New glasses

I went to the optometrist today ... unwillingly.

The people who fix my glasses were asking every time I visited if I wanted to make an appointment, and it was getting old.

My glasses are also worn out and need replacing, but you need an updated prescription to get new glasses. So there I was at the optometrist.

It's not that I was scared. But my glasses are fine (I thought. Apparently the new prescription is a big change.), so why go?

It is hard to see anybody who requires you to put your face on machines, which are often in small spaces not meant for wheelchairs. Or who requires you to transfer to their chair  (and you really should offer to help, not more or less ignore the person until he transfers).

Now I am good for a few years at least.

Not with a bang but a whimper

Without any fanfare or official declarations, my legs have launched a full-scale war against my eyewear.

I mentioned the first engagement before, how my foot slipped and my face hit a grab bar at full speed. My glasses were the main casualty if you ignore the assault on my dignity. (Just look at the other post.)

Fortunately, my ally Target Optical came through for me. I had bought the extended warranty, and sure enough they just replaced the glasses, no problem. And I emerged victorious.

Last night was round 2.

I have been having trouble getting into bed many nights. I stand OK, but I am unable to pivot to the bed and often I fall. Not badly, I am holding a grab bar. My knees just buckle, then I usually manage to rise up and into bed.

This is made slightly less irritating because I will soon be in a lower bed and will be able to approach from a better angle.

But that did not matter last night. I stood, fell, tried to rise and did -- only to fall face-first on the grab bar, breaking my glasses again.

Once again Target Optical had my back, but we decided that I might want new frames since both pairs had broken in the same spot. It is still covered by the extended warranty, but because it is a new frame, they have to order it. I'll be wearing my old glasses for a week or so until the new ones come in.

That probably qualifies Round 2 as a draw.

Yikes

Being a tough, yet sensitive, guy, much like Robert Parker's Spenser, I didn't really know how to deal with my near death today.

Sure, I joked about it at work, but when I got a chance to think about it, I was like: Holy Shirts and pants, I could have easily snapped my neck. I told Mom the story as we were leaving and she was quite for a while, so I asked if she was all right. Just trying not to throw up, she replied. That's still how I feel.

I went to the bathroom, and I guess my foot slipped a bit. I did not fall, but I headbanged the grab-bar at full speed. I took most of it on my left eyeglass, which snapped right out of the lens, which broke.

That's pretty much it. I am trying not to think about all the what ifs or the little pains or whether my eyesight is failing so I'll spare you.

I tried working without my glasses but I really can't see. After that I put some paper over the left lens so I could use my right eye. My left eye works fine. It was just impossible to use glasses without both lenses.

One of my friends thought I looked stupid so she made me this. You can hardly tell the difference, can you? I like my friends.

Target Optical to Matt: We can work it out

Rada, the manager of the Target Optical, assured me that my frames were not old like the other employee had told me and she agreed the different screws and creaking were wrong.

She said they would reorder the glasses for me. But when we sat to fill out some forms, she had another idea. Some different frames would help the creaking.

Now, I am just waiting for the new glasses. When they come in, I will give Target my original new pair and it will donate them to One Sight.

Do you feel lucky, Matt? Hell no!

When I was younger, I used to read Gram's copy of the Smithsonian Book of Comic-Book Comics. It was full of awesome early comics. I am not sure where it is now – it was not in her house when she died -- but I was thinking about it today.

One of the stories teamed up Plastic Man with Woozy Winks, who I remember as the luckiest man alive. I have just learned, however, that was temporary. He was usually a bumbling oaf providing comic relief, to which I say: “Plastic Man needs comic relief? He is a jokey character.”

I was thinking of Woozy and wondering what it is like to be lucky.

Today, I went to LensCrafters to pick up some sunglasses that I had ordered weeks ago. I was a little nervous because I was planning to ask for a discount because the glasses were late.

We went even though my lower back felt ready to explode because I sneezed oddly or strained it in any of a half-dozen ways.

The best handicapped parking spots were taken by wussy sedans. Grrr. But I was on Cloud 9 in the store because I asked for a discount and he gave me one. It was pretty modest, but I did it. Yeah, me.

Then I went out to the car with Mom and showed her my glasses ... or tried to. A lens popped out right there.

