Ever since the fifth grade, I’ve worn glasses. It started with squinting from the back of my fifth grade classroom trying to determine if we were learning about fractions or photosynthesis. For the vast majority of my life, glasses have been a part of my identity. So much so that I was never interested in getting contacts or LASIK surgery; my glasses were a part of my face just as much as my nose. While wearing glasses has never bothered me, this past year I wrestled with a new eye sight challenge. It was an ocular fate I had been avoiding for quite some time: at some point one corrective prescription was not going to be enough. I would need assistance not only seeing from distances, but also reading close up. Yes, that’s right, I would need reading glasses, or even worse, bifocals.
For longer than I’d like to admit, I’ve been struggling with seeing things up close. Earlier in life I could see up close through my glasses; now reading books and assembling legos were a challenge. Luckily, I had a work around. If you already wear glasses for myopia, you can remove your glasses to refocus your eyes up close. So, to do everything from reading e-mail on my phone to choosing an dinner entree off a menu, I’ve been stashing my glasses on my forehead and staring intently and closely at whatever I was trying to focus on. In a great irony, the tool that helped me see for so many years now was a hinderance.
At one point, I was attempting to glue a toy back together, holding a tube of Krazy glue and a small car about an inch from my face. Ever observant, my son suggested, “Maybe if you wore your glasses you could see better.” Before he could finish the thought, I was instantly transported to the hallway of my childhood home watching my middle-aged father remove his glasses and lean over to bring his aging eyes closer to the thermostat. And as soon as I was struck with that memory, I boomeranged back to the present with total recall of my dad going through the same exact thing I was. The circle of life can be a cruel mistress, I tell ya.
But still, I stubbornly resisted. My assistant could see the daily challenges and would leave me notes around the office. I would open a drawer to retrieve a stamp or envelope, only to find a freshly written post-it, “MAKE EYE APPOINTMENT!” By this time, I was taking my glasses on and off throughout the day as various points of focus required it. Reading—glasses off. Golf—glasses on. In front of computer—glasses off. Client meeting—glass on. I was taking my glasses on and off so much I misplaced them around the house several times. I was in denial for sure. Peter Pan syndrome? Possibly. First World Problem? Absolutely. I fully admit the unreasonableness of doing nothing about my glasses while internally whining about getting older.
I made some passive attempts to try to figure out our vision insurance plan, but I couldn’t determine if we were covered under “Vision Plus,” “Vision Clear,” or “Vision Clear Plus” and abandoned the project. Finally, my wife took mercy on me and intervened in the process. After about three minutes online, Jenni found an optometrist walking distance from my office and booked a tentative appointment. It was one of those humbling moments where my spouse had accomplished a task in a fraction of the time I claimed to be working on it. In this situation, flattery is usually my go to move, “Wow honey, that system is a complete nightmare to navigate. That’s amazing that you figured it out.” Jenni, who doesn’t require corrective lenses, saw right through this charade.
So I saw Dr. Lewin who confirmed my worst fears—I needed a prescription for reading. I may have broken down and started crying. (I claimed it was just the eye drops.) We finished the exam and went out to the “wall of frames” and began the process of selecting a new face. Within three tries, Dr. Lewin picked a winner. (On a side note, I did not get lollipop on exiting Dr Lewin’s office; apparently my behavior did not warrant it.)
I’m now proudly wearing my new frames with transition lenses. The world once again is clearer, brighter, sharper. Just like the fractions in Ms. Goodwater’s room, everything is in focus. And no more glasses on, glasses off shuffle. Even now, as I’m typing this, I’m gracefully lifting my chain to better focus my eyes on the computer screen.
On a personal note, the “Great Eyesight Debacle of 2016” is a wonderful lesson keeping perspective on worry. For too long I agonized over having to add an additional prescription and now it’s no big deal. Anything that seems like a mountain of worry today will probably look like a small hill in the rear view mirror. I don’t know what “problems” I’ll face in the future, but at least I’ll be able to see them.
