The first time I ever saw, indeed ever even heard the word ‘laser’ was ages ago when I saw the James Bond flick ‘Goldfinger’. It seems that the bad guys had Bond stretched out on a table and were running the laser up between his legs preparing to zap his James Bondness.
If I had learned nothing more about lasers than the fallacious lore conveyed in that film (I still think it’s the best Bond movie) you might imagine how concerned I would have been the other day when a guy was preparing to laser my eyeballs. I’d almost have preferred them to do the aforementioned bits – though not entirely.
Otherwise, lasers were only something people played tag with, or brought down fighter or commercial aircraft with as a lark, and maybe blinded the odd teacher at the front of the class. Otherwise, even though I know how they basically work by now, and having experienced a laser most beneficially in the hands of a physio a few years ago when my back was out.
But in this case it was to be my eyes. My Eyes! For heaven’s sake. I only have two of them and I quite value them.
But, bearing that all in mind, they say that the two areas of our bodies that we are naturally the most protective of are our eyes and our genitals. Bearing that in mind, and knowing that the good ophthalmologist wasn’t about to do victimize my nethers a la Bond, that reality of sensitivity might explain why I felt rather rattled after the procedure.
What I was getting done was sort of like an oil change – a matter of draining some fluid and, while I face little threat of glaucoma, the good doctor said, this is an effective precautionary measure. So, when the appointment was set up about a month ago I didn’t find it too worrisome. On the day it was happening, however, I did. You know, protecting those aforementioned orbs.
The whole thing took mere minutes, although it did involve getting drops in my eyes to render my pupils mere pinpricks and leaving my eyes looking like Rob Ford’s after a bad crack tear. And the experience was rendered a bit more agreeable due to the presence of his adorable looking assistant. Don’t mean to be sexist here, but under duress we seek whatever comfort zone we can.
It didn’t hurt at all. It was a weird sensation, but it didn’t cause any pain. And then it was over. And the entire world for a number of hours looked like I was viewing it while snorkeling in a really murky pond. Not a nice view of things.
And I did feel a bit uptight and very tired.
But, if such procedures can keep my vision intact, I’m all for it. James Bond’s experience notwithstanding.