Taking a little break from my tale. A short rest before we embark again. I had corrective eye surgery a few days ago. Being what I am, I was understandably nervous approaching the procedure.
I thought it would be appropriate to document the occasion as well as the process of my transformation from blindness to sight.
They said it would be fine. You know…in the brochure?
It’s amazing what we can convince ourselves of.
You hear all the stories, all the praise, all the ‘it’s the best thing I’ve ever done!’
You nod. No glasses? Why not? 30 minutes and you’re in and out like nothin’.
The minute you *actually* set foot in that room your whole world has gone topsy turvy. It’s like a trainwreck you can’t get away from. At once horrifying and utterly mundane.
All the reassurance in the world doesn’t amount to shit when you’re the one lying under that battery of lights, and the doctor’s assistant is channeling NASA mission control as he counts down to blast off.
And then they do blast off. And the world falls away, and all you can see is a fractal cone of green light as the world’s most expensive laser pointer melts the surface of your fucking eye.
You hold.
So.
Still.
Except for your foot, that one leg that still *ticks* convulsively because deep down that reptile brain of yours knows what’s going on. It’s not tricked by your silly rationalizations. It *gets it* the same way it knows you’re not supposed to stand in front of a bus. And it’s saying oh FUCK but you stay calm and you talk yourself through it it’ll be okay, I promise it’ll be juuuuust fine.
No need to panic.
They said it would be fine.
In the brochure. Taking a little break from my tale. A short rest before we embark again. I had corrective eye surgery a few days ago. Being what I am, I was understandably nervous approaching the procedure.
I thought it would be appropriate to document the occasion as well as the process of my transformation from blindness to sight.
They said it would be fine. You know…in the brochure?
It’s amazing what we can convince ourselves of.
You hear all the stories, all the praise, all the ‘it’s the best thing I’ve ever done!’
You nod. No glasses? Why not? 30 minutes and you’re in and out like nothin’.
The minute you *actually* set foot in that room your whole world has gone topsy turvy. It’s like a trainwreck you can’t get away from. At once horrifying and utterly mundane.
All the reassurance in the world doesn’t amount to shit when you’re the one lying under that battery of lights, and the doctor’s assistant is channeling NASA mission control as he counts down to blast off.
And then they do blast off. And the world falls away, and all you can see is a fractal cone of green light as the world’s most expensive laser pointer melts the surface of your fucking eye.
You hold.
So.
Still.
Except for your foot, that one leg that still *ticks* convulsively because deep down that reptile brain of yours knows what’s going on. It’s not tricked by your silly rationalizations. It *gets it* the same way it knows you’re not supposed to stand in front of a bus. And it’s saying oh FUCK but you stay calm and you talk yourself through it it’ll be okay, I promise it’ll be juuuuust fine.
No need to panic.
They said it would be fine.
In the brochure.

Taking a little break from my tale. A short rest before we embark again. I had corrective eye surgery a few days ago. Being what I am, I was understandably nervous approaching the procedure.

I thought it would be appropriate to document the occasion as well as the process of my transformation from blindness to sight.

They said it would be fine. You know…in the brochure?

It’s amazing what we can convince ourselves of.

You hear all the stories, all the praise, all the ‘it’s the best thing I’ve ever done!’

You nod. No glasses? Why not? 30 minutes and you’re in and out like nothin’.

The minute you *actually* set foot in that room your whole world has gone topsy turvy. It’s like a trainwreck you can’t get away from. At once horrifying and utterly mundane.

All the reassurance in the world doesn’t amount to shit when you’re the one lying under that battery of lights, and the doctor’s assistant is channeling NASA mission control as he counts down to blast off.

And then they do blast off. And the world falls away, and all you can see is a fractal cone of green light as the world’s most expensive laser pointer melts the surface of your fucking eye.

You hold.

So.

Still.

Except for your foot, that one leg that still *ticks* convulsively because deep down that reptile brain of yours knows what’s going on. It’s not tricked by your silly rationalizations. It *gets it* the same way it knows you’re not supposed to stand in front of a bus. And it’s saying oh FUCK but you stay calm and you talk yourself through it it’ll be okay, I promise it’ll be juuuuust fine.

No need to panic.

They said it would be fine.

In the brochure.