I had to have an eye exam today. Those of you who know about my intense displeasure at having my eyes touched can probably imagine my enthusiasm.
After I checked in and elicited numerous reassurances that this eye exam would not involve eye-touching, I was left alone in the exam room. I took advantage of the lax security by searching the contact samples, hoping to steal a 30-year supply and ensuring I’d never need an eye exam again. They didn’t have my brand. Naturally.
The doctor came in and after I made her raise her right hand and promise not to touch my eye, she conducted the usual tests, which I think I failed.
“Which is clearer? Number 1 or Number 2?”
“Number 1.”
“Are you sure?”
“Um…Yes?”
“Try again.”
As the exam progressed, I felt calmer. Why would they need to touch my eye? The doctor already agreed that my contacts looked good, so there was no need to be fitted with new ones; that horrific glaucoma puff test had been replaced by the jaundice-inducing eye drops, my prescription hadn’t really changed; and my eyes looked healthy. I was in the clear.
That’s when the doctor told me she was going to insert some numbing drops.
“Numbing drops?!? What for?” I asked, looking for the nearest eye instrument to fashion into a weapon.
“Oh, to test for blah blah blah blah.”
“I thought you said you weren’t going to touch my eye!”
“I’m not going to touch your eye,” she said, clearly annoyed with me. “Just the outer layer of tears.“
Would this be the outer layer of tears located 14 blocks away? Or the outer layer of tears located ON MY EYE?!?
As she used her dagger-sharpened fingernail to pull my eyelid up (which, JESUS), I had to endure a moving, neon purple metal tip touch my eye not once, but 5 times, because oops, I kept moving. Also, I kept dying.
Then she put those dilating drops in my eyes and made me wait in the waiting room with 50 other people because the other doctor was behind schedule. I looked like a dork, wearing lame paper sunglasses, the poor man’s version of Nicole Richie. Also, I was blind, since I had to remove my contacts, and the only reading material was a magazine about asthma. Which I read cover to cover. TWICE.
The other doctor then spent 2 minutes with me, but I didn’t care because he didn’t touch my eye, which meant I allowed him to live.
It’s now been over two hours since I’ve gotten back to work and my pupils are still dilated. For reference, this is a great condition to have if you need to edit documents for a living. Or to see.
The plus side? I’m totally waiting for nighttime. I bet I’ll have killer night vision. You know, underneath my outer layer of tears.
