.

Congratulations, Bianca. You are an excellent candidate for Lasik refractive surgery for myopia. Eat a light meal tomorrow, don’t apply make-up around the eyes, and be at the clinic at 1pm.

Gracias, doctor.

And this is how ophthalmologist Dr. Oscar Piñeros pronounced his verdict. I was going to be another patient who would (potentially) remove her glasses and contacts for once and for all, and who would surely fatten his hefty bank account. According to a study published in July 2009 by research firm Kalorama Information, 1.1 to 1.4 million people undergo Lasik surgery each year – and this is only in the U.S. It’s an industry that moves more than $2 billion a year, and this only during work hours.

I started using glasses at 19. I owe the discovery of my shortsightedness to my French teacher, who noticed how much I strained to read the conjugations for être and avoir on the blackboard. But I never fully assumed this frailty, and for years I reserved the glasses to indispensable situations, such as driving, the movies, or the computer. Because of my resistance, my daily world became progressively unfocused and its colors less vivid. As such, the indispensable situations progressively multiplied. And to my complete ignorance, I was taken for arrogant or snobby as I rarely returned an undetected smile from across the hallway.

Colombia is a mecca of so-called medical tourism. Roughly 35,000 gringos fly to the South American country each year to augment (or shrink) their junk or their breasts, clarify their teeth or submit to a root canal, operate their knees or eyes, even put a balloon in their stomachs. Out of vanity or necessity, the low prices, high technology and competence of Colombian professionals are attractive enough for the trip.

And what a trip. Caribbean beaches and national parks, warm and hospitable folk, stunning historical towns like Vila de Leyva and Cartagena, vibrant cities like Bogotá and increased public security are all the reasons I needed to buy my plane ticket, which cost a measly CAD$500.

.

.

The clinic that I picked – Clínica de Oftalmologia de Cali – is one of the most reputable in the nation. On my first visit I discovered that it’s more like a surgical mall, offering everything from cataract surgery to Barbie noses for the more complexed. And it’s foreign-friendly to the point of offering complimentary transport to and from the airport, as well as hotel discounts. The place is clean, the staff attentive, and the technology cutting-edge. My doctor – Dr. Piñeros – works in Cali as well as in Philadelphia.

Lasik surgery, which cost me CAD$700 (a third of what I’d pay in Montreal) is technically painless, and you don’t spend more than one hour in the clinic on operation day. Upon arrival, a nurse gave me half a tranquilizer and a painkiller. My eyes were hosed with a series of fluids and anti-bacterial drops and anesthetics. By the fifth application, my eyes and nerves were neurally whining. But this was just the beginning.

While all that chemistry settled in, you feel the odd sensation of having your eyes numb. I was rooting for the tranquilizer to knock me out like a good dose of roofies that it would leave me so submissive that I would happily hand over my bank credentials to anyone who asked.

But soon my name was called. I swiftly greeted the doctor and laid on the table trying to contain my heartbeat. No help from the roofies. The first thing they do is adhere a plastic sheet over your face with a hole for one eye. It was hard to breathe or talk. I instinctively tried to move the plastic away but the nurse intercepted my hand and, taking the hint, enlarged the hole around my eye with scissors.

And so, the doctor began to narrate each step: “Now I’ll place this device on your eye to keep it open and steady. Now I’ll apply three drops. Now I’ll pull back your eyelid. Now we’ll apply the laser. Your sight will get a little blurry now, it’s normal.”

He in fact narrated all the steps except for one:

“Now I’ll take a razor and slice off the top of your cornea, which will remain held in place by a tiny sinew like the foil cover of a yogurt bottle. Now you’ll smell something like burning meat. Now I’ll place the little cover back in place and rub your eye with a little spatula like it was a cake being iced.”

There’s another thing. This is the only surgery where you can’t shut your eyes or turn your head the other way and pretend nothing’s happening. I could SEE the blade GO INSIDE my eye to cut a CHUNK of my CORNEA! And despite all this I lay still, watching each movement, trying to remember that I was there on free will and that it would soon end, and that millions of others went through the same thing; I watched the little red light, trying to forget everything else, the heat, my beating heart, my nervousness, anxiety, hearing every pore of my body and of my mammal instinct screaming GET OUT NOW!!!

But there was still the left eye to go…

.

The day after, with 20/20 vision.

.

In the end, the doctor didn’t lie. The operation is, in fact, painless. But pain in entirely subjective, and I think I would prefer the assurance and familiarity of a friendly sting to that uncomfortable and strange torture. But yes, it was worth it, I’m fully recovered, my vision is 20/20 and I would do it all over again.