<Fri 9 Jun 2006 - Initial Consultation> If it doesn't exist on the Internet, then it simply doesn't exist. So, here's the first requirement for my eye surgery -- a web page. I sent an e-mail to two places, telling them that I was overdue for my regular checkup, and I was interested in the Verisyse product. One send me an information packet in the mail a few days later, while the other replied WITH an e-mail and set up a consultation that day.
So, today I went for my initial consultation. I wasn't truly serious about things at the time. The truth is, I was running low on my disposable contacts and needed to renew my prescription. Apparently, they had other thoughts.
The consultation starts the same as any other trip to the eye doctor. They set you behind the big mask-like refractor and show you cryptic and fuzzy lines of text. Then, they throw some dye in your eyes and fire up the microscope for a closer look. Then, they bring you down the hall for some other machines.
The first machine, a Carl Zeiss thingy, I have actually seen before. You stare into a circular dish of colors, and a camera takes a picture of how the colors reflect on your cornea. From this, they can infer the topography of your cornea. Nothing too strange about it, except that after you look away from the camera, the color spirals follow you for a few minutes.
The next machine is an ultrasonic something. After a numbing drop, the doctor actually touches your cornea with a little wand. The machine beeps, and numbers flow across the display. For good measure, they touch a couple extra times. What is strange is that the probe is actually deforming your cornea a little. Not much -- the doctor says that contact lenses probably deform the cornea more -- but enough so that you can actually see the focus changing in donut-shaped zones surrounding the probe. This is the analog to me pressing on my eyes in the 2nd grade.
The next machine is also made by Carl Zeiss, but I have never seen anything like it. It is similar to the other microscopes, but there are a few differences. To start with, the objective lens is surrounded by a bunch of IR LEDs and a bunch of other smoked-glass windows. On either side of the main lens there is a larger opening that slits of light sometimes come out of. I think this machine was used to measure the depth of the chambers of my eye. I would stare at a tiny yellow light in the depths of the machine, and the operator would click something on the control panel. The LEDs would flicker, and the machine would let out a low BEEEEEP. I've got no idea what was happening on that side of the desk, but it didn't seem to be going well. They were snapping picture after picture, but they didn't seem happy. They ended up calling in some backup, and I went through the procedure a second time.
Finally, I got taken back to an exam room and was introduced to my surgeon. He tells me that, first of all, I am a candidate for LASIK. My corneas are not too thin, and I'm within the acceptable range for LASIK to work. But, I'm at the extreme end of it. LASIK works best for mild myopes, and I'm on the outside bounds of 'mild'. He also tells me that I'd be a good candidate for an IOL. However, he's got a bit of a curve. The Verisyse product is tied into place in front of the iris. It is a sturdy lens, and you have to cut a hole large enough to slide it through. However, the Visian product is a little different.
The doctor hands me a clear rubbery device that looks like a modern-art saucer for a space-age tea set. It has a round section in the middle, then the edges curve away to a vaguely rectangular shape. There are no holes in it, and nothing sticking out. This is the super-sized version of the Visian lens. It is flexible, so it can be rolled up and inserted through a needle, so a much smaller incision is required -- only 3mm -- that often heals without any sutures. It sits behind the iris, so it can't be seen, even at extreme close range. Finally, it stays in place by springing against the edge of the eye chamber, and nothing is required to hold it in place.
For comparison, he hands me a ballpoint pen similar to those you find in novelty shops where the hula girl's skirt floats away when you turn the pen upside down. But instead of a hula girl, the clear barrel of the pen holds an actual Visian lens. There's not much to see of it.
Anyway, it sounds like this lens might just be the perfect thing for me. LASIK might work for me, but as I already said, I don't trust it, and the surgeon concurs that I'm more likely to have a better outcome with an ICL. There's a couple sticky points, though...
First, the cost. They tell me it is going to be about $4500 per eye. The good news is that this price includes a number of touch-ups. If the ICL doesn't get my eyes perfect, he'll give me a free shot of LASIK to tidy it up. The other thing is that this lens is brand new.
Now, it has actually been approved by the FDA back in December. But my doctor is apparently not allowed to start implanting them until August. He's been doing implants for some time at training in Mexico. The lens itself seems to have been available in other countries since at least 1996. But what the heck? I can't yet find a downside.
