sight for the...lame?

I broke down on Monday and ordered a pair of "free" glasses from the internet.  I don't know if it was the pollen or the incessant crying (most likely it was the incessant crying while sitting in piles of dead leaves under blossoming trees) this spring, but every morning I'd wake with eyes crusted tight shut.  After twenty minutes in the shower, I could usually pry the superior palpebra from the inferior palpebra just enough to drop an Acuvue Oasys HYDRACLEAR PLUS disposable lens 2.25/8.4 onto my tender, wincing sclera. Though I've never been in a revolutionary mob, I imagine this act is something akin to throwing a molotov cocktail at one's own face. I'd brace myself, launch, and then press my palms deep into the ignited sockets, jump around the bathroom yelling Shit shit shit! Get it together, Kate! Shit! and then proceed with my day as though walking through a dense, private fog (again: due to a change in atmospheric or emotional pressure...who can really say?).

On days I couldn't quite face self-immolation, I'd leave my pride in my underwear drawer and wear my glasses. Not only can I truly NOT see out of my glasses, they look bad, really bad.  The frames sit lopsided on my face, like a skinny kid trying to see-saw with a fat kid over the bridge of my nose. To compensate I'd walk around with a half-cocked head tilt, giving me the air of a chronically bemused airhead -- something no one really wants to see in their nurse and something I certainly didn't want to see in the mirror.  Furthermore, the trail of bruises on my thighs, hips, and arms testify to my utter lack of depth perception. I walked into so many corners of desks, stretchers, walls that one of the doctors suggested that maybe I'd had a cerebellar infarct. Ataxic gait. Homely girl.

And so, on Monday, I decided to take care of business.  I sat down at my desk, found a website that allows you to fill in a couple of blanks, and then sends you a pair of glasses in the mail for the cost of shipping alone.  I took a picture of myself, "tried on" a couple of pairs, chose a color, almost went permanently cross-eyed trying to measure my pupillary distance in the bathroom mirror, entered my prescription, paid my $9.95 for 2 day delivery, and patted myself on the back.  

Simply ordering a pair of new glasses seemed to take care of the problem; on Tuesday morning I sprang out of bed with crystal clear vision and all day Wednesday I didn't so much as blink.  Today, though. Today was terrible.  My eyes itched and twitched and my R contact migrated across my eyeball like a nomad across the desert.  I squirted 10 cc syringe after 10 cc syringe of saline into my eyes.  I missed a line on a 32 year old man with veins as thick as rope running across his forearms. And it had nothing to do with the fact that he was handsome and funny and invited me to come see his band play this weekend. Shit shit shit! Get it together, Kate! Shit! I left early and drove home through the deluge of rain with my right eye closed, burning.

A small blue box was waiting for me on my steps.  I took out my contacts, took off my scrubs, and then rummaged blindly through the desk for a pair of scissors.  Inside the small blue box sat a smart blue case and inside the smart blue case lay...not the glasses I ordered.  Or rather, according to the invoice, the glasses I ordered but not the glasses I meant to order. Because I didn't see or couldn't see or didn't take the time to check to see if I was ordering the women's frames or the men's (Presbyopia, dyslexia, or chronic inattention to fine print - the jury may never reach a verdict on this one).  But I put them on anyway and my world exploded with the texture, color, perspective and clarity I've missed for so long. Finally, I can see. And I don't care one bit how I look. 

I called Squirrel to tell her the good news - vision triumphs vanity in the end, old gal! - and she tells me to send her a picture.  Over the phone I hear her click on the file, laugh, and then pause before saying You actually look like your true self in those glasses: a former chemistry major who reads comic books. And then I hear her fall out of her chair laughing. Nerdy flirty thirty!

I can't argue with Squirrel or the facts.  May we all have eyes to see the truth of who we are, what we can be in just the right light.