Ever since I was in the third grade I have kind of had to wear glasses. My right eye can apparently see past my prescription, so says my new eye doctor. I finally decided yesterday that maybe I should stop straining so much and commit to some eye care. I was well on my way to a lazy eye.
I had a great appointment and decided on contact lenses. I had to prove that I could successfully put them in, take them out, then put them back in. I passed with semi-flying colors. I was able to do it and felt confident in the upcoming week-long trial of said contacts. I leave feeling empowered.
Today I woke up with glasses and decided I was going to put in my contacts before I left for a lunch date with Mother-in-Law. The time finally came for me to put them in and I felt some weird panic about putting them in inside-out. I'm not sure where the fear came from, or why I was so freaked out about it since they were just contacts, but I fiddled with the right contact a few times before I tried to put it in.
I got the right one it. It felt weird. I took it out. Which way was inside-out? Hm. I flip it and stick it back in. It still felt weird. So I just left it since it felt weird either way and I was on my way out the door. I already had the left one in because I didn't have much struggle with it and it felt so great I didn't even notice it in there!
I had a great lunch date with Mother-in-Law. Had a few beers, stopped by Jo-Ann's, fun times.
I get home and decide my contacts need to come out. I go to the bathroom, reminiscing about how simple it was to take them out the day before. I poke myself in the eye. That hurt like hell. It stung a lot. I couldn't figure out why, so I try the other eye, same result. This was strange. I keep doing the same thing. Why was this so difficult today? I figured that I was just jumpy and I wasn't getting good contact between my finger and the lens. I squirt some solution on my finger, try again. My mascara is running down my face and after an hour of poking myself in the eyes, I give up. I wait for Husband to come home.
Husband comes home. I tell him my dilemma: I can't get my contacts out. I told him they were either glued to my eyeballs or they fell out. We both agreed that I would have totally noticed if they fell out. I never remember anything falling out of my eyes. So he tries. He sticks his finger in my eye and I just blinked too much for that to ever have worked. I ask if he can see the contacts. He grabs a flashlight and takes a gander like he's some kind of doctor. He says he thinks he sees them in there. So we go back to poking my eyes.
I give up for an hour because my eyeballs just hurt so bad from the poking and prodding I needed to give them a rest. Bedtime rolls around and I am determined to get these damn things out of my eyes. I stick a finger in, drag it across my eyeball, and officially give up. I figure if they aren't coming out after that they can just rot in there. I am going to see the eye doctor next week for my follow-up anyways. Eff this.
Tomorrow I have a deposition. Awesome. It looks like I've been getting baked for the entire week.
Stacey: 0 v. Hygiene: 1
ETA: They fell out. I found one on the bathroom heater just a few days later. Don't ask me how it got there.
