The Dark Side of Lasik Surgery

Last week I was evaluated for Lasik surgery. This is where you pay an eye doctor unbelievably large sums of money to take a laser beam to your eyes to correct your vision. Although it’s been a dream of mine to be able to wake up and tell if the lump beside me is my husband, a cat, or a pile of laundry that needs folding, I’ve been hesitant about Lasik. I think it’s because of that laser beam thing. I’m not squeamish about surgery in general. You want to hack into me and take out a lung or kidney? Fine. But I do not like the idea of people messing with my eyes. They’re bad now, but at least they still work. One slip with that laser beam and ZZZT! Who knows?

But the mess and hassle of contacts has edged me toward the surgery. No more taking contacts in and out on a plane when I travel? No gunked up lenses due to seasonal allergies? No nipping at my eyeball with my fingers because I’ve forgotten I’ve already taken the lens out of that eye? (It’s happened.) Sign me up.

And sign up I did. Turns out I am an “excellent” candidate for Lasik which is eye doctor code for “We’re thrilled to take your money.” I was evaluated last Thursday and my surgery is January 8th. Bim, bam, boom—done.

They sent me home with a pile of paperwork. I have to stop wearing contacts 10 days before the surgery. Ten days of glasses. Not fun, but okay, I’ll make it. Then there are eye drops and wipes to apply the three days leading up to the surgery. Easy. No makeup, perfume, deodorant the day of the surgery. A little gross, but still okay. Then I ran across the whopper: No mascara, eyeliner, or makeup around the eyes for two weeks after the surgery.

Uh, can we say, “deal breaker?”

People, I do NOT leave the house without under eye concealer. I’m afraid the dark circles under my eyes will lead people to believe I’m either:
a) On drugs
b) Sleep deprived
c) Beaten by my husband
Two weeks of no eye makeup? Why not just stab me with an ice pick and be done with it? I also have to throw out all old eye make-up out as it may be “contaminated.” Blair, who’s perfectly willing to pay thousands for this eye surgery, threw his hands up at the mention of new make-up.

“And what’s THAT going to cost us?” he asked.

“No more than thirty dollars,” I said. “Sheesh. Calm down.”

“You’re right,” he said. “Plus, we’ll save more than that by never leaving the house the month of January until you can wear eye makeup again.”

I love a man who understands me.

So I’m going to do it. Swallow the “optional” (right) Valium and lie on a table for 15 minutes while Star Wars technology is applied to my eyes. I’m scared but mostly excited. Being able to see the minute I open my eyes… I can’t even remember what that’s like. Plus, I’ll finally stop hugging the laundry and saying, “Morning, honey.”

Updates to follow.

Why Holiday Shopping (With Me) Is Never A Good Idea

Let's be honest: I am not the most patient of individuals. People trapped in blazing apartment buildings are usually of a more even-keeled temperment than I am on my best day.

Which means it came as no surprise yesterday when, 15 minutes into being thrust among slow-walking, cell-phone yapping, ugly-sweater wearing individuals, I lost it and started muttering my plans to push the next person who stepped in front of me directly into oncoming traffic and then claim it was an accident. I meant it, too.

Not helping is the fact that Blair and I differ on how to best complete the holiday shopping. Blair favors a thoughtful comparison of gifts, willing to go to three different stores in search of the gift that would bring the greatest amount of joy to the recipient upon tearing open the gift wrap. I, on the other hand, favor the "just grab something and stick it in the bag with the gift receipt and let them return it and get what they want if they don't like it" approach. You can see where we might clash.

Dick's Sporting Goods is where yesterday's first showdown occurred. We found a gift for a nephew but the sports gloves were a Large, not the XL requested.

"I think she said maybe an L or XL," I told Blair. "Let's just get these and go."

"Why don't we go to Sports Authority," he suggested. "It's just up the street."

Okay, technically he's correct. It is just up the street. But this is a pre-Christmas Saturday and the streets are clogged, people are acting like they've never seen a traffic light and don't know how it works, and just getting out of the mall parking lot we were in was going to require patience, pray, and a can of mace.

"These are fine," I begged. "Let's just go."

"Wouldn't it feel better to get the right size?" he asked. "C'mon. It'll just take a minute."

The 3/4 mile drive took almost 12 minutes during which time I'm pretty sure I almost started some sort of gang fight by yelling at people through the closed car windows. When we finally made it in the store and trudged to the glove section... no gloves. I turned to glare at Blair.

"They're here," he said. (He knew he was in trouble.) "I'm sure they're here."

Alas, they were not there. So we went back to the car, fought our way through traffic like a salmon swimming upstream, and ended back in Dick's Sporting Goods. We picked up the Large gloves and went to pay. Which is when we noticed the checkout line that snaked 50 people long to the back of the store.

"I hate people," I said.

"Merry Christmas, honey," said Blair.

Fortunately, we got it all done. Everything is wrapped, labeled, and either sitting under the tree or in boxes being shipped to Illinois and Ohio. We only buy for nieces and nephews. Thank God adults don't exchange gifts or I'd probably end up in jail.

Happy Holidays,

Dena

Not Bad For A Friday

Today's Accomplishments:

• Up by 5:30 (more due to husband and cats than my own instigation, but we'll let it count)
• Wrote for 3 hours. Pleased with the results.
• Did NOT order the calling-my-name chocolate doughnut at the coffeshop. Overdosed on coffee instead.
• Ran 3 miles
• Helped decorate the Animal Protection Society holiday float for tomorrow's parade
• Went to library for books and also came away with a free video rental - The Pianist. (Blair not thrilled)
• Combed and coo'd over 2 cats
• 2 loads of laundry
• Read 5 chapters in a book

All in all, ending the week on an up note. Tomorrow is a long run and then holiday (pray for us ) shopping.

Dena

p.s. Everyone go look at the moon tonight! It's the closest it's been to the earth in 15 years and is supposed to be huge!

Match 'N Mix Makeup

I have violated the cardinal rule of skin care, that being one must never, under any cirucumstances, mix product. Mary Kay reps through the ages have warned us our faces will either melt or explode if--God forbid--you use a MK facial cleanser but follow up with Oil of Olay.

I say, no more! A few weeks ago I was getting low on Arbonne, my skin care line of choice at the moment. But instead of ordering more, I decided I would use all the mini-sample products I've accumulated over the years. So for the past few weeks I've been washing my face with Arbonne while using Mary Kay undereye cream and moisturizing with Estee Lauder. I used Clinique to remove my eye makeup and some no name "prevents sagging" product on my neck. And you know what? I haven't noticed any difference at all.

That's right. My face has not melted or errupted in skin discoloration. I'll go back to using a single product line eventually. But it's nice to save a few bucks and clear out a bathroom drawer at the same time. And I have a certain "rebel" satisfaction in having gone against the wisdom of the ages. So bite it, you $40-for-an-ounce-of-wrinkle cream-reps. I, for one, am sick of the game. (At least until wrinkles appear. Then I'll pay any price you ask, please and thank you.)

Cheers,

Dena