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Finally got my sewing machine up and running while waiting to move into my new shop.. Sewing some club patches on a motorcycle leather vest for a friend.
HST nameplate, 'Harry Patch The last survivor of the trenches', belonging to HST power car 43172 whilst at Paddington on 7th March 2018
43712 had arrived with 1P31 1209 from Hereford and would soon depart as 5P31 1547 to Old Oak Common H.S.T.D.
This was taken 5 years ago, when I had lasik surgery. I was talking about it with some friends this weekend, and said i would post the photo and essay I wrote at the time about the experience. Here it is.
White Vision
I have worn contacts since I was 13. I have worn glasses since the 1st grade. I hated my glasses the first ten years. I hid them, lost them, forgot them, squinted, sat at the front of the class even, just to try to get away without wearing them. And yet somehow they never really disappeared. Silver octagons. My mother picked them out, and I didn’t complain. But they were cold, and I had a slight headache from the soft pressure across the bridge of my nose. Contacts freed me somewhat, but I still had to care for them, and my prescription would change causing me to have to buy new ones. Or I would forget the case and some disaster would happen.
Once during college, I stayed with my friend Emily at her parent’s apartment in New York, and having forgotten my case, I put them in a glass of water, and set two books on top. She got up in the middle of the night, found the water and drank it while I slept. The next morning, she went into a panic that somehow she was going to be permanently damaged by having two little plastic discs in her stomach. Two months later, I accidentally drank the next pair. There was a bad hurricane that was supposed to decimate New York. My bag with the lens case was left behind and all the stores were closed. The hurricane turned out to be a flop, so my friends, including Emily, went out to dinner and several clubs, and arrived back at the apartment at 5 am. Again, the contacts were put into a glass of water, and I forgot about them hours later, dehydrated and bleary.
Eventually, I settled down in my life so that I only had to buy a new pair every three or four years. But still, they were expensive, as was the care for them. Backpacking and bike-camping were always tricky with wind and dust, getting water to clean them, etc. Swimming, long plane flights, staying up all night, campfires and smoky rooms all required special care. But I was used to accommodating them so I did everything I wanted to anyway, messing around with various solutions so I could ride a bike for 10 hours, go out to dinner and drink wine, and then somehow get them to work at seven am the next morning, for the next ride.
When I heard that a friend was thinking of Lasik surgery, I secretly wanted to have perfect vision, too, but I said apprehensively that I didn’t know about that, it seemed risky and what if you ended up, statistically speaking, as the failure? But after watching several friends go through the process over a year, where they each had great experiences, I thought about it as a possibility for myself. I looked into it in February, but wasn’t ready; it was still overwhelming, too scary. And then again in June, and finally with the deadline of graduate school looming, I scheduled it for August. Then the few people I told about it said apprehensively, oh, I don’t know about that, it doesn’t seem like a good idea…. I knew exactly what they were thinking, and yet I had shifted, but how to explain this? How do you calmly say that you aren’t crazy for voluntarily requesting to have your corneas cut, and then alter your eyes with a laser? That you are scared, but doing it anyway?
To prepare, I had three weeks of no contacts. My glasses drove me to a constant mild headache, wearing them all the time, annoying me, no peripheral vision, resting across the bridge of my nose. I have been so dependent on my contact lenses, but in order to measure my eyes correctly, I had to let them return to their normal shape.
After appointments with the doctor for measurements and tests, I felt committed. I worried, even though he helped develop the procedure and had done thousands of them. I arranged for a friend, Ana, to take me. Three days before the surgery, I started antibiotic eye drops and antiseptic cleanings. I was apprehensive. I was not even aware of how nervous I had become until the night before when I really started to panic. What if I was part of the 1% that failed, in my category, and the lasers ruined my eyes. What if it didn’t work out, I couldn’t see and graduate school had to be ditched?
One thing to think about in this situation is what to wear. Something special in case my cornea falls out onto my shirt? A special non-stick shirt, or maybe a special sticky shirt? Thinking about this took the edge off and I started laughing out loud so much, I couldn’t stop for a minute or two. And of course, I wondered what state to leave the house for my return. While walking out, I looked around trying to memorize everything so that I could find it later. I would have eye patches on until I woke up the next day.
At the clinic, my stomach was heavy as they started eye drops, gave me a 10 mg Valium, and sent Ana off to buy a blank video tape. There were other patients there too, and my doctor arrived. After some more preparation, I was led into the surgery room. They popped in the tape, and I was feeling much better, partly because of the Valium, and partly because the staff seemed so competent. But I also felt like I had jumped face first down a long steep slide. No turning back now. The doctor asked if I felt good and I did, physically. I mentioned the question I had addressed that morning regarding what to wear. Everyone laughed nervously, like they hadn’t heard anyone laying directly under the laser contemplate what sort of cornea-sticking shirt to wear, just in case.
