The iris is painted on a curved plastic lens to which a black dot, the simulated pupil, is attached. To make sure the right and left eyes match, Shore had to constantly compare her work-in-progress with the real thing.
"Ty! Look here! Look up here!" his father called, waving a musical toy.
Tyler, sitting on Emily's lap, lifted his gaze, giving Shore the moment she needed to hold the fake iris next to his eye.
Then Shore dipped a fine-tipped brush into pots of acrylic paint, mixed spots of color on a glass palette, and added to the iris. Layer after layer. Brown and gray. Hints of yellow, red, even blue. Subtle striations that only her trained eyes could see were missing.
"We're getting there, folks," Shore said after more than an hour.
Tyler, up since 6 a.m. without a nap, laid his head on his mother's shoulder and closed his non-droopy lid.
"Ty! Ty! Look at the teddy bear," his grandmother called as Shore checked the blue hue she had just added to the sclera.
By 1:30, the eye was ready.
Shore slipped it in Tyler's socket. He protested, but only until it was in place.
Suddenly, it was as if he had never been a cancer patient, never lost a precious organ. He was simply a cherub-cheeked tot with soft curls and two big brown peepers.
"The eye moves so naturally," Emily said.
"You can't even tell the difference," Mike marveled.
Shore gave them a sheet of instructions and little suction cups in case they needed to remove the prosthesis.
"It could accidentally come out," she said. "That would be unusual, but if it does, just wash it with regular soap and water."
After a round of hugs, the family packed up the toys, sippy cup, diapers, and other necessities of babyhood.
Tyler, sizing up the situation, saw what he should do.
He waved goodbye.
Contact staff writer Marie McCullough at 215-854-2720.
