Since my eyesight has been the subject of questions recently
(Me vs Snakes and Being Blind), I thought I’d share the story of how my ivory
tower of perfect vision was unceremoniously toppled by my loving husband.
Growing up I’d always had 20/20 vision. From a genetic
standpoint this was lucky. My mom has more or less always required major vision
correction, though my dad managed to make it much further in life before being
required to hold things at arms length in order to read them. I was doing pretty well.
I took pride in my ability to see things clearly. I could
run, jump, and play without ever having to fuck with glasses or contacts.
Friends would struggle with contact solutions, and fight the losing battle to
keep sand and dirt out of their contacts while camping. I would just drink and
go to bed. It was a time of happiness and blissful naiveté.
And then just like that, it was over.
I was in my mid-twenties, taking classes up at Simon Fraser
University. As is the life of most students, much of my time was spent sleeping
through lectures in giant halls, and desperately trying to catch up on reading
while remembering sweet fuck all of what I had just read.
The last thing I needed was some dumb shit professor who
couldn’t focus the damn overhead.
Every day that I sat in his class I silently berated him. I
questioned how this man has received a PhD in anything, given the fact that he
was bordering on incompetent. How could someone so smart, be so
incomprehensibly unable to bring a simple overhead into focus? The stupidity
was astounding.
For weeks I would rant to my husband about how this idiotic
man was singlehandedly ruining my GPA by making it impossible to follow along
with his power point presentation. He asked me if anyone else had mentioned
this. I didn’t think so, but then
I certainly didn’t talk to everyone. Or, frankly, anyone.
He looked down the hall and asked me to read the sign at the
end of it.
Me: I can’t, it’s too far away. Normal people can’t see things that far away. What’s wrong
with you?
Him: I can read that.
Me: Bullshit.
Him: *reads
sign*
Me: Fuck off, you’re
guessing
Him: You need
glasses
Well, shit.
I lived in denial
for a time, constantly playing the “can
you read that” game with unsuspecting participants. Eventually I gave up
and went to the optometrist, who confirmed once and for all that my beautiful
20/20 vision was no longer.
Oddly, she said, I was having trouble with
distance, but up close was fine. She said that wasn’t normally something that
developed later in life and suggested I should read less to let my eyes rest. Ha, that wasn’t
going to happen.
My kids love to try on my glasses |
And so now I have glasses
(and thanks to online shopping, many pairs). I hardly wear them, and my prescription
is laughably small compared to everyone I know, but the sting of losing
perfection is still there.
Just below the
surface.
At least I think it’s
just below the surface….it’s a bit blurry out there.
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