I Can See Clearly Now

The one thing about going to school on the mainland is that I have to take care of all my medical visits during my short visits back to the islands. That means that my break is often a parade of physicals, teeth cleanings, pap smears, etc. Yesterday I once again found myself reading old issues of National Geographic and watching Discovery Health in the waiting room, this time while waiting for my eye exam. Supposedly you’re supposed to get your eyes checked every year or so, but I was going for an eye exam to get my prescription for new glasses. I play basketball with them, and being as I am a clumsy idiot, I eat it a lot and my glasses have numerous scratches on them from skidding across asphalt courts; as a result my vision is permanently interrupted by about twenty floating white objects. And good vision is very important and always has been, as we can see by bringing back our two cavemen, Wog and Oog.

Wog: What is that thing running towards us? Looks like a mammoth, no wait, maybe a bear. Hmm, should we run?

Oog: Don’t spear it, it could be my mother.

Wog: Okay, but if it is she’s slimmed down AHHH!!! (Wog is eaten by a large moose).

Oog: Mom?

I first figured out I needed glasses in the 8^th grade, particularly in my Algebra class. I would sit there in my sit and squint as hard as I could and try and make out what the teacher had written on the board, devastated that I couldn’t join my classmates on the journey of knowledge. Okay, so maybe I’m exaggerating a bit. I actually just came in and went to sleep since I knew I couldn’t see what the heck the teacher was putting on the board. My algebra teacher just saw me there making faces at the board and muttering to myself and assumed I was retarded. So finally, I finally decided to get my eyes checked.

First, they check how well you can see without glasses, which means that poster with the big E on it. I’m not sure what that E is for; the doctors never even ask you to read it, they just start at the fifth line. I mean, the thing is huge, and even if you can’t actually see it, everybody knows it’s there. I mean, Stevie Wonder could walk into the room and read that top line. Then of course they tell you to cover your eye with what appears to be some kind of spatula they took out of their kitchen. Once you’re done with that, they put what appear to be fifty-pound metal glasses up against their faces and start to flip different lenses and ask you which one looks better. If you’ve never gone through this, it’s a lot more stressful than it looks. In the beginning, it easy because in lens two makes the words clear while lens one appears to be filled with giant black clouds. But as you go on, the difference becomes so small you have trouble making up your mind and you don’t want to choose the wrong one or else you’re going to be bumping into poles the rest of your life.

After a few routine tests, my optometrist decides he wants to inspect my eye. This is the part where he shines a light five times brighter than the sun and tells you to stare straight at it so he can see any injuries to your eye (aside from the one he’s causing with his light that is). Then it’s time to check your eye pressure, which is always my least favorite part. First off, I admit I’m a little sensitive about putting things near my eye; even eye drops freak me out. I always put the bottle above my eye and try and open my eye, but I always either end up blinking or missing and putting my eye drops down my nose or something (my fear of eye drops is yet another reason I prefer cocaine to marijuana). So for the eye pressure test, of course the first thing the doctor does is put in these numbing eye drops that it makes it feel like your eyelid is covered in road tar. Then he shows you what appears to be a large magic marker with a plastic tip and informs you he is going to poke you in the eye several times. I’m pretty sure if I heard that in normal situations I would cry, but at the moment the road tar in my eye has hardened and my eyelids aren’t working properly.

After all of these tests, the doctor finds that my vision hasn’t changed much. But then he starts talking to me about contacts, which I’ve never worn in my life. As I’ve mentioned before, my fear of putting things in my eye is the main reason, but they just look like a hassle. I’m sure you’ve been around someone with contacts before when they just all of a sudden double over in pain and start screaming and clawing at their eyes because one little fleck of dust got in their contacts. And then of course there’s always that one guy who loses his contacts and makes everybody stop what they are doing and crawl around on the ground looking for them (and of course 70% of the time they are just in the corner of his eye or on his nose or something). Besides, I think my glasses make me look sexy. If you agree with me, I think you might also need to get your eyes checked.