Glasses became an inevitable part of my life when I turned twelve. The myopic gene was passed on to me as both my mother and father were short-sighted. For a teenager in the formative years of her life, this was a tragedy. Perhaps glasses are in and trendy in the West as nerdiness has reached new heights of cool but in the East where I grew up, big wide, unobstructed eyes were the norm. Rather rebelliously I tried to satisfy myself by indulging in vanity and satisfying my ego despite my poor vision. This penchant did me no favours as my sight deteriorated.
To make things worse, I’d chosen gaudy, green plastic frames with round lenses which made my face look like a certain boy wizard who has an uncanny resemblance to my dad .
He has also been said to resemble Shahrukh Khan and Jackie Chan to boot (perhaps he should resign from his rural GP practice and globe-trot to filming destinations as a body double for all these actors he looks like – apparently).
I like to be able to distinguish the attractive from the hideous, especially when inebriated with copious amounts of vodka.
Okay that might be shallow – but don’t say you haven’t gone there.
Anyway my suffering was cut short on the afternoon of my 24th birthday when I scheduled my surgery. I’d become used to contacts by then.
Unfortunately they limited my swimming and other water sport activities.
This was the first time I was given Xanax. Best legal prescription pill ever – saw dancing halos above the operating bed (much better than one half-pill of something illicit I once took for my first and the last time which only gave me a queasy feeling and had me end up on my knees, puking into a toilet bowl).
One hour later, my eyes were bandaged and protective goggles placed over my eyes which were stuck with adhesive tape. Coming out in a post-operative daze , looking like an out of place extra in a horror film, I braved the walk home.
Sleeping soundly from 5 pm until 9 am the next morning, when my protective covering for the eyes were taken off, I could see the St.Kilda trams in Fitzroy St from where I stood in the kitchen. I’d never been able to see them from that distance before .
It was perfect timing as I’d booked in for a photography camp at Port Campbell the next day. Too bad now it’s so cold and windy that I don’t even want to swim on the rooftop pool…