So, home I go, with a packet full of information and a lot to think about. They never did dilate my eyes, and I certainly don't have a contact lens refill prescription. Oops. I do have an appointment to come back later for another look, though.

<Wed 26 Jul 2006 - First Pre-Op> My second time in the office, things start pretty normal. When I come to the front desk, though, I find out that I've already been dubbed "The ICL Guy". Apparently, I've signed up to be either the first or second surgery of this type in Denver -- possibly Colorado. There are two surgeries scheduled for the 8th and the doc won't tell me which of us is first. On top of that, this is apparently some kind of PR event, as well -- Channel 7 News might make an appearance. But things take a turn for the worse when they go to measure the size of my eye chambers. "I'm wearing my contacts. Will that be a problem?" As I mentioned above, contact lenses can deform the cornea significantly. This means that the measurements they take might be wrong. To get good measurements, they need me to not wear my contacts for a week or so and measure again.
Still, the do what they can. Mostly, it is the same stuff over and over. This time, though, they hit me with a vicious drop to dilate my eyes. They tell me to not be surprised if I'm still dilated a full 24 hours later. I'm told that myopes have a strong accommodation ability -- we can put up with the wrong prescription better. So to get an truly accurate prescription requires removing that accommodation ability with some strong drops.
Before the drops take effect, I go through the Informed Consent part of the ordeal. I watch a happy DVD telling me all the terrible things that can happen to me, and scribble on a couple legal documents. The general idea is that this surgery is totally elective -- I can always walk away and wear glasses or contacts. I can also elect other surgeries, including RK and LASIK. I'm not sold on any of them, so I add my signature to the last page.
I'm given a separate informed consent form for the anesthesiologist. I'm told that I'll be awake and aware during the procedure, just really calm. Furthermore, I probably won't remember the surgery. Great. My ER-nurse cousin informs me that the drug is an effective truth serum, too. I'm doomed! I was feeling a little punchy at this point, so I asked the doc, "This anesthesiologist... has she killed anyone lately?"
"Well, not here... but what she does on her own time is her business..."
Heh. Nice. We're going to get along just fine.
Before I can leave, there's one more thing to be done. I'm taken back into the surgery center and parked on a table, my head cradled in a foam donut. The doctor takes a set of calipers and measures my eyes. Similar to the ultrasonic pokey thing, I can see my focus changing when he touches my eyes with the calipers. At this point, though, nothing really bothers me.
Before I go, I'm told to not wear my contacts for the next week, and be prepared to have my Peripheral Iridotomy next time I'm in. The ICL covers my pupil. With no way for pressure to balance between the two sides of the eye, I could get glaucoma. To prevent this, two holes are going to be punched in the edges of my iris.
Finally, I'm sent off with a goodie bag full of surgical tape, totally stylish sunglasses and some steroid drops. Being dilated sucks. Five hours later, I'm still dilated.

<Thu 27 July 2006 - Life with Glasses> I'm a different person about my glasses. These are the same glasses that I had in college. I still hate them. But at least now I can laugh about it. One of my co-workers said they could just about see the words 'Coke' in the rims of my glasses. I just responded that I can actually see people waving at me when I look at a map.
The power of my lenses can bend space and time. They give me beady eyes, and make my head look squished. My nephew just looks downright comical in them. But worse than that is that my peripheral vision is a waste. On the edges of my vision, things just get too warped. I'm simply not seeing as well as I did with my contacts, and it is bothering me. I can't WAIT to be through with this.
Oh yeah. My nose hurts, too. I hate glasses...

<Wed 2 Aug 2006 - Peripheral Iridotomy> Oh, sure. You think your navel piercing is hard core? I'm getting an iris piercing. Admit it. You're jealous.
Because my last appointment didn't quite get the final measurements, this appointment started much the same way all the others did -- with an general eye exam. Read this line, which can you see better, stare into the spiral of death, don't blink, etc. Apparently, my prescription did change somewhat from my contacts. The doctor mentions that he'll have to re-order my lenses. I had to sign one more piece of paper, promising to pay them. Then, it was a trip down the hall to the laser rooms.
