Segullah Writer's Retreat Exercise-- Sunglasses

I was one of five presenters on the blogging panel at the Segullah Writer's Retreat this weekend,. To close the panel, the fantastic Heather O gave us an assignment to write for 8 minutes on an assigned topic. The topic was sunglasses, and here's my finished product. When I came home, I took five minutes to write this intro, fix typos, and finish it up. 

They told me that I could bring my own sunglasses, but of course, I forgot. So I left the doctor's office, squinting, bleary-eyed, holding my hands out in front of me for balance, with enormous black plastic sunglasses-- you know the ones I'm talking about-- the ones that look like something Keanu Reeves might wear in the Matrix, if Keanu Reeves were someone's great-grandpa. I'd done the Lasik without the drugs, since the nursed asked me if "I thought I'd need something to calm me down" and I didn't want to appear to be a wimp. Instead of being blissed out during the procedure, the doctor talked about how all of the Mormon women at the ward parties he goes to are happy because of Ativan, and I should drop my uptight East Coast ways and join the party.

By the time I got home, I could (sort of) see, but I kept the glasses on, tried to nap, and between the hour of 3 and 4 watched Oprah get progressively clearer on the television. I took the glasses off. Too bright. Back on, eyes hidden in darkness, I could make cranky faces at the kids without them knowing, roll my eyes at my husband's dumb comments over dinner and he was none the wiser. Yeah, I looked kind of dumb, but the anonymity was empowering. If I had taken the drugs, I could have said it was the drugs speaking, but I was drug-free and felt pretty cool.

I wore the glasses on and off for the next few days-- when I was out running in the dark (which just made the January morning seem that much darker) for a parent-teacher conference with my fourth-grader's teacher. I liked how light the glasses were, how comfortable they felt for running, and even sort of reveled in the uncool coolness of them, but gradually they made their way to the bottom of my purse. A few days ago, I reached into my bag for my cute glasses, and out came the free pair from the opthamologist. I had forgotten about them, just as I quickly forgot to buy saline solution for Eddie and got used to being able to see perfectly the moment I woke up. Even though they were slightly crumpled and sat askew on my nose, I put them on anyway, remembering the comforting anonymity of those days when I need them not only to help my corneas repair, but also to help me adjust to the happy newness of being able to see.