Sick of being framed - laser surgery for nearsightedness - Brief Article

Vegetarian Times, July, 2000 by Suzanne Gerber

I'm no fan of surgery, yet I've been subjected to the knife a few times in my life. When I was 5, my parents had my tonsils yanked from my throat. (After the operation, I was sufficiently distracted by ice cream upon demand, but even then it was hard not to talk for several days.) Seven years later, a freak gymnastic accident resulted in my left knee being sliced open by an orthopedic surgeon from Boston who referred to me as Miss Gerbah. I wear a pink caterpillar scar as a permanent souvenir of that event. As a result of these indignities and what I've since learned about surgery's inherent risks and frequent uselessness, I vowed to avoid surgical procedures at all costs.

Some 20 years ago, a family friend became one of the first Americans to have laser vision-correction surgery. I thought she was out of her mind. Tonsils are one thing, but your eyes? A decade later I met another woman who'd had the procedure and said it was the best thing she'd ever done. I was horrified and fascinated at the same time, but thanks to my severe myopia and astigmatism, I wasn't a candidate. Still, I kept abreast of developments in laser surgery--then mostly happening in Canada--and decided that if and when the technology caught up to my near-sightedness, I would undergo the beam.

Fast-forward to 1999. I'm in a futuristic vision center--in da Bronx of all places--having my eyes measured, tested and analyzed in more ways than even Dr. McCoy could imagine possible. After two thorough hours of evaluation, Dr. Kristin Pisacano sits me down in her office and says, simply, "Congratulations, you're an excellent candidate. When do you want to do it?"

I couldn't quite manage an answer because I was stunned. I had assumed glasses were my fate, from that first pair of perfect '60s cat-eye frames to my last pair, a blue-and-orange number bought on a whim in Berlin. I wore contacts for many years, always uncomfortably, due to my bone-dry eyes. Finally I gave up on that torment. I figured I would just spend the next 50 years putting on, pushing up, taking off, then losing, then sitting on pair after pair of expensive glasses.

These days, glasses are a trendy fashion accessory. But to me, they've always been a lose-lose proposition. When they're on, they get dirty, steamy and scratched. When they're off, we are blind and helpless. (Only fellow myopics and their bedmates can appreciate how pathetic we look holding the dock two inches from our faces in an attempt to make out the time.) And forget water sports. Even my passion, scuba-diving, was compromised. (Is that a rockfish? Or a rock?)

After a month of weighing the risks and rewards, I found myself in a Manhattan laser center, eyelashes and lids taped back, not uncomfortably (though I couldn't help but recall the last scene of A Clockwork Orange). A nurse is holding my hand and counting backward by 15's from 90 while Dr. Pisacano painstakingly directs the beam of light, just as she's done hundreds of times before. It's a trippy light show and all that's missing is the Pink Floyd soundtrack. Then we do the other side. Five minutes later, I can actually read the copyright information on the bottom of my Dixie cup.

The next day I drive myself to the follow-up exam--without my glasses. Day after that, I go to the gym, bop around and work up a sweat, no glasses sliding down my nose. Six weeks later I'm diving in the Caribbean, seeing things, literally, in a whole new light. I will confess that without glasses to "hide" behind, I do feel a bit more exposed. But people tell me that's a good thing.

Am I now a fan of surgery? No. Would I recommend laser surgery across the board? No. It's still a risky procedure and clearly not for everyone. But for me, the freedom and clarity of vision has been nothing short of miraculous. You might even say eye-opening.

Do your own research before considering laser surgery. Costs range from around $3,000 to $5,000. Kristin Pisacano, M.D., can be reached at (718) 519-1000 or www.nyeye.com.