*Actually, my darling husband made an appointment for me. He got sick of me saying stuff along the lines of:
If I could see, I’d look you straight in the eye.
I’d help you, but I can’t read the names of the streets.
Have you seen Max’s binky?
Have you seen Max?
Where’s the aspirin?
Where are my keys?
Speaking of keys…
One time, I took his keys on a trip to work with me. My mistake surfaced at the train station when I realized my ticket wasn’t attached to the key chain. It’s his fault really. If he weren’t so prepared by carrying around one of my spare keys, I would never have made it out of the driveway. If I were married to me, I probably would have made the appointment myself.
Two years have past since my last eye related medical visit. Why so long? Well, I stretched my last contact prescription out until April 2012. Four months without contacts hasn’t been so bad. My eyesight isn’t that atrocious. My driver’s license doesn’t indicate that I need glasses to drive, I’ve memorized the way to work, and know that the red octagon means to slow down. Also, I have a severe aversion to phones, making appointments, shopping, and making decisions. My test anxiety is out of control. I hate failing. This test-taking fear has greatly affected my life. I couldn’t exit my car for the MCATs. My SAT score? An 800 total. I even failed my kindergarten entrance exam! I could skip and the instructor asked me, “What’s a fork for?” I heard, “What’s a forquefore?” I hadn’t a clue. Seriously, couldn’t he just have said, “What’s a fork used for?” For all of these reasons, Brian had not only made me an appointment, he had dedicated himself to coming with me and helping me also choose glasses. Really, I don’t know how I ever survived without this man. From cooking my dinner and packing my lunch, to making me take my vitamins, this man truly takes care of me.
Brian tried for a local non-mall centric optometrist, but without a toothpick protruding from my eye (which I briefly considered), I would have to wait until October. Neither one of us desired to hear me complain that long, off to LensCrafters we went. Actually, we met there after work. Max, (8 months old) came along for moral support.
First were the painstaking pretests. Look at the red barn in the distance. Click this each time the blue dot wiggles. And my favorite: blasting a puff of air into the each retina. F-U-N. Can I have these people at my son’s next birthday party? Forget the bouncy room.
There was a brief reprieve where I could go and meet with my screaming son before the big, bad doctor took me away. Actually, he wasn’t big at all. He reminded me of a thinner Andy Dick or Professor Frink from the Simpsons. This was not comforting.
Being alone in a dark room with this man creeped me out. He has chosen to look into people’s eyes on a daily basis and studied and sacrificed for years to do so. After attempting to rid my brain of all Criminal Minds episodes, the big black head apparatus was placed in front of my face. He spoke softly.
The name of the doctor has been changed to protect the innocent…and for dramatic effect.
Dr. Mendel: “Which looks better? 1 or 2?”
Me: “1, I think.”
Dr. Mendel: “This one or this one?”
Me: “The first one? Could you do it again?”
Dr. Mendel: “1 or 2?”
The same letters were used to check both eyes. Maybe my left eye could see X O E B V because my right eye had memorized them. And because all of that wasn’t torturous enough, he made me read out loud! That’s number 17 on my 500 Things I Hate To Do list.
Despite cheating, I FAILED and left with a new prescription for glasses. I opted against contacts. Since wearing them, my left eye has transformed into a permanent road map.
I was also informed that the tests showed that I have an increased risk for macular degeneration. Cool. The doctor told me of some ways to possibly lower my risk. I can wear sunglasses and stay away from UV. Okay. I can not become overweight. Alright. I can eat green leafy vegetables daily. Done. I can not develop diabetes. I’ll try. I can stay away from alcohol. What?
I’ll study next time. I promise.
We left without choosing a pair of glasses. Max wasn’t any help. At every pair, he pulled his head back and looked at me in disapproval. Brian gaffed at the wire rims and called them Carol glasses. Carol’s one of our neighbors. She’s nice and over 65 which is not exactly my age demographic. Instead, he gravitated toward the black horn-rimmed ones just like his. I was not thrilled. I want color! Chartreuse or perhaps glow-in-the-dark. Besides, I’ve been there before in 2002. It’s red-neck enough that I met him while he was dating my sister. There’s no need for us to look related.