August 5, 2013--New Glasses

Just as I am now resisting getting fitted for hearing aids, some years ago I struggled with the idea that I was old enough to need reading glasses.

"Old enough," that was the problem. In truth just "old"was the issue. I didn't want to have any part of that. Oldness.

And so, in the spirit of denial and rationalization, it wasn't until I had to squint and hold newspapers and menus at full arm's length to be able to distinguish Iran from Iraq and appetizers from entrées that I began to give honest consideration to getting my eyes tested.

I had joked, "It's a good thing [nervous laugh] that I have such long arms."

Rona would say, "You're making a spectacle of yourself--pun intended. Everyone in the restaurant is staring at you bent over like a pretzel trying to get a little candle light on the menu so you can read it."

"I'm just having a little trouble seeing if they have spaghetti carbonara."

"You're having more than a little trouble knowing the difference between the men's and women's rooms. Remember what happened when  . . ."

"No need to finish the sentence," I interrupted, "On Monday I'll make an appointment to get reading glasses."

And so I did. And discovered, if that word applies, that I indeed needed reading glasses, and as soon as possible if I wanted to be able to read anything smaller than a typical road sign. In anything other than daylight. Summer daylight. Between noon and 3:00 PM.

The ophthalmologist wasn't worried. He said, my condition was the result of the simple fact of aging, that, "Everyone your age  . . ."

"My age?" I moaned, "I'm only . . . whatever. Does this mean that I have other aging eye things to be concerned about?" I was careful to make the distinction between my eyes aging and the rest of me.

"Well, I'm not seeing any evidence of glaucoma and you're too young still for us to have to worry about cataracts. Though . . ."

"Though's I can do without," I continued to moan. "But the too-young's I am pleased to hear. Anything that pertains to me that I'm too young for is very reassuring and  . . ."

He interrupted me, "If you press me, which I don't suggest or think necessary, there is always macular degeneration and . . ."

Before he could complete his list I was out the door, my dilated-eyes blinded by the sunlight coursing down Fifth Avenue.

I duly got my reading glasses and for years was happily able to read in bed ealry mornings in half-light and had no trouble getting my carbonara.

Then about five years ago, when driving, Rona noticed me leaving extra distance between the cars in front of us and slowing excessively when making left turns.

"I'm just trying to be extra careful," I lied. "What's our hurry now that we don't have jobs to rush to?"

"You're driving like an old man," she wouldn't let me off the hook, seeing through my dissembling, "And I think it's because you can't see."

"I can see," I insisted with some heat.

"I know you can see, but you can no longer see well. I think you need distance glasses for driving. It's not that I'm in a hurry, it's that I don't feel safe with the way you drive."

My non-response was to snatch my then new reading glasses out of my breast pocket, put them on, and pretend I could see perfectly; whereas in truth they made everything even blurrier.

So at my next eye exam I muttered to Dr. Cohen that, "Rona thinks I'm going blind."

"I assume you're exaggerating." He is so understanding.

"Maybe a little. When we're down in Florida and up in Maine where we have to drive even to get the newspaper, it's true that I don't see as well as I used to."

"Just as I said some years ago when you first got reading glasses--that as one gets older, one . . ."

"Again with the older business," I snapped, feeling guilty since he is such a gentle soul, "But whatever," I said, again resigned.

"All you need is 1.0 magnifiers," he chirped in an effort to make this new inevitability sound matter-of-fact. "You can get them from an optometrist for a hundred dollars or more, or buy a pair at any large drug store for maybe twenty dollars."

Which I duly did at the local Rite Aid.

This worked well for a number of years. My reading glass prescriptions continued to be adequate, though, after time, I needed to change the bedside lamp lightbulb from 70 to 100 watts; and the 18-dollar 1.0's were just what I needed for driving. I closed the gap between cars and zipped right through left turns. I was pleased with myself and, what's more, Rona was no longer pointing out the affects of my aging. At least in regard to seeing and driving.

Though she did suggest bifocals, as she observed me struggling to manage my two pairs of glasses. The reading pair usually in my breast pocket or on top of the book I was reading, and the magnifiers in the glove compartment. "They would make it . . ." she stopped herself from pressing too hard, ". . . and the kind of bifocals they have now have so-called 'graduated' lenses, which means they don't look like bifocals. There's no visible seam between the two prescriptions so they don't make you look like you're . . ."

". . . an old man," I completed her thought. "I'm OK with things the way they are. You know I hate change. And besides, aren't those kind of lenses hard to get used to? Then, I assume they're very expensive."

"Whatever you say works for you. I was just trying to be helpful."

I blew her a kiss.

We were doing better about me and eyeglasses and aging and could discuss amicably my vision issues and overall decline.

Until a few weeks ago.

To be concluded tomorrow . . .