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by D. Cashon Klein
I have pretty eyes, although the left one
has a blood vessel that's always evident. I was sorting mail one
afternoon and sneezed. Envelopes are dangerous. Other than that, my
eyes are good. They are hazel, thus can appear to be green or
brown. Apparently, my eyelids are plastic surgeon quality. Who
knew?
I've been told that I look much better in
photos without my reading glasses. I'm rather fond of them, just
the same. I collect them wherever I go. I am to readers what Imelda
Marcos was to shoes. I especially like the harlequin type with
rhinestones. I like the irony of them because I am NOT a
girly-girl.
The pleasant lady at the DMV tactfully
suggested I would not pass another eye exam the next time I renewed
my license, so it seemed an actual eye exam with a REAL doctor was
in order. For the sake of vanity I decided I'd get contacts
instead of glasses. I wanted the color-enhanced ones so my irises
would look really hot. No longer would I hide behind a pair of
funky specs.
My exam confirmed that glasses were in
order. I told the doctor I wanted contacts. She gave me "the
contacts" lecture. Did I really, really want contacts? Was I
willing to make a commitment? I heard myself saying, YES, I can DO
this! She scheduled an appointment for me to come and learn how to
put them in. Huh? An appointment just for THAT? So I had to wait
one more week. She told me that after the training session they
would give me a couple lens types. I was to try each for a week to
decide which I liked best. It seemed it would be weeks before I'd
get my box of colored contacts.
I arrived at my training session early,
anxious to get the show on the road. I sat across from a woman who
demonstrated the art of insertion. She whipped her right arm over
her head and grasped her top, left eyelid with two fingers, tugging
it up, while simultaneously pulling her lower lid down with two
fingers of her left hand, leaving the pointer finger of that hand
free to balance a tiny, gelatinous, bowl-shaped thing which she
tapped on to her eyeball as she shifted her eye from side to side
to remove air bubbles.
I watched her and saw Malcolm McDowell
with his eyelids pulled away with tiny clips and wires in A
Clockwork Orange, the scene where they force him to watch violence
for hours while they put drops in his eyes. I prayed he wouldn't
sneeze. This is what I saw across the table from me. My eyes
started to water.
I watched her put it in and remove it
several times before she said, "Now you try." There are a series of
washing and rinsing moves that must be performed after handling
contacts. These washings must be done each time an attempt is made
to get the damned thing in the eye. About an hour and a half later,
I had used an entire bottle of sterile solution and still had not
made contact...no pun intended. I finally put it in as people in
the mall left and the lights were turned off. I knew I was
successful because I could see. I could SEE!
Then she said, "Now remember, DO NOT drive
with them the first few days because you may have a
depth-perception problem. Also, don't leave them in for more than
four hours the first day."
I set my alarm early to give me time to
put them in. I was not going to try this at work because it might
take an hour. I was able to get them in after about 12 tries. I
wore them while I drove to work. I survived. I like to live on the
edge. Four hours passed and I successfully removed them without
incident.
That was the last time I had them in. I
went back to the doctor's office and stayed another hour and a
half trying to put them in again. Each time I stuck one in my eye I
noticed people around me flinch. The doctor said, as if she were
talking someone off a ledge, "You need to be more careful...don't
just JAM it onto your eye. Here, let me have a look... I think I
better examine that eye... just to be safe."
So, after the orange dye treatment, she
determined that I hadn't scratched my cornea. My eye was blood red
for a week. Every time I tried to put one of the stupid things in,
I'd pull my finger away, hoping the contact was where it needed to
be, only to see what looked like a large booger hanging from my
fingernail.
It's been a month. There is a row of
contact lens cases on my bathroom shelf. Occasionally I will make
an attempt to put them in, but I usually say screw it. The people
at the eye place are probably wondering what happened to me, or
they're glad they've not heard from me. A friend said, " I don't
know why you have so much trouble with them. Even kids can put them
in." I remind her that kids know how to use computers and all
computer-related devices as soon as they emerge from the womb. Kids
could probably master brain surgery if it was fun.
I saw a cool pair of reading glasses at
the hardware store the other day. I think I'll go back and get
them...
Debbie Cashon Klein is a Safety Harbor
resident.
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