Too close for comfort

I sat in the small room, nervous, waiting for her. I’d been waiting for some time now, but the thought of leaving never crossed my mind. I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

She finally came in, looked at me, smiled. I smiled back. She dimmed the lights, closed the door. Her face was suddenly close to mine, too close for someone I’d just met five minutes earlier. But from the moment we saw each other, we knew this could end only one way.

She pulled off my glasses and broke the silence.

“Read the bottom line for me, will you? Without squinting.”

Thus began my recent experience at the eye doctor’s. I’ve always found those visits to be a strangely intimate experience. You’re in a small, dark room. It’s quiet. There's some serious eye contact going on; the doctor is all up in your business and/or grill. It’s weird. My time there is usually split into trying to a) listen to the doctor’s instructions, and b) not giggle like a madman.

So I only go by necessity: Either when my glasses have broken, or when I have to start judging road signs by context alone. This time it was the former, much to the relief of motorists everywhere.

Let me explain to all you pansy “low-grade prescription-wearers” out there. I really, really can’t see without my glasses. My friends like to test me by holding their fingers about a foot away from my face, and I usually have only the vaguest guess as to how many there are. (A fact that, I believe, some of my friends take unfair advantage of.)

In this case, though, it wasn’t that bad—the right stem snapped, but I was able to hold it together with scotch tape. “Like Harry Potter, but nerdier” was the look I was going for. I think I pulled it off.

My plan was to go into Lenscrafters, have them get the prescription off my current glasses and make me a new pair. But, as Life will tell you, nothing is ever that simple.

“Oh, we can’t make you a new pair of glasses without a visit to the eye doctor,” says the frustratingly cheerful saleswoman behind the counter. “It’s California law. Fortunately, we have a doctor on the premises. Can I make an appointment for you?”

At first the answer was no, on principal. But two minutes later, I came to the realization that my glasses were still broken. So I went back and made the appointment.

It wasn’t as much of an ordeal as it could have been, but I still hate going. I’m squeamish about anything going in my eyes (it’s the reason I don’t wear contacts). So I don’t particularly appreciate having puffs of air shot into them (for some reason, this is a real test) or having drops put in.

“Good survival instincts!” the doctor said, trying to pry my eyes open for the third time in an attempt to drop me. It was a valiant attempt at making the best of a bad situation. Because, no matter how much my brain insists, my eyes simply will not open if there are eye drops in the vicinity. “Not today, brain!” they scoff. “Do your worst!”

Ultimately, the doctor had to use brute force. I don’t blame her; it was the only realistic option.

The drops eventually made it into my eyes. Shockingly, I survived. Now I have new glasses, although they’re ridiculously small. So I need to exchange them for new ones, which I’m sure will be a process in and of itself. I just hope I can get that done without another doctor appointment.