I have a nice pair of black cat-eye spectacles, which I use everyday, but of course they won’t do on the day of my engagement party. Neither can I go spectacle-less. I need to be able to tell people apart, you see! So I pulled myself together and visited the opthalmologist.
(By the way, I’m the sort of girl who jumps a mile even when my mom tries to put eye drops in my eyes. No funny business around the eyes – is my motto.)
After a long wait in the reception, I walk in through the clinic’s sliding door, to find weird eye equipment, a couple of seats, a venerable, old, silver-haired doctor, and his plump, middle-aged nurse. There is also another patient in the adjoining room, which serves as some sort of waiting area. The doctor starts off by yelling at the other patient. Age has not mellowed down the doctor. (Why are so many doctors so socially inept? They should have a ‘bedside-manner’ course at medical school). Luckily he didn’t yell at me. He peered at my eyes through some of the weird equipment, made me read a couple of letters from the board, and asked me to come in the next day for my contact lens consultation. Phew.
Day 2: The nurse took me to the side-room and made me wash my hands. Then she gave me a pair of trial lenses and explained how I was supposed to put them in and take them out. (Did you know you have to pinch – yes, pinch – the lens to remove it from the eye. What if I pinch my eye-ball?).
My long-ish nails didn’t help things forward. Balancing the lens on the tip of my finger, without letting the fingernail scrape it, was a task in itself. With the other hand, I had to open my eye wide. The other fingernails dug into my skin. I brought my finger (the one with the lens) close to my eye. Closer. Closer. Too close for comfort. And snap – shut my eye. Believe you me, I had to endure this rigmarole about a million times till I could finally get the lens into my eye.
And then the mean old doctor gave me another sample lens to try on! Because the nurse had put some anaesthetic drops in my eyes the first time, the first session had happened pretty smoothly. The second was a nightmare. In the end the doctor pinned me against a chair, the nurse held my head in a vice-like grip, and they somehow fished the lens out of my poor abused eye.
The doctor tells me he’s never had a worse patient. The nurse is plain disgusted. They think I’m too squeamish. They think my eye is too sensitive. But look here, if an explosion was to happen, and minute bits of shrapnel came flying right at us, me, with my awesome eye-reflexes would snap my eye shut. I’d be safe. I would preserve my eye-sight. Not so with the doctor and nurse, I’m afraid. Ha!
PS: I reaaaalllllllyyyyy need to do this. I have exactly 24 days to learn. Send some good vibes my way!
Oh, the things a bride has to endure!