Puff, Puff, Pass

This week it was time once again to go in for an eye exam. After discovering a couple of years ago that I have perfectly acceptable vision in one eye but am approaching blind in the other, I have needed to wear glasses while doing anything like reading, working at a computer, etc. Well, supposed to wear glasses is probably the better term. I wore them a lot of the time for the these things, but not always. Wore. Past tense. You see, I made a bit of a mistake a while back. I set the glasses down where the dog could get them and then forgot. He eventually decided that this nice soft case they were in would make a fabulous chew toy. I suppose I could wear them now, but if the scratched lenses didn't bother me, the mangled frames poking into my head probably would. I guess I'm fortunate since the doctor told me this time that if I was not left eye dominant, I would need the glasses full time and probably wouldn't even be able to pass a test for a driver's license without them. Instead, I can get away with not wearing them as long as I'm ok with the strain and the constant questioning from everyone who sees me when I've been reading, writing or typing. "What's with your eyes?" "Are you ok?" "Wow, your allergies must really be acting up." "Have you been crying?" And my favorite: "Dude, are you stoned or hungover? What's going on?" I'm not sure whether I'm more disturbed by the people thinking I'm in my office getting high or the ones thinking I'm in my office crying.

One thing I have never really understood during the eye exam is the glaucoma test. For those of you who haven't had one of these, allow me to give you a brief explanation:

They have you put your head in front of this machine that aims what appears to be a small caliber gun at your eyeball. The machine then shoots a puff of air into your eye. It's wonderful that we can test for and even treat glaucoma now, but couldn't we come up with something better than this? From the time the very first human opened the very first eye, we have all been trying to keep things out of them. Every instinct we have tells us to protect the eye from foreign invaders, be they sharp sticks, very small rocks or a blast of air. Now, you lean your forehead against the headrest and brace yourself, because you know what is coming. You think, "I am an intelligent being and I can control my instincts," knowing full well that it's all a lie. You sit there readying yourself for the inevitable, and it doesn't happen. So you wait, and still nothing. Finally, as you begin to wonder if the person performing the exam has lapsed into unconsciousness, the puff of air is unleashed. All of the time telling yourself not to move has been wasted as your instincts kick in and scream, "Save the eye! Quick, close the lids and duck." The feeling of panic quickly fades, only to be replaced by humiliation when you realize that you just threw yourself to the floor to avoid air, and now the test has to be repeated. The way I reacted to this test I expect a full head restraint to keep my still and tape to keep my eyelids open the next time I go in.

When I went in for my test this time, I tried everything I could to keep myself still. When the air was blown into the first of my eyes to be examined, I pulled away, but fortunately not enough to impact the test. I apologized to the technician performing the test and said, "I knew what to expect but jumped anyway." Chuckling, she switched to aiming at the other eye, lowered my head a little (giving me a complex about having eyes that aren't level in the process) and prepared to test again. Once more I braced myself. Whoosh. The air came rushing at me. I closed my eye and pulled my head out of the way. She looked at the reading on the machine as I apologized. No good, we have to do it again. One more try, similar reaction. This time, however, the reading is obtained. Thankful that it's over, I apologized to her once more and sheepishly made my way out to the lobby to wait for the doctor. "Don't worry about it," she said, "You made me laugh." Great, I'm always glad when my humiliation can bring a little joy into someone else's work day.

Until later...