The basic tenant of Mindy’s Law is much like Murphy’s Law – but with more swearing.
For those of you who follow me on Twitter and Facebook you know that I had eye surgery last week. For the full effect of Mindy’s Law to be clear to you, I first have to give you a brief overview of my medical history, ophtamologically speaking.
I’ve never been able to see jack shit, but I never realized this wasn’t normal either. I always had a book right up to my face, or my cross-sititch right under my nose (go ahead, make fun – I’ll stab you) and since these are kind of close-up style things no one thought much about it – including me. Sports is another story but I honestly think sports is 90% intuition and the fact that I played a few – and played them well – while being nearly blind for a long while says a lot.
In any case, in about 7th grade I noticed that my friends could spot other friends coming into the cafeteria at a much higher rate than I could. I was kind of mystified by this, and was even more so when I asked how this was possible and my friend said, “Duh. I can just *see* them.”
Wait – what? You’re supposed to be able to distinguish facial features from across a room? This was news to me.
Away to the eye doctor I went. Hello glasses and contacts. You can imagine what a shock it was to me to experience the world. I enjoyed it. In fact, I enjoyed it so much that when I went to college I decided I never ever wanted to stop enjoying it, and I acted how most most college kids do – I did some things I shouldn’t have, and I didn’t do some things that I should have. Like take out my contacts. Ever. Sleeping, eating, walking, whatever, you name it – I had them in. I managed to give myself a nasty little disease called GPC (I call it GPS becuase it’s easier to remember and the doctor always knows what I’m talking about anyway). Also – don’t click on that link unless you want to see something really nasty.
So, my own case of GPC was so nasty that my doctor called in all the nurses to have a good look and declared that I should be the poster child for GPC. Apparently I was much more disgusting than anything that has ever been witnessed. So I was banned from contacts. Forever.
Enter the glasses. I don’t mind them too much. Except for when I’m playing sports and worried about a line drive jamming the bridge up into my nasal cavity. Or when I’m gardening, and I’m so sweaty that my glasses slide right off my nose and into the dirt for the 20th time. Or when I’m swimming and can’t see a damn thing and end up having conversations with people I think I know, only to discover that I don’t know them, and have been conned into a poolside conversation with the type of male I’d rather avoid.
Another time being a glasses wearer comes in very unhandy is when your puppy eats your only pair of glasses, leaving you unable to find your phone, and stuck in your own house until someone shows up randomly (it was 16 hours) and you make them drive you to a Lens Crafters.
So when I decided my gift to myself upon being published would be the gift of sight. This decided, I went to a guy who can give people that (not Jesus, but close, in my estimation) and discovered that not only do my eyes totally suck, but my corneas are on the thin side. To be cautious, the doc wanted to wait 6 months, test my corneal strength again, and see if they’d gotten any weaker in the meantime.
Over the course of those 6 months my left lens started popping out of my glasses at inopportune times, and one of the rubber leg things on the bridge that hold it on your nose broke off. But I didn’t care, and I wasn’t spending money on new glasses. So I go back, get the test done to find out that my corneas haven’t devoured any body building powders lately and are still quite thin. But – I still have options – I can take part in an experimental test that can give us some numbers about stuff and things and those numbers regarding stuff and things would ease the doctor’s mind enough to say, Yes, let’s make you be able to see.
So, I signed papers to be a guinea pig. That part was actually pretty fun, but it involved three different test trips and no one ever gave me ice cream. Those numbers and stuff and things made everyone feel comfortable with letting me have surgery – but not LASIK.
My corneas are to thin for LASIK. Instead I get to have AST – which basically means that there’s no flap like in LASIK. They just scrape your whole cornea off and it grows back better and more awesome and in pink. I was ready to agree to receiving donated eyes from a serial killer if he had good vision, I didn’t care.
So last wek, I’m totally psyched to be on my road to vision when I take my Valium, done my paper hairnet, clutch my teddy bear (provided by the clinic, they’re very nice) and have the very memorable experience of watching my own cornea be scraped away – AND –
… the laser stopped working.
No shit. I’m lying on the table with my teddy bear and my cornea gone and, well, there’s no laser.
Before you ask, no, I wasn’t going to some hole in the wall joint where a dude in bib overalls with a dirty pitchfork scraped off my cornea and then suddenly realized they didn’t even own a laser – nothing of the sort. This place is a highly-respected, top-of-the-line, eye-dcotors-go-here type of place. And let me tell you, they were mortified.
I honestly can tell you that I totally understood. I can’t say how many SMARTboards and InFocus machines have failed me when I needed them doing presentation. Granted, nobody’s cornea is flapping in the wind in my scenario, but… shit happens.
And Mindy’s Law states that it’s usually gong to happen to me.
Everything was sorted out the next day. My uncut eye was treated, we’re waiting for my other eye to heal before we can treat it (doc said about 6 weeks) and in the meantime I’m lying around with Stevie Wonder glasses and audiobooks, petting my new cat and marveling at the fact that one day I will be able to see.
Damn I’m looking forward to that.
And yes, by the way, I have typed this whole thing out by feel. I can’t see shit.