WASHINGTON, Oct. 11, 2015 – It was time for my annual eye exam. You’d think that going to the eye doctor wouldn’t be bad, at least not for yearly exams. No shots, yay! You’d at least think I’d be used to them by now; I started wearing glasses when Jimmy Carter was in the White House. Switching to contacts in college meant yearly exams if I wanted refills on the prescription so by my calculations…carry the three…I’ve had a gazillion eye exams.
It doesn’t matter, I look forward to them with the same enthusiasm as a time share sales pitch given by political candidates.
At first it was the glaucoma test. “Don’t blink,” they say, and then they shoot a poof of air in your eye at point blank range. I don’t care how much of a klutz you think you are; the ninja reflexes kick in and your eye snaps shut. Knowing that there’s still another eye to go is enough to make anyone shiver with antici…pation. (Bonus points if you caught the “Rocky Horror” reference. )
When modern optometry developed the poof-free glaucoma test, I figured I was set. Nope. Being ridiculously nearsighted wasn’t enough; my left eye decided it would be fun to start showing me text that was curved like a backwards letter C.
That was enough to make my regular eye doctor hand me a referral to a specialist. Now I see the specialist for my yearly exams, which isn’t bad except that it means eye dilation.
If you’ve never had it done, consider yourself lucky because it’s not fun. The doctor puts in a couple kinds of eye drops that sting like crazy and open your pupils nice and wide. It lets the doctor see your eye innards and you look like an anime character for a while.
After the drops go in, you get to sit in the waiting room while they do their thing and try not to go blind because of the ridiculous amount of light your oversized pupils are letting in. Usually I attempt to read something with no contacts and huge pupils, but this year I was smart. I brought my headphones and listened to songs I haven’t heard in ages (I need more B52s in my life.).
It was almost a disappointment when my name was called.
The exam went well and my eyes weren’t any worse, but my new doctor was a Foo Fighters fan so I’d call that a win/win. I put on the sunglasses, drove home squinting and got ready for a heavy afternoon of work. I had one book to finish reading so I could write the review, two articles to write, social media updates to make and schedule and a marketing book to study.
In other words, I needed my newly certified just fine eyeballs.
Somebody forgot to tell them.
My pupils weren’t cooperating with my schedule. Everything I tried to read was blurry, no matter if it was on a screen or in a book. Lovely.
Of course, I didn’t have any cookbooks to test. I put on my reading glasses and…hey! I can see! Burning daylight here, I’ve got stuff to do! Updates first, they’re fast, research the articles…
I got maybe an hour of work in before the migraine hit. Once I take my meds, I lose the ability to write in English so I called it a night. At least I got a few things done. It could have been worse; at least I didn’t have to do a phone interview.
I have enough trouble reading my notes when my eyes are working right.
Mental note, clear the schedule after next year’s eye exam.