The First Post of the Year!!

Yes, verily, it has been quite a while since I last blogged. I would say life has been hectic (when isn't it?) or that I had nothing to write (this has yet to happen), but the sad truth is that I've just been overfed, over-liquored, and under-slept.

So, then, let's work backwards: the annual NYE bash was held at Chateau Evans (Burbank edition) to much merriment, eating, drinking and a wicked hangover. Seriously. Donna, my buddy Nelson, his girlfriend Kelly, Lindsey and I didn't get up until about 5 p.m. It was ugly. Each year I forget not to do this, and each year I don't feel human until Jan. 3. So it goes.

A week prior, I got my eyes zapped via LASER at LasikFirst in Hawthorne. Hawthorne, if you're not from Los Angeles, is a up-and-coming (read: seedy) burg near LAX. LasikFirst is, I believe, the cheapest laser eye treatment in the county, costing a mere $999 for both eyes. It may also be in one of the most ghetto medical facilities in the county.

If you get past the scratch-graffiti on the front door and elevator, past the fifth-floor toilet that blinks like a prop in a low-budget horror flick, past the weird prospect of having surgery with 100 other people on the same day (performed by the same surgeon!), than LasikFirst is for you.

Now, it may sound like I'm bashing the place. I'm actually not. They are helpful, professional, honest and, from my experience, pretty good at what they do. There is a reason why they cost a half-to-a-third less than EVERYONE else, though.


Several people have written asking for an update on the laser-eye thing. So, in the interest of satisfying my, literally, dozens of readers (hi Dad!), here's the zap-by-zap account of my experience with the good people at LasikFirst.

I wake at 5 a.m., feeling rather anxious. I have to be in Hawthorne at 7:30 a.m., nearly 40 miles from Burbank, so it's not that weird that I'm up. Still, I can't sleep. It's really not every day you get your eyes worked on, and my mind starts racing: what happens if they fuck up, and this is the last day I see ANYTHING?!

In the interest of relieving my anxiety, and giving Donna, who driving me to the doctor, another hour-plus to sleep, I get up and make coffee. (This, I'll admit, sounds weird. If you're anxious, why the hell would you drink coffee? Still, it works, maybe by overloading the anxiety chemicals and pushing them over to the calm... Well, probably not. Still, it seems to work.)

Soon enough, though, the appointed hour rolls along and Donna and I make our way south to Hawthorne. I'm driving with my glasses, the last time (I hope) that I'll be doing so. Suddenly, there it is: a eight-story glass and concrete building down the street from a dirt mall and a used car lot. Now, I was at this building not too long ago for my free consultation and sales pitch, so the building and neighborhood is not a shock. Donna, however, is a bit aghast.

"Huh," she says. "This is it?"

Any final spousal warning, however, is overshadowed by Donna's overpowering need to sleep, which she plans on doing in the car while waiting for me. (She later tells me she felt very bad about this, feeling like she was abandoning me in my hour of anxiety... But, as you'll see, there was no room for her upstairs anyhow.)

So, onward I go. Thought it is 7:30 a.m., the appointed time, the front door is locked, and I have to gain egress via the parking lot in the back. Classy.

In the lobby are several bespeckled people, all of whom (I assume) are there for surgery. I, though, being me, ask one, and get an affirmative, if somewhat nervous, nod. We pile into the elevator (tastefully decorated with graffiti) and head up to the fifth floor. Upon arrival, I am surprised (though not exactly shocked) to see that people are already spilling out of the front door. A sign on the front request that all non-patients wait someplace else, and still, there is not enough room for everyone.

Despite the large group, I am called to a secondary waiting room only a few minutes after announcing myself. There, the wait begins. I and seven other souls sit and stare at one another for a time, occasionally making small talk, but mostly attempting to focus on "The Pacifier," an extraordinarily lame Vin Diesel vehicle, running on continuous loop.

Conversation, though, does begin amongst us patients once the nurses bring in the drugs. Yes, friends, all this and a Valium. One of the dudes, a muscled guy with close-cropped hair and, suddenly blurts out:

"You guys nervous? Huh? Huh?"

A little, a few people respond.

"Yeah, me too. I keep wondering what'll happen if they fuck it up."

A few icy glares. He fails to notice.

"You guys feeling the drugs? I think I feel dizzy. Whoa. Yeah, definitely."

Fortunately, before he can further elaborate on his feelings of worry and Valium, a the surgeon comes in to explain how the surgery is going to work. The whole process takes about five minutes, she said, and does not hurt, though you will feel pressure on your eye.

Good enough. A few minutes later, a nurse comes by and takes the first of our group off to surgery. Sure enough, five minutes later, we see him being led out of the room to the recovery area.

Then, for what seems like an eternity, I wait. For whatever reason, I am one of the last in our group. Then it is my turn.

As advertised, the whole thing takes about five minutes. It does not hurt and, but for the pressure on the eye, I felt nearly nothing. There are two relatively creepy things about it, however. First, when the device goes over your cornea it makes a little whirling sound which sounds a touch like a dentist drill... Then, like magic, you see the little clear flap of your eye being lifted off. Thoughts of "oh my god, they're drilling my eyeball" go through your head.

Second, after the corneal flap is lifted, the laser part begins. Again, this does not hurt. However, you can see tiny smoke tendrils floating above your eye. Yeah, that's part of your eye going up in smoke. Weird.

Afterward, I was led to a small, dark room where another nurse put a shield on my eyes and dark glasses. They called Donna, who, refreshed from her nap, took me to the car. I finished up by about 10:30 a.m.

So, there you go. Immediately following the surgery, and for a couple of days afterward, my eyes were very sensitive to light. Additionally, my eyes still get tired fairly quickly. However, as this is only the week-anniversary (weekiversary?) of the deed, I'm told this is well within normal ranges. I also need to keep eye drops around, as my eyes also tend to dry out. I also understand, however, that this will fade in another week or so.

But, then, the upshot: did it work? Yes. My vision is not perfect, however. I believe it is about 20/25 during the day and 20/30 at night. I'm told that my vision will continue to get clearer as my eyes fully heal, and, certainly, my eyes have gotten better in only the week since the surgery.

And what did I think of LasikFirst? A harder question. The $999 for both eyes is certainly a good deal. The surgeon is very friendly (for the 10 minutes, total, I spent with her), and the staff is helpful and kind, despite the hoards of people that tromp through the facility on semi-weekly basis.

However, as mentioned above, the building is a bit ghetto. I do understand keeping costs down, but, man, the state of that building is atrocious. Also, I thought it a little weird that I got asked about "lifetime insurance" (at a low, low cost of $149 per eye) on the day of surgery. Basically, they claim that up to five percent of all patients will need a touch-up at some point in their lives. If you sign up for this lifetime deal, you can get this done for free. If not, you'll pay whatever the going rate happens to be.

This seemed like a bad deal to me for a couple of reasons. First, paying $300 to insure a $1,000 product seems waaaaay steep. (By way of comparison, I pay about $300/yr for a $1 million liability insurance policy for my photography biz.) Second, when pressed, the staff said that nearly all touch-up operations occur within the first two years following surgery, and, unless I heard incorrectly, all needed touch-ups or post-op work within the first year is free anyhow. So, you're basically paying $300 for the slim chance that you'll need something done after the first year.

Third, I kinda feel that if something goes wrong, or the doctor messed up my eyes (or some combination therein), there's no way in hell I'd go back to the same doctor.

And, finally, I got wigged out by the fact it was sprung on me on the day of my surgery, which made me feel pressured into doing something I didn't need to do.

On the whole, though, I've been impressed with the surgery and follow-up care. Good times.