Monday, June 16, 2008

 

Used to getting blown, not poked

My eyes, I mean! I am terribly nearsighted. My eyes are shaped like eggs. One of the tests they always do, maybe for glaucoma, they used to do with a big contraption that blew air puffs into each eye. This morning, they numbed my eyes and then the guy poked me in the fricking eyes about a dozen times each with a stylus. Wore me out. Now, the numbness has worn off, my eyes are sore, things are blurry -- and I have hours of computer work to go before I sleep.

All in all, I'd rather be blown, not poked.

(Yes, that's Mr. Magoo.)

--ER

Comments:
I'd rather be blown, too, ER.

I've grown accustomed to touching my eyeball with my finger, having worn contacts for 25 years. (Damn, I'm old)

But I remember the first time an eye doc attempted to put one of those thingies in my eye. The back of my skull was already against the head rest, but I bet I moved it an inch or two. Then I flinched and flittered, blinked and squinted.

Twas just unnatural. But he got 'em in my eyes, and I've loved the freedom from glasses ever since.

Still, I don't want anyone pokin' my eyeball, not even me.
 
Well, I'm a year into wearing contacts again I wore them from age 16 to 33). But in all the times I've been to the eye doc, I've never had 'em just poke me in the eye with a dang stick! Over and over again. Pissed me off.
 
*cough* *ack* *choke* *sputter*

My RSS reader only shows titles of blog posts. LOL
 
Uh-oh. I wonder how many regulars
i've freaked out?
 
The title made me smile on a rather busy day at work, so thanks for that.

Sorry that you been poked all day though... that's not nice right?

Lee
 
Bummer!
 
Gah! They still ache. Sigh.
 
"eyeache" -- now there's a word, if it were a word, to freak out even the most studious student of English as a second language! Whoa, only one solid consonant in there, with Y and H each serving in their vowelish roles.

Such are the things that occupy my mind. I need help, clearly.
 
It seems all the good jokes are taken.

I came too late to this garden party.

Not only do I not like the little puff of air, I hate the dilation thing. The first time I was dilated, I had driven myself, and even with those funky shades they give you, I found driving almost impossible; this was in the days before cell phones in our household, so I had to do the best I could, being a danger to myself and others on the road.
 
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