The other night, as I was getting ready for bed, removing my astigmatism-friendly contacts, I made an awful realization: I had no clue where my glasses were. I had a very faint memory of the long nap I took, which resulted in my removal of my glasses, but what then? Where could I have put them? If I were myself, where would I have hid my glasses?
There were two enormous problems with this situation. The first was that Husband, the only one of us who has perfect vision, was quite sound asleep, and the second was that, after crawling around our bedroom on my hands and knees, using my iPhone’s Flashlight app, I had the enormous fear that he was actually quite sound asleep on top of them. I had a decision to make: I could either continue crawling around, pawing with my abnormally small hands, to find refuge in complete sight, or I could just go to bed, totally dejected, holding my iPhone about an inch away from my face as I read Jane Eyre. (As an aside: how on earth did my literary friends let me go so long without having never read such a magnificent book!? Shame on you all. But I still love you.) I could have also awakened Husband, which I’m sure you’re thinking I should have done in the first place, but if you’ve ever had to deal with the wrath of Recently Awakened Husband, you’d understand why I didn’t want to risk it. The guy is great till you wake him up and then God help you. Is all I’m saying.
This has been a problem for nearly my entire life. By the time I was able to convince an eye doctor I couldn’t see anything on the chalkboard (yeah, 18-year-olds, people used to write on chalkboards. All the time.), I was more than legally blind, and things have only progressed in a digressive manner. It’s not just that things get blurry; colors start to blend together till I find myself essentially unable to decipher what’s around me. Except, you know, everything in our house since I am the person who put things where they now reside. Dropping my glasses on the floor shouldn’t be a big deal, but trust me — in the dark, with 20/600 vision, it just kind of is.
I didn’t find them that night. And I did end up going the iPhone an inch away from my face route, which led to slower reading since my eyes kept crossing, over and over again, because periphery is shot when things are that close. It was pretty much then when I realized my consultation appointment for eye surgery next month could not come soon enough. I lay awake at night in extreme fear sometimes over the impending doom that is a laser being shot into my retina, but, if the doctors don’t accidentally make me blind, I will never have to feel around on the floor, in the dark, for corrective lenses ever again.
Awesome, you guys.
I had another low point, and I know you probably love the days when I post about two awful things that have occurred in a fairly short period of time. I tried to dry swallow a pill today in Aeropostale (okay, maybe I have three low points to share because Husband and I were unquestionably the oldest people there, but he just had to get some puffy vest that looked like the one Brad Pitt donned in “Fight Club.” Must be a guy thing.), and it got caught in my throat. After several attempts to swallow, it finally lodged in my esophagus. I could just feel it right there, blocking things up and presumably beginning to disintegrate. Awful.
But! The mall drinking fountain saved my life and we were able to resume our shopping. I’m still concerned that I’m going to wake up tomorrow with either a hole in my esophagus or no esophagus at all, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, shan’t we?