CAUTION: May contain gory details

I went to the eye doctor today. It was the long awaited appointment to get my contacts. Sure, sure, I know--I'm falling under another "fad thing," and it's true I'm really gullible to such things. But it's also credited that I've had numerous times with my glasses uh, making contact with a ball. It's really a curse glasses people possess. Pretty much anyone that owns a pair of glasses and wears them to sports has some kind of magnet in them that demands a ball to hit them. It doesn't matter what kind of pain it may cause to the owner, or to the glasses themselves for that matter (I won't tell you how many times I've had to bend my glasses back into shape. . . I've lost count). It just is that a ball feels obligated to hit someone in the head if they're wearing glasses. And more than once has this whim of the ball drawn blood from me. . . digging into my skin to reveal the juicy red contents beneath. That's why I went to the doctor's office.

So la de da, I go ambling into the office with my mom, only just a mite nervous. I went on into the familiar exam room with the long little tunnel and a rectangle of projected letters at the end. Dr. Wyman, an older, soft spoken, whiskered man possessing a fine pair of glasses (of course) pulled out the dreaded and longed for contacts. Then, with as much gentleness he could muster without being entirely brutal, he thrust each contact into my eye. I revolted at this insane poking, then shuddered as he bored bright lights into my brain. I like my eye doctor, but he does use extravagant methods of torture.

Next I went into a different room where a small lighted mirror stood waiting for me on the counter. Lisa, a middle aged woman with reddish hair and brown eyes then began to instruct me in the knowledgeable way of contacts. Then came the hard part: the process of removing my contacts. I had to use my middle left finger to firmly hold my eyelid up, use my middle right finger to pull my eye down, use my right index finger to drag the contact down off my iris, then use my thumb to brush against my eye and pinch the contact off. Now I realize that a few of my readers wear contacts--this is supposed to be easy, right? Wrong! It is by no means a simple thing, but at least if you have a good memory you can recall your own tormenting first tries and can relate to my unceasingly unfruitful attempts. I tried and tried again, to no avail.

Then a dreadful and all too familiar thing began to occur. I began to feel faint. Alas for those blessed with no health mysteries! For this is a problem I have had for several months--I can recall at least three definite other times (if not possibly four or five) where I began to pass out. You start feeling what some would call lightheaded, but it's more complicated than that. Sometimes it starts in your stomach, sometimes in your head, and it is indeed a feeling quite indescribable. But then you start feeling cold, cold as the blood drains from your head and you start feeling hot too in waves, then hearing becomes muffled. If you haven't yet done anything to prevent your swoon from going any further, your vision will start to gray, then cloud into blackness. I have not ever passed this stage, and hopefully I never will continue on into complete unconsciousness. The closest I ever came to fainting was actually in the lab at the hospital. Perhaps you've heard the story, but if you ever are dying for it I believe I have some gory details written down nearby that I could post if it's truly desired.

Anyway, as for my experience at the eye doctor's. Eventually I managed to transfer myself from my chair to the floor, where I propped my feet up on a chair. Dr. Wyman came in and carefully situated me to make sure I was comfortable. Sure, I was on the floor and my hair clip was cutting into my scalp, but other than that I was fine. Gradually I felt better, and situated myself once again in my chair where I chatted with Lisa for a little while and sipped orange juice that she offered from her own lunch box. After a brief conference with my mom, who had been gone during my incident earlier but was now returned, I made the decision that I would continue with my appointment. So with a sigh and a grit of determination I plopped down in my chair once again and set to with getting out the silly contact. With more work I soon dragged the Thing out of my eye, and awhile later I succeeded in getting out the other. Oh dear now I had to get them in again. To my surprise, I got it in on my second or third try. Soon the second one followed, more maneuvering and they came out, then back they went in again. With a great feeling of triumph I left the office over two hours after I entered it. I had persevered and vanquished my enemy. Even though I had to use countless numbers of tissues to do it.

Poor contacts. . . they just suffered such a rough abuse from the likes of me. Now I shall give them some words of affirmation to boost them up again. Well, first thing, I don't have to worry about my glasses getting crushed anymore. I was in the gym this afternoon and I winced as a ball grazed my cheek then realized I had hardly anything to worry about. Another plus is that I can wear regular sunglasses--not just clip-ons. Not to mention that I can see things out of the corner of my eye in a way that you can't with glasses, then also I can possibly wear my contacts when I go swimming (if I'm careful of course) and then I shall be able to see much better. Last of all, I won't always be having Clyde incessantly pushing my glasses up my nose which is one of his favorite pastimes because he knows it annoys me. You so lose, Clyde.