The first stage was an argon laser. This is a visible laser, similar to what you see flashing overhead at laser light shows. The human eye is much more sensitive to green light, so a 5mW green laser looks many times brighter than a red laser of the same power output. The laser we were using was, surprisingly, only 150mW -- only thirty times more power than a laser pointer, and 400 times less than a regular light bulb. Of course, the comparison is a bad one, since a laser focuses those few milliwatts onto a tiny target.
The laser itself is disturbingly unimpressive. The business-end of the laser looks the same as the microscope any ophthalmologist would use to view your eye. There is a plastic cradle to hold your chin and forehead, and a lens assembly that is free to swing around. The only real difference is that the head cradle includes velcro straps to secure the head, and there's a large box on the side of the desk that hums.
The doctor didn't strap me in. This sort of concerned me a little -- I had visions of flinching and him drawing a line across my eye. More disturbing imagery: Could he be writing his initials in there?
A small lens is coated with a sticky clear grease, similar to the food-grade gook I use to lube up the soft-serve ice cream machine in the garage. (Long story.) This lens is then placed right on the eye. It has multiple purposes. First, you are unable to blink when this thing is in your eye. Secondly, I think it provides a optically pure interface for the laser to work through, in addition to magnifying my eye a little, too. A blinking green LED is positioned in front of my other eye, and I'm told to stare at it.
The little lens is slid all over the eye, and the doctor steps on a foot pedal a number of times. The point is to cauterize a small circular area. He draws two tiny circles on each eye in two places. It takes about 10 pulses of the laser to make a circle. The gentle 'click' of the foot pedal is quickly followed by a sort of thump as the laser beam leaps from the box, down a section of fiber optic cable, across a mirror and into my eye. Each pulse comes with a blinding flash of emerald light. The process isn't anywhere near my field of view, but dust and my own cornea scatters the beam somewhat. Most of the laser's power goes right through my cornea, and expends itself on the pigmented cells of my iris. There isn't pain, really. But each additional pulse causes a feeling of pressure in my eye to increase. Sort of a soreness, that abates as quickly as it arrives. They would be totally manageable if they didn't come so fast and build on one another. I almost think it would be better if the doctor was slower at his work.
After one eye, the lens is pulled away, and I blink through the thick grease. Then, the process is started on the other eye. More flashes, more obscure pain, and twenty clicks later, I'm leaning back and trying desperately to blink. I'm all done, and the only thing that bothers me is the grease that is making blinking terribly difficult. There's no pain, and if there is any change in my vision, I can't tell because of the frustrating grease. They guide me down the hall into the next room.
This room is almost identical to the previous one. There's a slightly different rig, and the box beside the desk looks more high tech. This laser is probably an Nd:YAG laser that works in the infrared spectrum. It is stronger, but not visible. I didn't overhear how many watts is generated. The goal of this second operation is to blow a hole in the center of the cauterized section.
The greasy lens is followed by a red LED to stare at, and the process begins. This part is truly disturbing. The headpiece projects a visible red laser while it is working. Each blast of the main laser blows away a chunk of my iris. When the hole is clear through, the red light pours onto my retina. I can actually SEE parts of my iris going away. With each subsequent blast, the red light becomes clearer. When the red light is a uniform pool in my vision, the doctor switches to the other hole. A few more blasts, and we're done with that eye.
As he's working on the last hole, I'm beginning to get anxious. The hole seems to be complete, yet the doctor seems to apply a few more nudges just for good luck. I pull my head away, and lean back. This process is actually less painful than the other laser, and it takes less hits. They don't really build on each other.
At this point, they begin trying to get the grease out of my eyes. A number of saline rinses and a half a box of tissues later, I feel just about normal.
No. I take that back. I feel hot. Terribly hot. A little nauseous. Maybe a little faint. No. Nausea. That's it. I'm not going to throw up... I think. I think I'm okay. Yes, I'm okay. Just get me somewhere cooler, and a cup of water....
I'm terribly embarrassed by this. I cannot figure out why I would have this reaction. The doctor says it is common in young male patients. The mixture of anxiety and that uncomfortable feeling of having something internal to you touched combines to nauseate a fair number of iridotomy patients. In any case, in a few minutes I am well enough to drive home.
