Look Into My Eyes
My pupils are dilated.
Or, at least, they were.
On New Year's Eve, my wife and I spent about two hours at the eye doctor.
I mean, what else is there to do on New Year's Eve in the middle of a pandemic than take care of an eye exam you should have had, say, at the beginning of the year so you don't lose out on the insurance?
The last time we made such a visit was back in January of 2019, and my wife was feeling the need to update the prescription on her glasses.
I went along because I've noticed a drop off in my ability to see things close up. Now, whatever I'm looking at has to be at arm's length for me to see it clearly. I guess that means I can't call myself near-sighted anymore, because I can't see near or far.
Mid-sighted? In-between-sighted? How about mostly blind?
Yeah, that's it.
After going through the sight portion of the eye exam, the doctor gave me some eye drops. Instead of sending a puff of air at me like in times past, he used a newfangled gizmo that beeped when it was finished detecting whatever it was it was detecting. Progress, I guess. Maybe one of these days they'll invent something that doesn't require the ocular equivalent of Chinese water torture.
When that was over, I thought I was done. I wasn't. He had me wait as he went through the same things with my wife. By the time that was over, roughly 20 minutes later, I was chuckling to myself. My eyes, or so it seemed to me, were fogging over. Either that, or it was an optical illusion. For some reason, I found both funny.
What were in those eye drops? Is it possible I'm tripping out?!
Having clouded vision, though, was not a laughing matter. Just before the appointment, my boss texted saying I needed to go and troubleshoot an ATM approximately 25 minutes away. I told him I could after the eye exam, thinking I'd be done by 3:30 at the latest, and not realizing I'd have my eyes dilated.
Well, it was closer to 4:30 when we finished (we got started late to boot thanks to another patient in front of us), which meant it was getting dark when I left the parking lot for the ATM.
A couple of miles down the road, I suddenly realized, I don't have my work keys. I was already running late—going back home would add another 25 minutes easy—so for a split second, I contemplated forging ahead. I'm not sure why. I couldn't get into the ATM without the keys, and while it was possible I might be able to fix the problem without opening the safe door, there was no guarantee.
So, I went back to the house.
If you've ever driven at dusk or night with eyes dilated, then you'll know it's not the best of ideas.
Lights from the oncoming cars are greatly enhanced. Normal lights look like jagged flares. Ones set to high beam are blinding.
It wasn't too bad around town, but once I got onto the two lane highway heading south, the ambient lights of buildings and street lights were gone. That only served to magnify the brightness of the headlamps of the oncoming cars even more, to the point where I had to slow down to avoid running off the road.
It was literally that bad.
Fortunately, I made it to the location of the ATM without crashing. As I walked inside, I felt more than a little self-conscious. I'd caught a good look at my pupils in the mirror when I was at home. That's where I took the picture. In a normal situation, my eyes might be offset by the rest of my face, but that was covered up from the nose down by a mask, drawing extra attention to the eyes.
Thankfully, I don't think anyone noticed. I found myself being extra cautious not to bump into anything or to start laughing at my predicament. The last thing I wanted was for someone to see my eyes and then think I was hopped up on something because I was losing my balance and chortling hysterically over it.
Again, thankfully, I managed to hold it together.
As it turned out, I didn't need my keys after all. I didn't find any bills jamming the machine when I removed the cassette, so I don't think I did anything but clear and recycle the dispensing mechanism, something I was able to do by getting to the admin screen and pushing the appropriate buttons.
The way back home was largely uneventful. The rest of the evening, though, my eyes itched, and I admit to being grumpy because of it.
That and the fact that I was told I have the beginnings of cataracts. The last exam I had, there was no mention of it, so that came as a surprise. Not only that, but my wife was told she had the onset of cataracts, too, a first for her, as well. Only, mine was slightly worse than hers, even though she's six and a half years older than I am.
Woohoo...
The doctor said that it didn't mean I would need surgery immediately. Apparently, cataracts are unpredictable in their development. It was impossible to know at this stage when they might get so bad that it would become difficult to see. Regardless, the doctor said he wanted us back again within a year's time, and sooner, if we had any significant changes in our vision.
My dad had cataract surgery within the last five years, I think. He'll be 80 in March. I don't know when his were first diagnosed, but I doubt it was at 54.
Having the itchy eyes and the bad news (however inevitable it might be), made me want to go to bed early. We weren't planning any kind of festivities—my wife would be going to work early the next morning, and while my son and his family were there, the grandson went to bed at his usual time, which meant he could be awake again anywhere between 5-7:30 AM.
Somewhere around 8:45 PM, someone decided to launch fireworks. Not the kind that you sit on the ground and light, but the ones that actually fly up into the air. There's a concussion blast when they shoot up and another when they burst. That happened off and on until around 9:30.
As luck would have it, I managed to stay awake until nearly 11:30, despite my earlier desires. I could have waited until midnight, though, for all the good turning in a little earlier did me. That's when the fireworks started up again, this time seemingly closer. It's the first time I can recall fireworks being set off in our neighborhood on New Year's Eve. Independence Day, yes. December 31, no.
Even though my wife had tried to go to bed at 9:30, she was awakened by the new rounds. I felt sorry for her, but did nothing, though I did have the urge to yell out the window, Some people have to work tomorrow!
Possibly followed up by, There's nothing to celebrate, you morons!
The fact of the matter is, those kind of fireworks are illegal in this state. You can't buy them here. As far as I know, the closest place you can get them is Idaho, if not Wyoming. That's a fair piece to trek to get something you can get in trouble with possessing, let alone launching in the dead of night.
We have Sheriffs and police officers living all around us in the neighborhood, but they obviously didn't do anything about them. For all I know, they were the ones launching them.
I'm getting too old for this.
Sad thing is, no more than ten years ago, I wanted to be watching fireworks and setting them off. Now, I just wanted to go to bed.
So far, being middle-aged is for the birds. The hits just keep on coming, with no end in sight.
Which I probably won't see coming anyway, thanks to the cataracts.
Okay, now I'm laughing again. Maybe it wasn't the drops after all.
I'm just losing it.
In Other News...
On December 30, 2017, my STEEM account was opened. On January 4, 2018, I published my first post. According to hivebuzz.me, this is post No. 695.
Top image courtesy of Glen Anthony Albrethsen. Above image source—HiveBuzz