To know me, to really know me, is to know that I am almost constantly having some sort of eyesight drama. I kind of feel that someone could easily write an entire sitcom around on it.
Now, I haven’t been to my eye doctor in two years, because he is MEAN TO ME. One time, he called me a crack head! Yeah, he did! Because I tried to tell him that I thought I had an astigmatism and God forbid I should be attune to my eyeballs, you know? He finally admitted that I had a slight astigmatism but that it wasn’t enough to prescribe me toric lenses. I had to FIGHT him on it because I had been reading up on the lenses and was pretty sure they would help me, considering I couldn’t see out of regular lenses without squinting, even when the prescription was brand new, and I had a hard time keeping the lenses from popping off.
“Fine, I’ll pacify your neuroses,” is what he actually said, I’m NOT LYING, as he went to find a sample pair of toric lenses.
They were amazing. They didn’t do gymnastics across the arc of eyeball like regular lenses did, and I felt my eye sight was more balanced. He didn’t seem to believe me when I went back a week later to tell him this, like it was all psychosomatic. Yes, we all know I’m a crazy-ass, thank you; maybe even a little bit of a hypochondriac. But when I say I can’t see, I REALLY FUCKING MEAN THAT I CAN’T SEE. He seemed to be smirking when he wrote down my order for a full supply of the toric lenses.
I’ve continued to order them on my own, and I’m proud to say I haven’t had any jumpers since switching to the toric lenses.
Unfortunately, I needed to order more contacts last week, but my doctor denied my 1-800-contacts order since my prescription is expired. Goddamn fucking LAWS.
“I am NOT going back to that guy,” I yelled to Henry. It seemed like every time I was there, I was finding myself caught in some stupid lie. And besides, the last time I was there, I apparently had some infection and was supposed to go back and see him after 10 days of not wearing contacts, but I wore my contacts that entire time and was too afraid to go back and suffer his wrath. (In fact, I will re-post that entry later because I’m actually quite fond of it.)
(I should be slapped for saying that I’m “quite fond” of something.)
This morning, I had an appointment with some broad at Pearle Vision. As soon as I entered, she exclaimed, “You must be Erin!” in a slight Southern drawl. “I already checked you out, you’re good,” she said cheerfully as she slid my insurance card back to me.
As I sat in a small room, removing my contacts, some older gentleman passed by and said, “Oh, that must be Erin!”
“Everyone’s excited to see you today,” the doctor laughed.
“I like it. Makes me feel like a celebrity,” I said as I plucked out my right lens with a nick on the edge.
In the exam room, she slid back from the eye machine and said, “Well, you have an astigmatism.” As she scribbled on my chart, I told her about my war with the other doctor.
“That’s scary,” she said. “That you would know more about it than your doctor.” She looked appalled.
“Yeah, thank god for Google!” I laughed. But I was serious. Thank god for Google.
“I don’t know how you were able to see, wearing regular lenses.”
“That’s the thing! I thought I was getting more blind by the day. And my contacts were always popping off my eyes.”
She fit with me a pair of Acuvue toric lenses and they were ten times better than the off-brand ones the other guy prescribed to me. “I really think you’re going to like these ones so much more,” she said all nice and Southerny.
Everything was so crisp! It made me want to grab a parasol and start singing.
No one there pressured me into ordering a full box, or trying on glasses. They were vultures in the other office. It was a good start to the day.
Henry had dropped me off at the eye doctor, because Chooch had a check-up at his pediatrician’s office down the street. To kill time, I walked down to McDonald’s to get an iced coffee, and then sat in front of Old Country Buffet right in time for all the old people to arrive in droves. What is it with geriatrics and buffets? Old people, when in swarms, walk remarkably like zombies. I was a little fearful, but the fact that I could SEE it was old people staggering up to me, and not mobile sacks of potatoes, negated my fear.
Finally Henry arrived. In the car, he noticed I was drinking directly from the plastic cup and asked, “They didn’t give you a lid?”
“No, they didn’t give me a STRAW, and when I couldn’t FIND a straw, I said, ‘Hey, can someone give me a STRAW?’ and no one answered so I was like FUCK YOU THEN, threw out the lid, and have been drinking it strawless ever since.”
“Wow. You sure showed them,” Henry muttered.