Seeing is Believing

If you can see every time you open your eyes, that is a blessing. Those with good eyesight often don’t realize the benefits of just looking at something.

I went to the eye doctor last week. I’ve been going to the same optometrist’s office since I was eight years old. Yeah, that’s been a while. I used to hear the same news every year. “Your eyes are a little worse than last year.”

I refused the glasses until fourth grade. Then, it became necessary. When I turned 16, though, I didn’t want a car for my birthday. I wanted contacts.

Some seven years ago, I became introduced to night and day lenses. That means they can be worn for a month and then just thrown away. I prefer it that way. Now, every time I open my eyes I can see. I don’t have to search for glasses in the dark. I don’t have to try and fumble my way through the house.

The truth is that my eyesight is terrible. Last year my doctor told me that if I would have lived in early America that I would have been dead by now. It’s not exactly the message one expects when going for an optometrist appointment.

He thought of two good reasons why my life would have ended early. For one, I couldn’t see well enough to know if someone was approaching from behind. And, secondly, he thought some clan would love to have my scalp.

Nice. A year later, I still remember the conversation vividly. He always wanted to have these in-depth discussions about my demise in another time and place when I could barely see him. Once arriving at the eye doctor’s office, contacts are removed so tests can be done for glaucoma, etc. From that point on, everything is a blur — seriously. I can only see for about six inches and then it all fades off into continual haze.

This year I kept my glasses in my car so I would have them to wear after taking out my contacts. It seemed like a good plan, until I drove the truck that day.

So here I sit again in a waiting room, not even knowing if the people a few chairs over have made eye contact or given me any signs of nonverbal communication. I gave an uneasy smile entering the room and pretended to read the paper on my lap. I could see their fuzzy outlines, but that was it. Luckily, the doctor called my name.

This time, it was the previous doctor’s daughter. I told her the story about my demise. She laughed, adding that he’d tell me the same if I ever had a caesarean delivery in childbirth. Apparently, he likes to remind people of the wonders of modern science and technology by constant reminders that the option years ago could have been death instead.

While she didn’t continue with his stories, she did confirm that I do have poor eyesight. She asked for my contacts. I told her I thought they were on the other side of the room, but she’d have to tell me.

Soon, she returned my “eyes” with a fresh pair of contacts. If you want to convince me about the wonders of modern technology, just put my contacts back. For me, seeing is believing.

As I think about the potential scalping I might have experienced at the hands of an expert hunter, I realize that it could have been different. I’m sure my excellent olfactory senses would have alerted me to dangers. It’s not like I would wander to the edge of the corn field anyway ... unless a squirrel might have crossed my path.