The puff of air never came. I had to put my chin in at least three, probably four of those hardcore light and mirror contraptions to view the insides of my eyeballs. Not one of them was the dreaded glaucoma test, but I still blinked furiously and flinched whenever the lenses got within range of my eyelashes. I am so utterly terrified of the puff-of-air glaucoma test that I can’t sit still for any other test. It doesn’t matter what my calm, rational mind says. My eyes water and blink, and I giggle nervously and apologize profusely when I have to lean back and re-center myself. And sadly, I feel like they shot air into my eye. I’ve felt it all day. I hate that feeling.
I had to get my eyes dilated today. I was encouraged to walk around and test out glasses frames while I waited for the drops to take effect. My prescription has changed enough that I need new lenses, and I am seriously contemplating a set of dedicated sunglasses to use while I drive. There were some really beautiful frames. I didn’t pull the trigger, though. Maybe in a month or so.
I went back into the exam room and waited for the doc to come look me over, to make sure my lupus drugs aren’t causing macular degeneration. It’s a high risk, and so far I’m fine. While I sat alone in the room, I stared mindlessly at the linoleum floor. It was that warm orange/pink sandy color that disappears under foot, and it had a random swirly pattern. The longer I looked, the more it quivered and rolled to my dilated eyes. When you’re a kid, and you’re climbing around the furniture because the floor is lava, you are only playing. You don’t really see the floor roiling. This hallucination was so vivid, I thought about climbing up on my seat and leaping over to the counter. I wonder what Dr K would have said if he had walked in on me clinging to the cabinets, screaming about lava. I bet that has never happened at his clinic before.
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