You know you’re getting older when…
At the ripe old age of 43 (shut up), I’ve realized that I’m getting older. Nothing like having Mother Nature slap the shit out of you and say, “I’m here to slap the shit out of you and tell you that you will now need to wear glasses.”
Yes, I’ve had to use reading glasses in the past, especially when reading and typing on the computer, but I never wore them, which probably explains why I most likely misinterpreted what I’ve read or some of the typos you’ve seen on this blog. Whatever.
But, it’s gotten a lot worse.
I noticed that I was squinting when trying to read something farther away from me, not just a book sitting on my chest as I lie in bed for, “the moment before I close my eyes reading festivities.” (I’m a wild woman, what can I say?) Anyway, I’m not talking about a slight squint, but instead, I’m talking about really narrow slits that completely obscure my eyeball from view. Such a shame too, especially when the one thing I’m always complimented on are my eyes. Never mind the “crows feet” that have formed, making me look like I’m 20-years older than I really am that now require the age-defying shit that has made it into my nightly repertoire, other than brushing my teeth and washing my face.
So, I went to the eye doctor. I knew that going in, I would not allow them to shoot air into my eyeball to test for glaucoma. It’s not that I don’t feel it’s important, it’s just that it’s a lost cause because my reflexes automatically shut my eyelids as soon as the air is forced in that direction. Thus, the eye tech and I waste time doing it over and over to no avail. Like I said, lost cause. However, I was reassured that a new test has been implemented that would only, “tickle.” My mistrust in strangers reared its ugly head, but I followed the tech to begin the exam knowing that anything other than a, “tickle” would incite a riot.
The initial tests went fine (even the tickle) and I was escorted to the exam room to await the doctor, where I immediately pulled out my phone to see if anyone needed me. They didn’t.
The doctor comes in, starts and finishes the exam. She states that I have a hemorrhage at the rear of my right eyeball and proceeds to ask me about my family history. Stroke? Check — I had a mild one at age 29, but the vein has since regenerated and healed itself. Heart issues? Check — double bypass in 2010, six weeks after my 40th birthday. Diabetes? No. The doctor said she wants to refer me to a retina specialist. Ha! Whatever.
Then — THEN! — I’m fitted for trifocals. Yep, you heard me. T-R-I-F-O-C-A-L-S. Gah! Are you kidding me? How did I go from reading glasses to trifocals? Pssh.
An hour later, my glasses are ready. I get home and am ecstatic that I’m able to see clearly now. What a relief.
Then, I get on the computer and do some research on, “hemorrhage in eye.” Google pulls up WebMD, which I knew was a mistake, because after reading that, it appears that I probably have a pneumonia, diarrhea, vaginal itching, and most likely a brain tumor, which will result in my death in less than 3 months. WebMD, always the optimist in my relationships.
I go back to Google and select a few other pages and it appears that a hemorrhage is really nothing to worry about and can be caused by something simple as lifting something too heavy, which explains a lot, because I’m always lifting something heavy. Anyway, they usually heal in about 10-14 days. Problem solved.
Sooo . . . I know y’all are dying to see what my glasses look like. Here they are:
Sorry the picture is blurry. Apparently, Jake doesn’t need glasses and wouldn’t sit still, but he’s still quite handsome, if I do say so myself. Even in trifocals.
Annnd . . .apparently, being a model is exhausting.
I know how you feel buddy.