So, after months of debate, I am adding to my "I will never list" (which one of these days I should share with you...though after "I will never have more than one child", I've sort of lost track of all of them). I have now added "I will never put something purposefully into my eye". Yesterday I became a contact lens wearer. Well, at least I am today, and I was for about 6 hours yesterday. We shall see if this will be something that will become a part of my lifestyle, or if I should've stuck with the gut instinct on the "I will never" list...which so often happens. So very, very often.
After my initial eye appointment, and the doctor putting the contacts in my eye, I thought 'hey, this isn't so bad'. They were not initially uncomfortable, it felt strange but enlightening to be able to see so clearly and yet not have frames obstructing my peripheral vision and weighing me down. I had mentally prepared myself for a challenge when I knew I then had to go have lessons about taking them out and putting them in, and I was prepared.
Hands washed and body properly positioned in the chair, I took the objects out of my eye and then after further procedural direction put them back in. Bim bam boom, I was a natural -- the office assistant said most people do it more slowly, but I was doing it quickly and I got it. I felt proud, elated. I was the Contact Valedictorian. I was an over achiever, a quick learner, an obvious eye-installing genious. I was sent on my way with written directions and the directions of all of the horrendous eye infections you could get if you don't follow the directions.
I called Chris on the way home, and he asked if I even got contacts, because I was done so quickly. "Yes, of course. Evidently I was so perfect I was sent on my way. I'll be home soon! You are so very lucky to have someone so wonderful as me, I know how excited you must be to see me." Of course, I may be paraphrasing the actual conversation a little.
So, fast forward 5 or so hours, when it's time to get ready for bed. Chris washes his hands, removes his contacts in movements so deliberate and yet so natural I know them by heart just by watching him. I follow suit and carefully scrub down, the various pictures of possible infectants wild in my mind. And then ever so confident and basking in the glory of my gold medal achievement from the doctor's office, I proceed to demonstrate my skills.
Success! First contact down, I felt like cheering. Pride shining from me like a cartoon angel.
Fast forward 15 minutes...and contact number two still will not leave its cozy home. My eyeball. I guess I exceed at that too. My eyeball is such an exceptional place to be, it will not come out. Bringing in reinforcements, Chris even tries. No luck. My eye itself is beginning to feel like it jumped off of my face and ran a mile on hot sand. And I can't help but slightly panic -- will I have to go to the emergency room and get this removed? Finally, after another 10 minutes I change venues and remove myself (and my family's entertainment) to the solitude of the other bathroom, and lock the door. Thankfully, it only took a few more tries and out it came. Feeling a little less stellar than before, I slink away defeated.
Fast forward to this morning. After 15 minutes, Chris -- dying to get his hands on my eyeball again -- generously offers his skilled hands at depositing the device in my eye. I decline. I must do it!
Let's just say that my natural talent still needs a little more nurturing, and until I am up on my A game again, it looks like I will be getting up at least 15 minutes early, all so I can see, and vainly look what I consider better doing so. Vanity 0 Karma 1...Best 2 out of 3, results to be continued....
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