I was running late to work so Mom said she'd drop me off, then go back. Of course, the check-engine light in the van came on.

It turned out OK. Mom defied the check-engine light, went back and eventually got the lens fixed. And before anyone says anything, I know I am lucky to have Mom.

But I just wonder what it would feel like to be Woozy and not have these kind of things happen.

I guess Woozy wouldn't need glasses, though.

Where is Elektra when I need her?

I went to the eye doctor today, who was horrified that I had let five years go between my last appointment. I never understood why people without glasses an never go to the eye doctor, but once you get glasses you are supposed to go annually.

It was a totally worthless appointment. I can't say it was the biggest waste of an hour ever because I do watch the movie Elektra whenever I come across it. But this was a close second, and no Jennifer Garner in tight-fitting superhero garb to give it the appearance of value.

It turns out my prescription had not changed at all, and my eyes look fine. It would have shocked me to hear different, even though my eyes are actually pretty crappy when you get down and look -- and by that I mean when you have a top neuro-ophthalmologist examine them.

Yes, I am a doctor snob.

The worst part is the store next to the optometrist had no glasses that are better-lasting than my current frames, which seem to require an adjustment a week.

Actually, that wasn't the worst part. Even worse was that the guy there adjusted my glasses in a way they should have been adjusted years ago when I first got them. They felt like they fit for the first time.

So I didn't get new lens to help me see better or new frames to keep my glasses from falling down or sunglasses to keep me from squinting a lot.

Trying to maneuver around the optometrist, I did get my latest lesson in how inconvenient wheelchairs are, especially if you have a second disability.

Again, I am left with the conclusion that society is almost prepared if you have one disability -- bad eyes, mobility issues, poor hearing. Add them together, though, and society is brought to a standstill. You have to transfer out of your chair to see the eye doctor, you have to squeeze your chair into tight quarters to have your eyes tested.

Elektra wouldn't take that shit.

What an eyeful

I think I owe the Internet an apology.

I did a Google search this morning of eyeful, expecting to be inundated with sites of nekkid ladies. The first result seemed promising but turned out to be a news story about a mom breast-feeding in public.

I had to go to page seven of the search results to find a definite hit for nakedness. I assume the link "Yvette Gives An Eyeful" was to a questionable site. I didn't look. Really.

On the first six pages were results about celebrities, science images and photos in general. That is basically what Merriam-Webster would expect to find: It says that eyeful means a "a full or completely satisfying view." In my defense, "a strikingly beautiful woman" is definition number two. But apparently the Web is not just about babes. Who knew?

Unfortunately, when I say "I got an eyeful this morning," I don't mean I opened the door to Natalie Portman.

No, I mean Metamucil gushed into my eye.

I was having my morning toddy (definition No. 2, Metamucil is better warm, but no liquor), and during the drink I coughed. This threw me off-balance, and my arm jumped. The drink spilled and somehow went under my glasses and in my right eye. I don't think my eye, which has been savaged by allergies already, needed the fiber. It still stings.

I really wish Natalie had been at my door instead.

Blacked-eyed Mattys

I don't get black eyes easily.

When I was 9 or 10, I got hit square in the eye by a baseball thrown by an old-fashioned Iron Mike pitching machine. It probably came in only at 40 or 50 mph, but I didn't move at all ... until I was on the ground crying because I just got plunked in the eye.

One of my uncles kept telling me I would have a big "shiner" the next day, and I have to admit I was disappointed when it was hardly noticeable.

It wasn't noticeable when I punched myself in the eye this morning either.

I am not quite sure what I was doing, but I was in bed pulling something up toward my face, the sheet maybe. I lost my grip and my hand flew up, and I punched myself hard in the right eye. It really hurt, but the alarm was going off so I got up.

As if that wasn't enough eye-related annoyances for the day, about an hour later when I put on my shirt, my glasses flew off. Because I was blind I couldn't find them. I didn't want to move because I was sitting in a several-hundred pound wheelchair that would crush glasses. Finally, though, I had to move or just sit in my bathroom all day. I went and got my old glasses and found my new glasses that were uncrushed.

Then I went to work. And I was still a little disappointed that I did not get a black eye.

P.S. I was searching Google Images for a picture of a antique Iron Mike pitching machine. I couldn't find one, but on page 10 of the image search I did find a picture of a naked woman.