on my temple was desperate to escape my skull, and I could feel hot liquid rushing up to my throat. If I moved my eyeballs a little, I could feel the sensation of broken plastic chips grazing on the surface.
The post-op was nothing, they said. You won’t feel a thing, they said.
The fogginess of the sight had affected my mind, then it indirectly disturbed my other senses. I could not taste the grilled salmon, and the animated show on the TV was just buzzing non-stop. The only solace I found was my room’s stilled and dark ambiance. I fell into the bed’s embrace, letting the plastic eye shield protecting me for the night.
I just wanted to sleep; I just wanted to let the pain go away.
The bright sunlight from the window woke me from my deep slumber. Removing the eye shield, I found the bold ‘The History of the World’ sitting in between ‘It’s All Greek to Me’ and ‘Poetics’.
Hmmph...these used to be blurred like censored subtitles.
I dragged myself to the bathroom, ready to clean my face for today’s checkup. In the mirror, I found a young woman with pale skin and a stroke of pink across her cheek. She also had hooded lids that made her eyes look uneven.
So this is how I looked like...
What nonsense. I knew what I looked like without specs. This time, I could see my features in HD mode. There was no need for me to go an inch nearer to the mirror to find whether I had dirt resting on my eyelashes.
I had washed myself and changed into fresh clothes. Yet, there was something missing. I placed my finger on my nose bridge, but I could only sense the hard bony structure instead of the cold metal.
Oh right, I did not need specs to see anymore.
It felt so right, yet so wrong. I never knew the lack of glasses could be the same as going commando in public. My vulnerable eyes were not ready to be exposed under the judgmental gaze of others.
I soon spotted a pair of ray-bans lying on my dressing table. A gorgeous babe belonged to my father, which he had lent out temporarily. Placing them over my eyes, the old sense of comfort returned. My eyes may be concealed behind those dark lenses, but it was much better than showing my bare eyes at this moment.
This began a new round of dependency on a new pair of glasses.
This marks my one month of post-LASIK procedure. I can see my surroundings better, but driving at night is still a problem (which is normal as astigmatism needs a longer period to adjust itself). On Monday I will have another check up session, which I hope everything will be fine.
Completed by 13th Nov 2021