I blinked a LOT while driving home, and I seemed to be a little sensitive to light. But aside from a jackknifed semi in the other lane, there was nothing else strange about the drive home.
It has now been about five hours since the operation. My eyes are being strange, but nothing terribly concerning. The world has a strange milky texture to it, which I'm told is probably some loose blood cells. When I started typing this, I was having a problem where I would loose focus every time I blinked. Then, it would take about 3s for my focus to return. I've been given a steroid drop to help aid healing. It is a gritty suspension that must be shaken before dropping them in your eyes. The drop is a little like being stabbed in the eye with a pin. There is a sudden sharp pain as the drop hits the eye, but I can't say they actually burn. The pain quickly goes away, but I am dreading having to use these drops four times a day for the next week -- and probably for a while after the final surgery.
Right now, I feel fine, and I can see fine. When I take off my glasses and look at distant lights at night, I am treated to a sort of silhouette of my iris. The blobs of light grow and shrink as my pupils change. I half expected to be able to see two pinpoints of additional blobs from two new tiny pupils, but I cannot see anything different. In fact, the number of floaters that normally cross my blurry night views seems to be less than normal.
Well, I'm off to stab my eyes with the steroid drops, then I'm going to bed. Before I go, though, here's a picture of my eye. I can't find either of the two holes, but the stuff reflected in my eye is pretty amazing. The yellow rectangle is a picture on my bathroom wall, and you can tell that the medicine cabinet is open. You can see my finger on the shutter button! PS: What color are those eyes?!

<Wed 8 Aug 2006 - Left Eye> Xanax for breakfast: sound like the name of a band. I'm not allowed any food for 12 hours before, since they'll be putting me on anesthetics. A Xanax is the first thing they give me. Then comes the first of many eye drops. Then, just to make sure nobody forgets which eye they're supposed to be working on, a little red star sticker is placed over my left eye.
Before they can begin the surgery, I have to be fully dilated and nice and calm. So, they throw drops into my eyes seemingly every couple of minutes. I'm shown into a bathroom where I'm to swap my shoes for little disposable booties and my shirt for one of those obligatory hospital gowns. Fortunately, they let me keep my pants. Then, I'm put down on a stretcher with one of those donut pillows again. This stretcher is going to be my home for the next few hours.
There are three bays in this little room. I'm in the first. The second has a woman hooked up to monitors. The third, I can't see into. In the first bay, they hook me up to blood pressure and pulse monitors. My oxygen saturation is low -- about 89% -- but that doesn't concern me all that much. My family's lived at 2 miles of altitude for four generations. Still, they ask me to take a few deep breaths. I do some Zen breathing, and my saturation quickly climbs. In the meantime, Mary Anne is trying to start an IV in the veins in the back of my hand. It is probably the most painful IV I've ever had -- Mary Anne says, "You've got tough skin!". Of course, I've only had one other IV, so in the grand scheme of things, it wasn't bad at all. It was probably a good thing I had the Xanax, though. "Oh darn" is not what you want to hear from the person putting in your IV. She's subtle about it, but it looks like she dumped a fair amount of my blood all over my fingers. In the end, something gets injected into the port. Meanwhile, one of the nurses asks why I'm getting this surgery instead of LASIK. I try to explain that it seemed like it would have a better outcome, much as I typed above, but we were sort of interrupted and I was sort of stoned out of my mind.
A while later, the woman is wheeled into surgery, and I'm wheeled over into her place. They attach ECG probes to me and an oxygen cannula. I'm hooked up to the second pulse and blood pressure monitor, and presumably the rest of the monitoring, though I cannot see the monitors -- they've taken away my glasses. The grid of the suspended ceiling looks strange. One eye sees it fuzzy, while the other sees it as fuzzy and dilated. My brain tries to figure it out, but all I get are black lines swimming around each other.
I'm also trying to listen in to the nurses on the other side of the curtain. I can't see them, but I'm under the impression that they're huddled around the door to surgery peeking in the windows. "Is that that new lens?" "What's it called? An ICP or something?" I guess that answers that question -- I'm the second surgery, and the woman is the first. What's sort of creepy is that although the doctor's done a couple of these in training, apparently nobody else in the office has. Again, though, it is similar to other cataract surgery, so I'm not all that concerned.
