The eyes have it

I've posted before here about my annual eye exam to make sure my retina isn't detaching. Which I'm happy to report it isn't. My eye doctor is the guy, the premiere retina and vitreous tissue specialist in the country. And I love seeing him (no pun intended) every year. He's incredibly reassuring, and just generally awesome.

In between my annual retina check ups, I visit my also stellar optometrist at least once or twice a year, because my vision changes so quickly. In fact it's gotten worse since you started reading this post.

The bad news is my eyes are unusually sensitive, not to mention piercing: like looking into a deep, brown, knowing ocean and seeing answers to questions you've always been too fearful to ask, yet knowing the essence of your soul has been seen and reflected back at you.

Where was I? Oh yeah. What I'm saying is even a one degree change in my prescription, and it's new glasses all around.

My favorite part of the exam is the phoropter. It's the refraction measuring machine in the picture up on top that, when placed in front of your eyes, makes you look like you're going to a masquerade party. Or you're a borg.

While you have it on, the doctor keeps changing out lenses and asking "which is better, one or two?" Changes them again. "Better yet?" And again. "How about now?"

I think it'd be great if there were also a phoropter for other life decisions. Spouses, homes, cars, kids, dogs. Something that would give you a picture of what you're getting, and the chance to make it even better.

Of course, not everyone answers the "which is better?" question the right way. Sometimes it's hard to see the difference no matter how long you stare at it. But by then it's too late, your choice has been made.

Which is also the exact moment you realize hindsight is 20/20.

My eyes are open

I've posted before here about my problem with floaters and flashes. And I'm not talking about the kind you see downtown at midnight. Ba dum bum!

Because of all these little suckers floating around in my eyes, I have to go to my world-renowned ophthalmologist once a year so he can make sure my retina isn't detached. And every year, he gives me the same answer.

It's not detached, it's just more of a loner. BAM! I'll be here all week.

Anyway, in order to do the exam he has to dilate my eyes. An assistant comes in and puts two drops of the dilating elixir into each eye. I think one of the main ingredients is gasoline because that's what it feels like.

Once my eyes - or anyone's eyes - are dilated, they let in a whole lot of light and there's nothing you can do about it. Usually I get this exam during the day, and I have to wear three pairs of sunglasses (not kidding) to reduce the light coming into my eyes so I can see well enough to drive home.

But since this time the exam was at night, I thought I could get away with not wearing them.

So you're asking, "How'd that work out for ya?"

This is what every headlight looked like on the way home. Each one was a starburst, and every lamp shining from a lamp post looked like fireworks. It was very pretty. I think they design it that way because they know it may be the last thing you ever see as you go careening out of control across four lanes into other cars on the freeway.

The good news is it eventually wears off in about four or five hours, and then once again I'm able to see things as they really are.

Which, as anyone who knows me will tell you, was never a strong suit of mine to begin with.