The Eyes Have Hills

I had perfect vision for most of my life. As I approached forty, I suddenly realized I couldn’t read close up. At first, I had to hold menus a foot and a half in front of me, then at arm’s length, just to see them. Pretty soon, I had to have someone else hold the menus. Sadly, I wound up only able to eat at restaurants that have their menus lit up on the wall. So, I went to the eye doctor. Much to my horror (I have a lot of denial in me), he prescribed reading glasses. The first time I wore them, a friend (?) of mine laughed and said I looked like a school teacher.

For the next five years, my prescription had to be increased. I finally asked the eye doctor “What do I do when my nose can no longer support the weight of my lenses?” He said (and this is why he is no longer my eye doctor) “The good news is that your eyesight will probably never get worse than it is now.”

Yeah, well it did. I tried to live with it, but while clothes shopping, I realized that the number six and the number eight looked exactly alike and thinking I was trying on an eight (which was really a six) I would become deeply depressed that I couldn't get the zipper up.  And, I left a trail of waiters who either got a very generous tip, or a very minimal one, depending on the amount I perceived was on the bill.

I went to a new eye doctor. After saying hello to the coat rack, I was led into the exam room. Pointing to the eye chart, the doctor asked “What is the smallest line you can read?” “The fifth one down” I responded, and smiled. “Okay, could you read it, please?” “Out loud? In that case, the second one down.” He rubbed his forehead. After some discussion, he recommended monovision (at first I thought he said Bonovision, and I wondered if I would look good in big glasses with yellow lenses), which is placing different contacts in each eye—one for close up and one for distance. He said “It will take a couple of weeks for your brain to adjust.”

Six months later, my brain had not adjusted yet. I was getting used to the halos around all lights, but I was still having problems with hallucinations depth perception. It became obvious one day when my husband and I were driving on the highway. There was a lot of traffic, but it was moving along pretty fast at seventy five miles an hour. I looked up from what I was reading, and saw (four or five vehicles ahead of us) a massive truck, which appeared to be stopped because we were gaining on it so quickly. My husband was not slowing at all, so I let out a scream. “What? What’s wrong?” he asked. I pointed ahead, just as I realized that the “truck” I saw was actually one of those electronic highway signs that stretch over the road. My husband was still staring at me. “Well?” “Sorry, I thought I saw something” was all I could say. He told me please don’t scream in the car ever again. I told him I would try not to.

In my defense, I read a story about a recent plane crash. After an investigation, they determined that the reason for the crash was: “The inability of the captain, because of his use of monovision contact lenses, to overcome his misperception of the airplane's position relative to the runway during the visual portion of the approach.” I feel for you, Captain.

It took me two years (I like to think my brain is stubborn, not slow) to adjust and now I can read and see in the distance, just as well as when I was younger. I ran into (not literally) my friend the other day, and she was wearing glasses. Of course, it would be very petty of me to tell her she looked like a school teacher. So, I told her she looked like a librarian.