My doctor pulled back the lid of my left eye, and there was a temporary blackness while he applied some pressure, cutting and pulling back my cornea. Then he said that I should look steadily into a red dot laser, while they pointed it into my eye. I concentrated hard. I was afraid of moving at all, terrified of looking anywhere else. I kept saying roboticly to myself, look at the dot, look at the dot, just keep looking at the dot. After 30 seconds, and a slight burning smell similar to when a mole is burned off or teeth are drilled, the doctor brushed my cornea back into place with some viscous liquid. Then they did the right eye. As they started to work on it, the doctor said something about it being sticky. I didn’t know what he meant, I couldn’t see anything, and I wasn’t sure if this was bad. Again, the laser, concentrating on the red dot. A little burning smell.
Thirty minutes later, they checked my eyes with the eye chart, and it was fuzzy, not blurry like before. I could see some new rows on the eye chart. They bandaged me up and Ana took me home. I managed around the house pretty well, and friends brought dinner. I sat at the dining room table when they walked in, and started laughing at me, sitting casually with eye patches, facing them.
My house sounded different without sight. I couldn’t do too much, except tune the radio. After two rounds of the same NPR stories, and an unfortunate choice of DJ on KALX, I gave up. I listened twice to a tape of Jay McInerney talking about wine. Eating was interesting. Linguine with wild mushrooms; try twirling pasta on a fork, gracefully, spearing mushrooms and shallots, and reaching your mouth without dropping things everywhere. Or try salad with globe tomatoes and corn. Even dialing the phone requires looking at the address list, as there are only a couple of numbers I know by heart.
The next morning I woke up an hour early and ripped off the patches. I could see perfectly. The hills had distinct trees; San Francisco was crisp. I wanted to call everyone I could think of, but didn’t. I called Marc, the only person I knew would be up at 6:15am. And emailed everyone else. Then I remembered the video. I watched the first eye only. I was sort of relieved I didn’t watch the procedure before the surgery, despite all the research. Ana later told me the sticky comment happened when they had trouble cutting the second cornea, and if I watched the video I would see it. I decided to skip it.
I went to the orientation for school, and several times I wanted to say something, anything, about 20-20 vision and how absolutely exciting it was to read, 50 yards away, the Doe Library sign out the window, perfectly, no contacts. I was on the verge, almost spilling it, but I didn’t because I thought they would think I was crazy for doing something like this the day before school started.
My checkup later that day confirmed 20-20 vision. The best part was that things I previously experienced partially or not at all were now visible. It’s difficult to describe to people who’ve never worn glasses, or have good vision. It’s like being in love and trying to tell someone what’s happening, when they’ve never known it themselves. It’s an abstraction for others, but to me, it’s a marvel, full of excitement and surprises, newness, relief, lightness and ease. My contacts made my eyes bloodshot by noon. My new eyes are a fresh, soft white and don’t sting at the end of the day. I catch them in the mirror now and then and I’m taken aback over the whiteness.
Now I turn off the light at night, and instead of seeing blackness, I have the new experience, after 5 years in this apartment, of seeing the Campanile lit up. Before, I wasn’t even aware that I could lie in bed and look at it. Now, I see it glowing, from the darkness of my room as I fall asleep. In the morning, I wake up and look at the hills, the sun jetting through the trees. I’m elated, and yet, instantaneously, I have adapted to a life where I don’t have to use contact lens cleaners and wipe my glasses all the time. Lasik was so easy, painless, and so casual, being able to see perfectly. I go about my life and something I’ve always had to care for, and fiddle with, is no longer a thought. It’s like it’s always been this way, and yet, I catch myself for a second, several times a day, flashing on some contact lens care. And then I remember; I don’t have to do it anymore. It’s a small bit of freedom.
On day four of my train journey across Canada by VIA rail. October 2018. We are seeing lots of snow now.
The window are not very clean so the photos are not that good. Also the train was speeding along at times and really bumpy. I have put all the photos I took on my journey on Flickr as a record of my trip.
The 17th National Scout Jamboree took place July 16-August 4. My brother attended and my family visited him, like they did me five years ago. While we are part of NCAC, we traded a set of our patches for the Pike's Peak Council's Stargate patches. (Both council's sets were apparently pretty hot items.) I then traded for Atlantis and bought Destiny, a patch only available to Eagle scouts in their council (I got lucky), and so there were about only a hundred floating around amongst the 45,000 scouts and scouters.
The four Pike's Peak Council campsites also had Stargates as their gateways, such as this.
I was also able to score a Star Trek patch and Indiana Jones patch.
Come to the Pumpkin Patch at Seminole Heights United Methodist Church down on the corner of Central & Hanna in Seminole Heights. The Patch will be open 12-8 p.m. Sunday through Friday, and 9 a.m. – 8 p.m. Saturdays until Halloween.
FAP Patch.
*** Note: This patch is still part of my my want list (if anyone out there is interested in selling one).
The Bluebells are out - from an enjoyable wander around the woods at Patching with the South East Gang
Bordered Patch (Chlosyne lacinia).
Cedar Hill State Park. Cedar Hill, Texas.
Dallas County. 21 October 2019.
Nikon D500. Nikkor AF-S 300mm f/4E ED PF VR + TC-14e III teleconverter.
(420mm) f/8 @ 1/1600 sec. ISO 800.
Some patch leads that I used to use with my old soundcraft mixer.
Part of my Patch Leads (Set)