Insight into corrective eye surgery

By Jason Kennedy

For as long as I can remember, I have either been wearing glasses or contact lenses. I’m told that I was bespectacled since the age of two. Without the aid of lenses, I wouldn’t be able to make out faces or shapes, let alone letters or numbers. I’m told I had a prescription of minus 15, which is very close to legally blind. At parties, my glasses would be passed around like some drug out of ‘That 70s Show’. Recently, I decided to make a change. I was sick of being blind. I decided to take the leap and get laser eye surgery.

In September, I took the trek up to Dublin to see how soon I could get the surgery done. Imagine my disappointment when I was told my eyesight was too bad to get normal, run-of-the-mill laser surgery. I was told I would have to get phakic lens implants into my eyes, which would have to be clipped in with microscopic metal clips. After days of contemplating it and even looking up the surgery on youtube to see how bad it is, I decided to take the leap and get it done. Anything would be better than having this kind of eyesight for the rest of my life.

It took the lenses that they would put inside my eyes eight weeks to be made and delivered, so for the last two weeks of the semester one I wasn’t allowed to wear contacts, which I hated having to do. Let me just tell you how much I hate my glasses. They were thinned down as much as they can be and they still look like the bottom of milk bottoms. When I was in national school, my blonde hair didn’t help matters and I gained the nickname the Milkybar Kid, even if I thought I looked more like that kid from Jerry Maguire, if I do say so myself. Last Halloween I stirred things up by donning a cowboy outfit and packets of the white chocolate, just to have a laugh. I started using contacts when I was 15 and never looked back.

Three days before Christmas, I packed my bags to get my right eye done in the Mater Private Hospital. I was under the care of Professor Michael O’Keefe, who has many articles on the internet about eye care and who is regarded internationally as one of the best. I had to pack a nightgown and slippers, as I would be recovering in the hospital for the afternoon, after I wake up from the anaesthetic. I was given more eye drops and forms to fill out than I could count, but following that, I was given my hospital gown and wheeled into the anaesthetic room. After a few minutes of nervous waiting, the nurse put those curious sticky pads on my chest and connected my to a monitor, where I had a good look at my heart rate, naturally not having a clue what it meant.

Then came the nasty little needle the nurse stuck in my hand, so that the other syringes that would undoubtedly follow could just attach onto. The anaesthetist then stuck in an injection to make me happy. It worked. Last thing I remember before going off to the land of sleep is talking utter rubbish about how much I love college and how I’d been having a rough time lately. I told that poor nurse more gossip and feelings than I would tell good friends. I would imagine she was delighted when she could knock me out with the general anaesthetic. Then I fell into a deep sleep.

I woke up a few hours later in the recovery room. The first thing I noticed was the strange feeling in my right eye. It was covered in a few layers of gauze and what felt like anti-bacterial goop. I kept constantly waking up and falling asleep and continued to talk rubbish until I was given tea, toast and a new batch of eyedrops. I was then wheeled upstairs to the eyecare part of the hospital where the bandage was taken off and to my surprise, I could actually see. There were even more drops put in my eye and it was examined. The doctor seemed very happy with the progress, before asking me to read down the dreaded optometrist’s chart. Without any lenses, normally all I could see was a white board; I wouldn’t have even been able to see the outline of the letters. I was overwhelmed to be able to even see the letters, let alone make it down as far as the fourth last line on a very long chart. Who would have ever imagine reading letters would be such a huge novelty?

So, with stitches in my eye and enough eye drops to last me a long time I went home. Two weeks later I returned to get the left eye done, which was a very similar experience. The help and support offered by all the staff in the Mater Private Hospital was fantastic. It’s amazing how calm I remained during the time I spent there. I cannot thank them enough for what they have done for me and how much they have changed my life.

At the time I am writing this, I have a few more visits to the hospital ahead of me, mostly just check-ups, but also to get these pesky stitches out of my eye, but I’m looking forward to it. The days of me being blind and having my eyesight restrict what I do are over. I could not recommend this surgery or the Mater private enough for what they have done. Have no fear of the surgery, just do it and don’t look back. I know I won’t.

