Hamlet, Considering LASIK

To see or not to see. That is the question.

Whether ‘tis nobler in the eye to suffer
The lenses or frames for outrageous vision,
Or to take arms against a sea of annoyances,
And, by opposing, end them. To see, to look-
On with eyes unaided. And by seeing, to end
The headache and the thousand natural frustrations
That eyes are heir to when they don’t see so good.
To see, perchance to dream. Aye, there’s the bit,
For in that sight what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this visual toil
Of smudged-up glasses or lenses oft reordered?
For who would bear the whips and scorns of frames,
The oppressive glass, the wretch’d man’s consuming
Pangs of despised breaks. The flaws, I say!
The annoyance of loss, and the burns
That patients endure of unworthy aches
When they themselves try sunnies atop frames.
And what of contacts? Who would bear
To grunt and sweat under such a weary life
With the dread of losing a lens to
The undiscovered country from whence
No contacts return; puzzles the mind.
It makes us rather bear the many ills it has
Than fly to other options we know little of.
Like LASIK, which if eligible for the procedure
Could fix the native hue of visual resolution
And is passed o’er with a pale cast of thought
For enterprises of great bother and trouble.
With this regard I won’t turn away
And lose the name of action. Soft you now,
The fair LASIK — nymph in thy origin
Be all my ails removed.
At least, the ones about my vision.

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