Contact Injury

The only difference between this glasses-wearing turd and me is that I was shit scared, it is only shit.

Yesterday after work I eagerly raced to the optometrist for my appointment to have and introductory session with contact lenses. At my last appointment I had expressed interest in getting contacts, and my optometrist ordered some trials for me.

I was beckoned into the small, dark and surprisingly hot room almost instantly. The first thing I noticed when I entered was that my usual female optometrist was replaced with a different male optometrist. He (who we shall call Mr. O, simply because I never asked his name), run through a few things and suggested that he pop them in and let me walk around the shopping mall for half an hour or so and if I liked it, we’d go from there. If we had any problems, he said, we’d sort it out. I thought this was a little strange considering I was just popping something onto my eye and walking around. I’m fairly comfortable with my eyes - I can touch the eyeball with my finger if I have to. How could there be any problems?

Mr O washes his hands, unfoiled the lenses and poised over me with instructions like “look down, now up, now left”. It took two or three attempts to get the first one in as my eyes blinked whenever he got near them. I made a very conscious effort to keep my eyelid wide open and eventually he got it in. This is when I started to feel a little funny. “How does that feel?” he asked. My brain was starting to go a bit crazy at this point, but I remember saying “It’s strange because half of my vision is clear and half isn’t”.

By the time he was poised over me with the second contact I knew things were turning bad. I started sweating as I forced my eyes wide open and looked as low as I could. It took even more attempts to get this one in as it kept falling back out. I wasn’t very aware of what was going on, I just knew that every time it feel out, this was going to go on longer. Eventually he got them both in and stepped away. He asked me to blink a few times and said they looked fine and suggested I sit there a few moments.

I had hoped once that was over I would settle down again, but I started to get more anxious and the sweating was getting worse. My ears got blocked and I asked for a glass of water. This is my danger meter. Whenever I ask for water in a semi-conscious state I know it’s all over for me. He left and I gripped my face. I was completely wet with sweat. By the time he returned with the water my vision was blotchy and I couldn’t see very much. I gulped down some of the water and lowered the mug back onto the desk with my shaking hands. I knew at any moment I was about to pass out because I see anymore and I certainly couldn’t process any of what was going on around me.

Mr O put the fan on me and spoke calmly as if nothing was wrong. Thinking I was about to hit the floor I asked him to take them out. With lightning speed he grabbed my head and took them out. I remember not feeling that at all. I wasn’t feeling any better and I had to leave the tiny room.

I walked out of the optometrists room and into the main glasses shop where my mum was waiting. She later told me I was as white as paper. I fell into a seat and asked for more water, gulping down two more cups. I put my head into my hands and saw my shirt had turned transparent with sweat. I don’t remember much of this clearly, only that occasionally I was asked if I was okay and I said ‘No’. After some ten or so minutes my vision started to come back and I could see Mr O talking to me suggesting I try again. I felt so ill I couldn’t bear to have anyone near my face again.

Eventually I regained colour and strength again and approached Mr O. He looked shattered. He kept saying “I really think you should try again, they’d be perfect for you” and “Don’t let this put you off - well, it may a little - but it shouldn’t”. I could tell from his face he was horrified that he might have given me a bad experience, even if it was not his fault at all. He told me he’s used to patients fainting, including the obligatory (and likely fictional) story of a “big hulky cricket player” who fainted when he put in his first contacts.

I promised I’d return next week and give it another go knowing that I could well subject myself to the same horror again. I felt so awful, not for having freaked out, but for having planted the seed in Mr O’s mind that perhaps he was at fault.

In the car on the way home I started to feel back to normal and wished I was still there so I could give it another go straight away, but remained resolute that when I return I’ll ask for Mr O again and hopefully put both our minds at ease.