In the blog Over the Edge, journalist Brad Wadlow (and desk editor for MyCentralJersey.com) recently began an entertaining, biting account of his childhood (and adult) encounters with plastic surgeons — looking to repair a damaged eye. In the blog’s “About the Author” section, Wadlow says, “I can be serious, but it’s usually when the house is on fire, or my tie is caught in the blender (again).” “As the Eye Rolls”: My plastic surgery journey:
In my warped and demented mind, I’d always considered New York University Medical Center to be like a vacation home.
I had around 10 plastic surgeries between the ages of 5 and 18 (there was a time when I was younger and had more memory cells where I could recite the dates of each one, exactly what was done, and what the names of my roommates were.)
These days, I’m lucky if I remember my name.
Most of these surgeries were done at NYU Medical Center.
But, it’s been 25 years since I’ve set foot on the hospital grounds. However, not a day goes by where some scene or another from my hospital stays flashes briefly on the usually blank screen of my mind.
Lately, I’d been having trouble with my prosthetic eye. Like a dog that flunked out of obedience school, it wouldn’t stay put. Which wouldn’t be so bad if it didn’t keep slipping out at inopportune times, like at work. Or Church. Or on the treadmill at the gym.