It all started with a scratchy eye.
I attributed the re-occurring issue to the dry climate and being on the computer all day, but still thought maybe I should get it checked out. Besides, I had met my health insurance deductible for the year (yes, I know what that means now) and realized that in all my 23 years of life, I had never actually been to the eye doctor.
I expected scheduling a standard eye exam to be similar to that of a yearly sports physical or bi-annual teeth cleaning. Nothing is available more than two months in advance unless you are having a problem or some kind of emergency—and I was definitely not having either.
(Photo from 'moirabot' via Flickr)
That said I was shocked when the receptionist informed me that she had scheduled me for the following morning. I instantly felt a wave of panic gush through my bloodstream like a warm shot of Tequila. Tomorrow?!
What do they do at an eye exam anyway? Whatever it is, it can’t be pleasant. Have you seen those terrible sunglasses people walk out of there wearing?
I spent the remainder of the afternoon questioning my co-workers and researching the events of an eye exam. The majority of them eased my worries. However, I was a bit alarmed when one of my co-workers poked his head over my cubicle and whispered “beware of the puff.”
When I arrived at my appointment the next morning, a little old lady named Marcel called my name and brought me into a room with a lot of unfamiliar looking machines and giant posters of eye balls covering the walls. She asked me to sit down in front of the largest, scariest machine of them all and told me to look at the red light.
I hesitantly obeyed, and seeing a bright flash immediately jumped backwards into my seat. “Is something wrong?” Marcel asked. I explained my optical virginity and she kindly offered to hold my hand during the remainder of the retinal scan. I told her I thought I could handle it.
We then ventured to one of the smaller, less intimidating machines. Thinking the worst was behind me, I walked into this one with ease. Marcel told me to focus on the hot air balloon in the distance and the rest would just happen.
I focused on the hot air balloon with my left eye and heard a quiet beep. Seconds later, I felt a blast of air penetrate my eyeball. What the heck was that?
Obviously shaken, Marcel comforted me. “Some people call that one ‘the puff’,” she said with a smile. That explained a lot.
As I focused on the balloon once again, this time with my right eye, I squinted, in fear of ‘the puff’. It finally beeped and, as expected, forced a blast of air into my eye. “Whoops, looks like that one didn’t turn out,” Marcel said.
Of course it didn’t.
This time, it was serious. I opened my eye as wide as I could and starred down that hot air balloon like a slutty girl who had just slept with my boyfriend.
The air puffed. And I didn’t flinch.
Marcel patted me on the back and led me into another room. We said our goodbyes and she wished me luck. Gosh I missed her already.
The doctor entered the room a few minutes later. Projecting rows of letters onto the screen, he asked me to recite row after row, what seemed like a million times. I read the very bottom line all but twice.
“Great job,” the doctor said. “You have 20-20 vision.” Psh, I knew that already.
During the next portion of the exam, the doctor clicked back and forth between two different slides, asking me to tell him which looked clearer. Now this was easy.
Confident I had aced the entire exam, I was shocked, and let’s face it, a little devastated when moments later he informed me that I would be needing glasses.
Glasses?! I was sure I had passed all the tests with flying colors. I didn’t realize I had blurted this aloud until I heard the doctor explaining to me that was not the way it worked.
I had something called a stigmatism, and he attributed the scratchiness I had been experiencing in my eyes to needing a slight magnification.
Geeze this was confusing. How could you have 20-20 vision and still need glasses?
He handed me my prescription and walked me into another room where he introduced me to the lady that helped you pick out your frames. Was this really happening?!
Twenty-three and losing my vision—looks like it’s all downhill from here. I picked out a pair I could live with and made the slow walk to the car. At this rate I’m going to need Botox and a boob job by the time I’m 30!