To the seemingly endless series of eye drops comes some gel. Squeezed out of something like the bastard child of a turkey baster and a syringe, she doodle a swirl of clear gel on my eye. About this time, the woman who was in surgery before me is wheeled out. She says she can see the clock!
Things start moving pretty quickly, now. The curtains are thrown back, and my world starts shifting as they roll me into the operating room. I cannot begin to tell you what it looks like in there, though. I've been dilated and drugged, and the bright lights are just painful. I'm given yet MORE drops, and swabbed with betadine solution, that brownish yellow stuff that gets all over everything. A nurse uses a swab to "curl my eyelashes back". I've got long lashes, and they get in the way quite a bit. After they're rolled back, she takes a sheet of blue plastic that appears to have an adhesive on it. She sticks it to my upper eyelid, then pull it and my lid back and secure it somehow. She then does the same to my other eyelid. Finally, to complete the Clockwork Orange suite, they insert some sort of clip, then start dripping some solution in my eyes every few seconds.
I can't really tell you much of what went on after that. My arm started getting cold, and something was pushed into my veins. There was a period of quiet while the doctor loaded up the lens into whatever tool is used to implant it. Then, he just told me to keep looking at a light.
The "light" was this grey blob that constantly moved and was terribly difficult to follow. On top of that, I'm getting a little bored of all this and every once in a while, I lose my concentration and the blob goes wandering off as I move my eye. I think this only happened once or twice, and the doctor quickly pulled me back on track. Other than that, though, I have no idea what happened.
What seems like only a few minutes later, they wheel me out back into the first bay, where I, too, can see the clock.
"So, you want to do the other eye tomorrow?"

<Wed 9 Aug 2006 - First Post-Op> The first post-op is just hours after the surgery. The biggest concern is that the pressure will build up in the eye, so one of those glaucoma tests is dome almost immediately. Apparently, my pressure is fine. Then, she throws up the big E on the projector. I CAN SEE IT! In fact, she's able to spin it all the way down to 20/40, and I can still see it. "You can legally drive, now." Apparently, in the State of Colorado, you have to be 20/40 in only ONE eye to drive. Heh.
The doctor says, "I don't know who's more excited -- you or the doctors!" Apparently, they're pretty thrilled with the outcome, as well. She goes out to call in my surgeon. While I'm waiting, I notice that points of light have an aura around them that almost suggests the shape of the lens -- there is a round aura, and two flat auras on either side of the circle. The surgeon comes in and says that that probably isn't the lens, since the lens is actually installed straight, while the aura I'm seeing is slanted at an angle.
The surgeon has come into the room with two other people. The first is wearing a Visian Polo shirt, and the surgeon and him talk as though student to teacher. As his second ICL, I feel a little like I'm being submitted like a test question. They pull up the microscope again and look at my 'vault' mentioning that it could change by tomorrow. I'll have to remember to ask about that. The other person in the room is a woman who I gather is in Visian's marketing or something like that. She's not a doctor themselves, but she's got an interest in the procedure. They position the microscope for her so she can take a look in my eye, too. I'm feeling a little left out. Ryan and I joked afterwords that he should have got to look, too.
My final instructions are for a number of drops, again -- Acular, Zymar and Pred Forte; an antibiotic, an anti-inflammatory, and a steroid -- in addition to a pill before bed to lower pressure in the eye. I'm to wear my clear patch for the rest of the day, and nights for at least a week. My vision keeps getting better.
In case you didn't notice, they were only working on one eye today. So, they only dilated one eye. Let me tell you, the one-eye look is not flattering.

<Wed 9 Aug 2006 - Left Eye, Day One> My left eye is not my dominant eye. It is sort of scary how 'dominant' my right eye is. Despite my left eye being actually able to see things, my brain chooses my right eye. The only way to really see how my eye is working is to cover my right eye completely.
Anyway, it is the day after my surgery, and I woke up a number of times, each time rolling over to see my alarm clock. I love that part.
