The Visionary

A couple months ago, I got my eyes examined by a new optometrist. I was pleasantly surprised to find a doctor that listened to everything I had to say about my eyesight.  He asked all right questions and gave me reassuring answers to the concerns that I had.  Well…they were all reassuring until we discussed why I was having trouble seeing things up close. 

The doctor was very tactful, but he basically told me that my eyesight was changing because I was getting older.  Great.  I’d been able to focus on anything as close as half-an-inch away from my nose for my entire life, and then all of a sudden I needed reading glasses. 

He must have noticed the chagrined look on my face because he suggested an alternative to what I thought of as “granny glasses.”  He could order the usual lens to correct the myopic vision for one eye.  Then he could order a lens to correct the hyperopic vision for my other eye.  All I had to do was look out of whichever eye I needed at the time. I had to think about that for  a minute or two.  (I also had to ask him what hyperopic meant.  I’d never been farsighted before so I had no idea.  Just in case you’ve never been nearsighted, that’s what myopic means.  I’ve known that one since grade school.)

I told my new optometrist that I wasn’t so sure that was a good idea.  I kept visualizing myself driving down the road and getting something in my eye.  I worried that it would be so painful that I wouldn’t be able to keep my eye open. Then I wouldn’t be able to see the road with the way the other eye had been corrected. I explained that not being able to see while driving could end badly.

I’m pretty sure the doctor rolled his eyes as he gently asked me how often that happened.  I answered that I could only think of one time…when I was about eighteen.  Obviously it had made a huge impact on me. I simply couldn’t take the risk of that happening again. 

Getting used to carting a pair of “readers” along with me wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be.  It didn’t take long for the self-consciousness of pulling them out to read small print to wear off. Still, a part of me daydreamed about having not having to use them.  I wondered if the two very different lens for my eyes would actually be a good idea after all.

That was until I was driving home late this evening.  Something landed in my eye (I’m pretty sure it was a skyscraper) and I couldn’t keep it open for the life of me.  In fact, it was also a struggle to keep the other eye open. It seemed to want to close in sympathy. 

Somehow I managed to arrive home without crashing myself into a ditch.  As I  examined my poor eye in the mirror, I took a good look at my mascara and tear streaked face.  I couldn’t help but congratulate myself for having the foresight to trust myself.

I can hardly wait until my next eye exam. I’ve got a few things to talk to that optometrist about.

*****

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