Matter of Laugh or Death

By Bill Dunn

Interesting observations on this thing we call life

20/20 VISION ONLY A ZAP-ZAP AWAY

Supposedly, I’m the perfect candidate for laser eye surgery. I’m near-sighted with no other vision problems, and all I’d have to do, as I’ve been told dozens of times by my friends, is “go in, sit down, Zap! Zap! and you’ll never have to wear glasses again!”

Well, it sounds wonderful. I’d love to have 20/20 vision again and not need to wear glasses anymore. There is one slight problem, however: I’m chicken.

I’m sorry, but the idea of someone applying a laser beam to my eyeballs—Zap! Zap!—makes me a little squeamish.

It’s not that I’m a crybaby about medical treatment, like some people. When I was a kid our dentist used to drill cavities without giving us Novocain. No big deal. (My dad said to the dentist, “You charge extra for Novocain? Well then, forget that. My boys can take it.”) And when I was in high school and got a bad gash on my finger, I sat and watched intently as the doctor stitched me up, fascinated that he was getting paid so much to do essentially what my mom did for free whenever she had to mend a hole in our jeans.

As an adult, I’ve also demonstrated my courage plenty of times. When my wife went into labor, I boldly strode into the hospital delivery room, confident that I would make it through the ordeal. (Other than the minor fainting spell, I did fine. Oh, and my wife did pretty well, too.)

By far, my most daring and courageous action takes place each and every business day. Since I’m on the road most of the time, I have to use the rest room facilities at a multitude of fast food restaurants, greasy diners, gas stations, and highway rest areas. Talk about fortitude and guts. There in no greater proof of raw courage than to let one’s nether regions come in contact with, well, with who knows what may be lurking on those seats. And the Congressional Medal of Honor should be awarded to anyone who uses that sandpaper-grade bathroom tissue (on those rare occasions when there is actually some paper left on the roll).

So don’t tell me I’m a wuss just because I’m afraid of this newfangled laser eye surgery.

I just don’t understanding how it can be beneficial to combine two things which are so seemingly incompatible: the most complex, delicate biological mechanism in the human body and the Darth Vader Death Ray. To think that combining eyeballs and laser beams will produce improved sight strikes me about the same as thinking that swallowing a live hand grenade will produce a better singing voice.

Presumably the lasers used by modern medicine are not quite the same as the planet-destroying, beams-of-terror seen in science fiction movies. (I haven’t heard any news reports lately about eye clinics suddenly being vaporized—but then again, I don’t watch the network news anymore.)

In my mind a laser beam is a laser beam. When I think of laser eye surgery, I envision the climactic scene in “Raiders of the Lost Ark” where all the bad guy’s eyeballs melted like candles in a blast furnace. (Their heads and the rest of their bodies subsequently melted, too, which even I admit is fairly unlikely to happen during laser eye surgery, as any competent doctor will shut off the machine as soon as he notices your eye sockets are empty.)

I suppose if your eyeballs suddenly turned into liquid wax during the procedure, it technically would not be false advertising to claim that you won’t need glasses any more. But that’s probably not what my friends had in mind when they encouraged me to visit an eye doctor.

Ever since I was a kid, the laser was depicted as the ultimate weapon of mass destruction (not counting, of course, the social engineering policies of liberal politicians). Remember that old James Bond movie, where Sean Connery was strapped to a table while a laser beam slowly inched its way up between his legs? Ouch! Talk about Zap! Zap! I have no idea how he got out of that predicament because I fainted every time I saw the scene. You don’t have to go to medical school to know that if your crotch is relocated to your Adam’s apple, it is neither healthy nor very comfortable. Plus, none of your pants will fit anymore.

For the time being I think I’ll pass on getting laser eye surgery. Maybe in a few years medical science will improve the technology. If they can do the procedure with less frightening equipment, say, a drill and no Novocain, then I’d be willing to give it a try.

©2001