… to his deaf son in a dark alley.
I don’t remember what it’s like to wake up and see my room in the morning. I got my first pair of glasses when I was in first grade. They were stylish for the times – light frosted blue with a cat-eye-like shape. The kids in my class called me “Cat Woman,” so I hid them in my lunch box.
Every year my eyes got worse. My frames changed with the times… John Lennon round gold wire rims, then the hexagon shape… and in junior high, I had the huge, Fearless Fly plastic frames. The strength of my prescription made those big lenses so heavy, my glasses left deep red indentations on my nose. From the side, I looked like someone sawed off the bottoms of clear Coke bottles and stuck them on my face.
By ninth grade, I was ready to try contacts. I begged for them. The day finally came, and I got them home, only to realize there was no way I was going to be able to put them in myself. I don’t do the eye-touching thing. My mother tried a few times. I would sit on the toilet with my back against the closest wall and my hands tucked under my legs, but I would fight her every time. Not happening.
After two weeks of frustration and tears, I finally figured out my own little method for inserting the lenses which did not require me to touch my eye. And popping them out was simple.
I carried on this way for nearly 30 years. I continued to wear the hard lenses, and then later, the gas-permeable ones, because of my severe prescription and my astigmatism.
Yesterday, I tried soft lenses. I couldn’t feel them. I couldn’t see the edges. They didn’t slide around. I fell in love.
I managed to get them in okay at the doctor’s office, even though they are much larger than what I was used to, but my old method worked for me after a few tries. The problem was getting them out. I couldn’t do it. The next patient was waiting, and I felt stressed and embarrassed. Finally, I told the doctor he was going to have to take them out, but when he came near me, naturally, I fought him off. I didn’t mean to. With a concerned look on his face, he sent me home with them to try in a more relaxed environment. I convinced him (and myself) that I would be able to do it.
I couldn’t. I cried. I can’t. I’m crying.
After sleeping overnight and waking with swollen eyes from all the tears, I was completely amazed to add a couple of drops and find that I still felt nothing on my eyes and my vision was as clear as I ever remember.
I want to wear these contacts more than anything.
So now I’m waiting for the doctor’s office to open, so I can crawl back there and admit my defeat. I hope there aren’t too many patients, because whatever method we have to use for him to remove them won’t be pretty. I imagine there will be crying and yelling and fighting and, ultimately, humiliation for me. Someone will have to hold me down while he does it. I won’t react well to that.
This is so ridiculous.