I walked to the optician yesterday lunchtime and picked up my glasses. I thought it might be interesting to record my initial experiences before I forget what the first days were like.
I’ve never worn any kind of corrective eye-wear before. I’ve never needed it. Over the past few years I’ve become increasingly aware that my vision has been getting worse - especially when tired - but had figured out strategies to cope. It’s amazing how much you can derive from the shape of a word you can’t quite read - or how accurately you can guess words if you understand the context of the sentence they are a part of.
After waiting my turn for perhaps five minutes an assistance approached. We sat at a table together at the side of the room while he looked up my details on the computer system, and then he went to fetch my glasses a lockable cupboard behind the payment terminals.
And there they were - two frames very much like the one I had worn in the store two weeks before - only now instead of blanks they contained lenses ground to the exact specifications to correct my malfunctioning eyes.
I tried the first pair on, and was instructed to look at the far end of the room. I was seeing double. Something was very, very wrong and I said as much. I turned around, and the assistant was perfectly sharp. Outstandingly sharp. I could see the every fibre of his shirt.
“I think I understand what is happening.”
He retrieved the second pair of glasses and handed them to me.
“Here - try these.”
Suddenly the end of the room was in focus if I looked through the top half - perfectly in focus - I could read the small-print on labels beneath glasses twenty feet away. If I looked through the bottom half, quite apart from the room distorting like a drunken camera effect, I could see every hair on the back of my hand in minute detail.
The eastern European lady who’s eyes I had fallen in love with two weeks ago had taken an interest in my reactions, and wandered over. She tapped a few keys on the nearby terminal to bring up my records, and pointed at the glasses on the table in front of me.
“These are occupational lenses. The ones you have on are for general use.”
It wasn’t until I got home that the difference really struck me. I hadn’t realised that I wasn’t seeing the world properly. I don’t suppose anybody really does - your eyes are just your eyes. You make do. I sat in front of the computer and put the glasses on - I could see every individual pixel from a normal seating position. It was quite disconcerting. I wished I had bought a 4K monitor a few weeks ago.
I swapped glasses and wandered around the house - marvelling that not only could I see every leaf on every tree at the far end of the garden (our garden is 100ft long), but I could also read the minute small-print on medicine boxes while holding it within inches of my face.
If I changed the attitude of my head too quickly the world around me began to swim though. I almost fell over - more than once. My other half - who has worn glasses or contact lenses her entire life - explained that you cannot glance through the side of glasses - you have to turn your head - especially with varifocals.
It’s going to take a while to re-train my brain.
While washing the dishes last night, I started to laugh. While looking down at the dish in my hand, it became an oval shape. The washing up bowl appeared to be on a gentle slope. How on earth would my brain deal with any of this? I suddenly understood why so many friends that wear glasses are so clumsy.
At bedtime last night I stayed up until the earl hours reading - pretty much because I could. Suddenly reading in bed doesn’t tire my eyes out. It’s a pleasure once more, rather than a chore I was unaware it had become.
It’s funny though - I suppose people I meet for the first time from now on will only know me wearing glasses - and they’ll have the curious experience we all have when we see them without glasses for the first time. It’s funny how that works.
Anyway.
It’s getting late. I might go read in bed. Because I can.