We started off on the wrong foot. I was told the surgery was Thursday morning. For some reason, I wrote down 10:00 a.m. and then planned my day around it. Then when I mentioned my other plans for Thursday, Clint throws me a quizzical look and explains that he will not know until the day before the procedure what time we are to be there. Laser eye doctor, we are at your beck and call. I reschedule my day, some appointments, and White Out my calendar. I fricking hate to White Out my calendar (and yes, I am old school and I still use a paper calendar and White Out...do not try to change my technology hating ways).
The appointment was at 1:00. A friend told me the surgery takes five minutes. Um, no. The actual laser surgery takes about 10 or so minutes, however, the cattle call at the doctor's office will require you to fall in line with the laser seeking masses and shuffle through a three hour hellish process of eye exams, anxiety medicine (I wanted some for myself, but noooo), eye drops, three different waiting areas. I met and made small talk with numerous other strangers and wore myself out discussing dogs, kids, cataracts, glasses, hearing aids, scuba diving...I was actually tired of talking and friends, that never happens.
He finally has the surgery. For some reason, the very
Nurse Susie is given a shopping bag full of medicine and instructions (two different kinds of drops every hour for the first six hours, given 5-10 minutes apart, sleeping pill for Clint, more drops every two hours--I needed an Excel spreadsheet!) and a groggy and somewhat dramatic patient.
I spent the rest of the day treating him like a Red Cross nurse with a wounded soldier. No eye rolling, no getting impatient. Just eye drops, medicine, soup and sweetness. Turns out, the sleeping pill packed such a punch he doesn't remember a thing. I could have gone all Joan Crawford on him and he would have been none the wiser.
I slept in my guest bedroom, which is frigid and heated with the aid of a slightly broken, not helpful space heater, to avoid the drug induced snoring. I'm sure it rattled our neighbors windows all night. Our recheck appointment was at a very reasonable (those words are drip-ping with sarcasm) 8:00 a.m. and, after viewing the population in the office the day before, I settled on my dog walking fleece and some sweatpants, ponytail, and a minimally made up face. It was more than sufficient in an environment where Crocs are semi formal attire.
Even though he was given the all clear from the doctor, Clint sported dark glasses channeling his best Ray Charles for most of the weekend in my den, which was already dark since he did not allow lights. Better safe than sorry. A girlfriend told me her husband wore goggles in the shower after his Lasik, which is pretty much the most hilarious thing I've heard in 2013, so at least Clint didn't go Scuba Steve on me.
The patient is doing well, seeing almost 20/20, and the nurse is still (forcibly) cheerful. I was also told that since he is not allowed to lift anything over 25 pounds for a week, it will be that long before he sweeps me off my feet again. Pass me the eye drops and be still my heart.