An Eye Story

When I was growing up, I half-jokingly blamed my parents for the way they mixed my DNA.  I wanted my dad’s crystal blue eyes and dark thick hair; I wanted my mother’s tiny waist.  I did not end up with the traits I desired:  I instead had brown eyes, thin brown hair and was built “squarish,” with shoulders “like a line-backer” (said my dad) and broad rib cage.  Not exactly the dainty or “feminine” image I was going for.

As far back as I can remember, my Dad had droopy eye-lids.  When he was in his early fifties, they drooped enough to impair his vision and his insurance covered his blepharoplasty, a lifting of the lid, not the brow.  Actually, the lid does not get lifted at all; it just gets minimized as the excess skin gets cut away, and thus, the lid looks lifted. As I approached my fifties, my lids were impacted by gravity, and I kept trying to convince my primary care doctor that they would need to be “fixed” eventually, why not now?  He said as long as the condition was not impairing my vision, insurance would not cover it.  Despite this, I did not like the way my eyelids looked.  Their droopiness made me look ever-tired, and though I probably was ever-tired, I did not need my eyes to exacerbate that perception.  My sister, who is a consultant for a cosmetic line, would send me these nifty, beautiful eye shadow “palettes,” but they were literally lost on me, as any color placed on my lid disappeared as the lid creased up and bogged down.  

Last fall, I decided it was time.  I had never had any kind of elective surgery, unless you count the nasty jaw surgery I had to correct a slight overbite during my 30’s.  I met with a doctor who works only on faces, and his reviews were good, his demeanor calm and knowledgeable.  I did my research, I found the time, and I scheduled.   

The day arrived and I was really excited, though a bit nervous that there would be no major anesthesia, just a valium and some numbing cream.  After they gave me the valium, I anticipated the sleepiness I recalled from a previous procedure, but it did not arrive.  They kept asking me if I felt sleepy, but I was not.  Still,  the doctor proceeded.  He numbed my lids, but I could still feel the slicing; it was more scary than painful, though the sensation was uncomfortable.  It was a fairly quick process — about 10 minutes, so I made it through.  After post-procedure instructions, my father-in-law picked me up and drove me home.  I barely made it  home before I fell onto my bed (face up of course!) and dozed for hours.  Finally, that valium had taken effect.  

Afterwards, I felt a little uncomfortable, but never any real pain.  More sting-y and swollen than any pain.   Below, just a few days after surgery, the swelling increased a bit.