My auras are now totally gone, but I'm unable to focus closer than 24 inches. This means I still can't really use a computer or read a book. I'm managing right now with some cheap off-the-shelf reading glasses. I'm a little concerned about this, but this is consistent with being dilated, so it could just be that still wearing off. If this is the same stuff they used during my pre-ops, I might not be back to normal until well after noon today.
A little later today, I'm going in to have my right eye done.

<Wed 9 Aug 2006 - Right Eye Surgery> By now, the whole thing has gotten almost routine. The only change is that this time I had to sign a release form for Channel 7 News. Then, it is back up on the table for a the seemingly unending sequence of drops, another stick of an IV needle, and the assorted questions. This time, I get a silver star stuck over my right eye. Then, after my eyes are dilated enough they send me right back into the OR.
For some reason, I this time was a lot more difficult for me. It seemed to be more difficult for the doctor, too. He seems to spend a whole lot more time playing around in there than before, and I was finding it harder and harder to keep track of the constantly moving grey blur. The fact that I recall this also seems to suggest that the sedative (Versed) was a little lower this time, or else I've already built up a resistance to it. The only concern, other than the seemingly longer poking around in my eye was some concerns about a 'bubble'.
When it was all done, they shipped me off to rest off the sedative, then I got to take a few hours off.
Back in the office, they did a quick look around, mentioned the 'bubble' again, and after the same instructions as before, sent me out of the office to come back at 8am tomorrow morning.
The feeling is much the same as before. With both eyes now corrected, my brain no longer has to fight itself to choose an image. However, now my right eye is dilated. In the meantime, my concerns about my inability to see closer than 24 inches is said to be just swelling of my cornea. That's abated even since this morning -- I can now get closer than 7 inches to something an see it, provided it is relatively dark in the room.
I never did get to see the Channel 7 Guys. Ah well, I've had my 15 minutes of fame once already.
I'm thrilled. My doctors are excited. The representatives from Staar Surgical are excited. I just wander around and look at things. I've seen them all before, and they don't look any different... but for some reason, it is all so amazing to me. Wow.

<Wed 10 Aug 2006 - Right Eye Post Op> My eyes are now both at 20/30. I drove myself to the doctor's office and to work. I'm still a little bit sketchy at close distances, but I've got no problems at all with working. I had to keep reminding myself that I was less than 24 hours out of surgery!
One of my co-workers reminded me that I now have to get a new drivers license -- one without the 'corrective lens' restriction on it. On the other hand, I've been given two cards to carry, so that if I end up in the ER, they will know that I have implants. All I need is to wake up in a hospital bed with them telling me, "We found some foreign objects in your eyes and successfully removed them!" NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!
My eyes are a little bit dry, and they feel... strange. Sort of sore. They get itchy from time to time, but at about that time, I put in my drops and I'm back to 'normal' again.
I heard that there might actually be a video of my procedure. I will try to find it. I go back in a week for my next appointment. In the meantime, here's the obligatory self photo of my eyes. I don't know why I'm bothering -- there's really nothing to see externally. Besides, the wide-angle lens on my camera just makes my nose look big...

<Wed 15 Aug 2006 - One Week Later> Just a short note for now: The eye drops drip through my tear duct to the back of my throat where they taste TERRIBLE. I keep having the urge to take off my contact lenses at night. Eyes are still a little bit strange but I can't quite say why. Lastly, I still tape on an eye patch at night (arrr!), which is fine except that the Transpore tape leaves behind its adhesive when you peel it off. I suppose I shouldn't complain, since it leaves behind my eyebrows, too.

<Wed 18 Aug 2006 - Checkup> I went in for another checkup. This one was VERY short. They did a quick acuity test (big-E chart) and looked at how the lens was sitting in the eye. That was pretty much it. In another three weeks or so, we can call it all done. In the meantime, I'm still on some eyedrops. The incision healing might be causing some astigmatism in my left eye, but my right eye needs no more correction.
After the exam, the doctor walked me out of the office, where I talked to one of his partners. Apparently, he'd seen the video of my procedure, and sure enough, it wasn't all in my imagination: there was a little complication during my second procedure. My iris didn't dilate enough, so there were some problems getting the lens situated correctly.