Insight into fameseeking

By Jason Kennedy

FOR ten years, a certain show has caused infinite controversy. It has created stars and ruined people’s lives. It gave us all an insight into the mindset of the craziest people in Britain. That show is Big Brother, and with only one year left to go there was only one thing to do to see how the fruitiest personalities are really picked: Audition for the most hated show on television.
The auditions were only starting up when my friend Tighearnan and I meandered into the RDS. We waited in the queue, along with former Big Brother tartlet, Noirin, who seemed to take a shining to yours truly. When the photographers wanted picture, she grabbed on to me and another hapless loser and posed. She then managed to trip on top of me. For the duration of my time with the reality TV loser, I couldn’t help but think of the amount of magazine I saw her nude in. Classy bird, our Noirin.
After around half an hour in the queue, Tig and I begun our team building exericises. We were split into two teams and had to complete a number of harmless tasks, like over-under and passing the balls without the use of our hands. However, the losing team had to complete an embarrassing forfeit, like pretend to be a farm animal or do the Single Ladies dance, glee style.
After this, the real work began. We were split into groups of eight and given a partner. We had to get as much info from the person about themselves and then tell it to the group. I was paired with Becky, a 22-year-old Airport Security worker from Ballymun, who used to work in Mountjoy with her twin sister, who also tagged along to the auditions. From then, we had to rank ourselves in how much we deserve to get on the show. I told the group about my encounter with the scientologists, my recent break-up and all those interesting things about my life. I managed to come second in the group, which I’m not sure is a good thing.
Following this, came the difficult dealings. We had to pick two people from the group to be ‘evicted’ from the auditions. We chose a loud-mouth woman, who cheated on her fiancé of six years with his best friend and a guy who was barely able to speak and was shaking quite a lot. The motor mouth woman was not impressed and began to say how we were all boring and she was the star. However, it was all a big joke. The skank and the quiet guy were still in with a show of being a Big Brother 11 housemate.
Then came the news of who, if any, progressed to round 2. This was decided by one of the producers, who would give a stamp on the person’s hand, which featured the infamous Big Brother Eye. So as the stamp came out, we all had to stick our wrists out in front of us. I found myself being nervous. I really wanted to see what was up next, behind that mysterious black curtain, where the successful candidates were gathering. So next thing people were getting stamped and then wham; a big eye stamp appeared on my hand. I was though round one, but unfortunately for Tighearnan, the day was done. The only other successful candidates from our line was the cheating loud-mouth and a 23-year-old devout Christian virgin, who had never been kissed, which leads me to ask what the hell is wrong with me?
So then, the three of us were rushed behind the black curtain of mystery. There we faced round 2: a seven-page questionnaire of extremely personal information and a contract to sell our rights away. I read through the contract which stated that we could not hold liable for embarrassment and they could use our character. My journalistic integrity signed my life away to Endemol UK and Channel 4.
Next came the questionnaire, which such gems as ‘where’s the strangest place you had sex?’, ‘what do you not want to talk about today?’ and ‘what’s the biggest lie you ever told?’ I was honest and filled out the form like I would any legitimate survey. A producer read through it, which would then told me if I was abnormal enough to go on to round three. She gave me the thumbs up and I was rushed upstairs to wait for a video interview in a mock up diary room.
Another producer led me into the room, where a bog-standard seat, black curtains, a big camera and a pleasant woman met me. She asked me about my answers to the questionnaire, and I answered her as humorously and eccentrically as I could.
After this I was led to yet another waiting area. I then met the stereotypical English producer I was expecting. He thanked me for coming, but said that it was the end of the road for me. I breathed a little sigh of relief, I may be odd, but at least I’m not that odd.
So, come Summertime, when Davina McCall is ushering in the last batch of wannabees, I’m hoping a little Irish Christian virgin goes in there. I have no idea how far he got, but he seemed like an interesting and friendly young fella, who was actually genuinely interested in going onto the show, and not just taking the proverbial, like Tighearnan and I. However, for her own sake, I hope the cheater is kept away from that house. She would be eaten alive by crowds baying for her blood, and, frankly, maybe she deserves it. I find the fact that she tried to use her infidelity as a springboard to become a z-list celebrity absolutely despicable. Imagine how crap that guy would feel, watching his ex boasting about that on international TV.
Nevertheless, whether you loved or hated Big Brother, this time next year it will be but a distant memory, to be replaced, undoubtedly, by another reality show. So, I may not be going into the most infamous house in Britain, but I’m sure there’ll be plenty of people ready to humiliate themselves for the nation’s amusement before the house closes their doors for good.