That’s how I see myself in my darkest (sic) moments. Me, lying on the couch with empty smoking sockets where my eyes used to be. A power surge, or badly timed outage, and the laser that was in the middle of reshaping my cornea goes ape, turning my eyeballs to liquid in a split-second.
Either that or the surgeon accidentally knocks the laser with his elbow as he reaches for his coffee cup and I end up with a long thin burn scar down my cheek.
Either that or I blink when I’m not supposed to and end up with a scorched hole in my eyelid.
Either that or the flap they cut in my eye never heals and I have to spend the rest of my days trying to avoid anything… ANYTHING touching my eyes.
Either that or they get my eyes the wrong way round and set the laser to work giving my left eye the right eye’s corrective treatment and vice versa, leaving my sight much worse than it was before and non-repairable.
All these nightmare scenarios — and more — have gone through my head at some point over the last few weeks, but as each one runs its course I remind myself of the maturity of the technology and the reliability of scientific knowledge in general, and I am once again convinced that this procedure is less dangerous than crossing the street.
It’s a bit like flying: You’re doing something that on the face of it seems crazily dangerous. There’s a lot at stake and if things were to go wrong the consequences could be dire. Yet you trust in the technology and the skill of the professionals into whose hands you’ve placed your safety, and like so many people today you just sit back, relax, and enjoy the flight. I know that planes have crashed in the past and when they do it’s pretty horrific, but that doesn’t stop me, or millions of others, from boarding our flights.
It’ll be OK, It’ll be OK, It’ll be OK.
God I’m such a Drama Queen!