The other doctor said some of his patients were on the fence about this surgery. Personally? I recommend it to anyone who is more than, say, 8 diopters or so. The change is truly life-changing, and it just seems so damn easy.

<Mon 01 Jan 2007 - Checkup> Happy new year! Since I wrote up my experiences, I've been in contact with a couple other ICL patients (Ray, Allen, thanks for the messages!). We're all happy with our new vision, but we share some observations.
First of all, we're all dealing with differing amounts of astigmatism. The doctor has the option of a LASIK touch-up or something called a "limbal relaxing incision", where the eye is cut and allowed to heal in a better shape. None of us have done anything yet, though. My doctor wants to give it six months before he makes any decisions.
How about artifacts? High-diopter contact lenses are only corrective in the tiny circle at the center. The remainder of the lens is just clear plastic. This is okay in bright light, because your iris opens no larger than the size of the corrected part of the lens. However, at night when your iris opens up wider than the lens you experience halos around lightsources. You see the sharply-focused image from the center of the lens, plus a halo of unfocused blur from the edges of the lens. The Visian lens doesn't have this problem. The corrected portion of the lens is large enough to cover the entire aperture. Still, the Visian lens is little strange at night -- there's sometimes a glint of something, and things seem much brighter at night. We've described the glint as a sort of partial halo -- about a quarter arc from 12 o'clock to 3 o'clock. Even with that said, the halo is MUCH less than with contacts. I guess it must be something like the lens flare you see when you aim a camera at the sun. It is certainly there, and does make night driving a little more spirited, but I don't consider it problematic.
One benefit us myopes have is an almost superhuman ability to focus in close. Working with fine details is possible without a magnifying glass. However, with the ICL, our eyes are now 'normal', and I'm reduced to using a magnifying glass like everyone else. It seems like a fair tradeoff.
Finally, I got to experience a new hell recently. Since I'd always had some sort of eye covering for most of my life, I've always been at least somewhat protected from the anguish of cutting onions. Well, no more. Cutting onions HURTS! Oh, God it hurts!! How do you normal people DO it?!

<Wed 28 Feb 2008 - Six Month Checkup> I had my sixth month checkup, just about the same time the questionaire arrived from Staar Pharma. As of today, I'm still seeing great. The doctor's tools seem to agree. I have a slight amount of astigmatism, which is probably what causes a strange effect while I'm driving at night -- I see double headlights. The real headlights appear perfectly normal, but there is a much dimmer shadow of the headlights that appears a couple of degrees off. This is better than the halos I had in my contact lenses, however they are almost more distracting because they are so distinct.
There are a couple of options for fixing this. First is a simple surgery where the periphery of the iris is cut, and it heals in a better shape. This only works about 70% of the time, however. It seems somewhat out of character for a surgeon, but he'd prefer not to cut on me anymore. The other option is to go under the laser for some LASIK. If you've read above, you already know my feelings on LASIK.
So, I took the easy way out -- I got a proscription for some corrective glasses. I haven't filled them, yet, because the problem really doesn't bother me THAT much. If I do get them, I'll only need to wear them at night. For all other things I do, my vision is perfectly good.
Not everything is rosy, however. My page has been found by a number of other patients and prospective patients. While I think we all absolutely LOVE the ability to see without glasses, this is not a panacea. If you've been reading along, you might notice that I'm incredibly positive about my surgery. That isn't to say that things are perfect and problem-free. However, it is difficult for me to be unbiased toward my own symptoms. My problems pale compared to my relative blindness before, so I can discount them pretty easily. Not all patients are as lucky.
In the previous posting, I mentioned the strange 'glint'. Soon after that, another patient contacted me, explaining that at night, point sources of light, like candle flames, christmas lights and headlights appeared with "a strange starburst/halo/aura around all the lights". In addition, at some times, he would see an additional set of starbursts, causing the something like 'angels' to appear around point-sources.
I do see them, too, but only when my iris is WIDE open -- candle flames in a dark room. In particular, they don't seem to appear while I'm driving. For this patient, removing the Visian lens and going with the stiffer Verisise lens was required.
I have created a Yahoo Group for further conversation. Visit PIOLusers for more info.