Tuesday, December 04, 2007
Being blind sucks.
It really does. I wish I could say I wear my glasses because they make me look smart. Or stylish. Or that I just need them for reading. But, oh no. I need them to survive. I am so blind, it's scary. If I didn't have my glasses, I would be sitting in the corner, dirty and crying, waiting for some love and attention just like ole Helen Keller in the Miracle Worker. Ya'll would be coming by the cage to see the blind chick with the big booty and the chil'rens running around.
I started wearing glasses when I was in kindergarten, when my opthamologist said I had an astigmatism. That was code for You blind, girlfriend! I remember my first day of school, and my mom was talking to my new teacher and she said that she didn't think the other students would tease me and apparently there was another glasses-wearin' fool so at least there would be two of us being teased relentlessly.
Around junior high, I discovered that boys didn't really like girls with glasses. So I would keep them in the case until I really needed them, while in class where I excelled in both reading, literature and english just like any self-respecting four-eyed nerd would. At that time I could get away with not wearing glasses all the time. I would squint alot, but I could still see the hand in front of my face. Then one day while I was at softball practice my coach pulled me to the side and told me that I needed to wear my glasses while at practice and during games. Then maybe I would hit the ball every once and a while.
And when I did put my glasses on...wow, it was like another world. I could see fine detail, the bright colors, the boy I thought was cute and my jacked-up eyeliner. Actually seeing the world won out over looking cute. After that, I wore my glasses every single day.
But the sobering thought is, I had the choice to wear them before. Now they are an absolute necessity. My glasses are the first thing I reach for in the morning and they are the last thing I put down at night. I've had some embarrassing things happen to me when I didn't have my glasses on. Once I was sitting in my bedroom and looking right outside the door down the hall, I could see my son's bed. I saw a figure wearing something dark so I thought he was sitting on his bed so I called out for him, "Solomon. Solomon! Solomon! Hey, aren't you listening to me?" And when I got up to scold him, I discovered I was yelling at a pair of his pajamas that were spread out on the bed. Um, oops. How sad is that?
I have to say that basically every single child I've had has destroyed a pair of my glasses. They have either stepped on them, scratched them while they scraped them all over the floor, twisted the frame until I couldn't put them on my face, or they just broke off one of the arms like a potato chip. Sigh. And I've cried. I've cried like a baby after my glasses have broken. Because like I said, they are the portal. Just to illustrate my desperation, I've duck-taped, glued, hot-glued, and gorilla-glued my glasses together. Shoot, Michael even fashioned a pair with some thin wire for me before. 'Cause that is how we roll. And no, I don't have an extra pair just lying around for such an occasion--I'm not crapping money here. I've had my current pair for two years now. That, in itself, is a miracle. You would think I'd have enough sense to go out and buy a new pair before these break, since they are on their last leg. But no, I like living on the edge.
I almost lost these babies while on vacation in Mexico this summer. Every night before I went to bed, I would roll over and put my glasses in this little zippered pocket right underneath the tent's window. It was out of harm's way and easy for me to find when I needed to pee in the middle of the night. So on the first morning we woke up there, I rubbed the crust out of my eye and reached for my old faithfuls. And they weren't there. In a panic, I searched the pocket, then the sandy-floor of the tent, underneath the inflatable mattress, I rifled through blankets and basically, broke out into a cold sweat. My vacation flashed before my eyes...I wouldn't be able to see anything so I wouldn't be able to do anything, I wouldn't be able to help at all, I wouldn't be able to tell if my kids were drowning in the ocean, poor poor me, etc. etc. That was it. If I had lost my glasses, then we would have to pack up and go home. Literally, I was in a panic. I hissed at Michael, who had been blissfully asleep up until this point, "Michael! Michael! Get up! I lost my glasses! I lost my glaaaaaaaasessssss! Help me find them!" I sounded just like Sally Field, all dramatic and crazy. I kept thinking that they must have fell out of the pocket and gotten smashed and scratched by all the sand under the mattress. But what happens when you are looking for glasses without actually wearing your glasses? You can't see a damn thing! So I was pretty useless, standing there and crying at 5 o'clock in the morning. Michael calmed me down, asked me of all the other places where I would have put them ("The zippered pocket. I ALWAYS put them in the zippered pocket. Waaaaaaaaaaahhh!!"). We finally found them underneath my sleeping partner, Maya. They were not smashed or broken. Oh thank you God that Maya only weighs 33 lbs. I hope this little story illustrates to you the attachment I have to my glasses. And vision.
My fantasy is to one day be able to afford Lasik. The idea that I could regain some of my sight and not have to rely on glasses so much is very exciting. The only caveat, you have to be awake for the entire surgery. Ugh. Closing my eyes and meditating is how I cope with nervousness and pain. How will I be able to do that with my eyes peeled back and open, open, OPEN!?! Why can't they knock you out and give you some cool drugs? That would be ideal for me.
But if I could see again, amazing. If I could see while I was swimming, at the beach, while I fearlessly wield the shaver in the shower, in the bedroom, at night when I am alone with my husband...wow, it would definitely be worth it.