I’m getting my eyes tested next week, and I’m going to ask for contact lenses. I know I need new glasses – I always do; every six months or so, for the last ten years. I don’t mind my glasses; I need them to see. However, I don’t like being defined by them. My name is Stephanie Flowers. I wear glasses. I’m 19 years old, and currently in the first year of a 3 year pharmacy degree. I wear glasses. I’m five foot four, have medium-length brown hair, and glasses. I’m probably slightly overweight, but I’m more than happy with my 34E boobs. I wear glasses. You see (pardon the pun), that’s just the problem. All people ever see is my glasses. I get to know new people, and before long, I find myself answering questions about my eyesight and my glasses. I go out on dates, and it’s never long before we end up talking about my glasses. I can show as much cleavage as I want, but the guys who seem to be interested in me just don’t notice; they keep staring at my glasses. People regularly ask if they can try them on. I let them, but there’s little point, because their response is always something along the lines of “I can’t see a thing with these / You must be blind without them.” I know, and yes. The glasses I currently have contain the prescription R -20.75 -0.75 @ 180 L -21.25 -1.25 @ 180. They are myodiscs, in a medium-sized brown, plastic frame. And that’s the problem. If there’s anyone else at my university who needs glasses anywhere near as strong as mine, then they’ve already made the switch to contacts. I could have got them a couple of prescriptions before I did, but in the end, I decided I’d prefer to start life at university, where I only knew one or two other people, as a myodisc-wearer. That way, I was sure to avoid getting asked so many questions about them. Wrong. My journey into glasses began just before the end of year 4 at primary school. I was 9 years old. I didn’t realise there was anything wrong with my eyesight. I could read well enough, and had no problems seeing the board from my seat in the middle of the classroom. One Monday morning, at the start of July, my best friend, Molly, came to school wearing glasses. She hadn’t said anything about getting them, although as she had admitted later on, she had hoped to leave them in her bag and pretend they weren’t there, but her mother had insisted that she wear them all the time in school, so that she didn’t forget them. After school, we walked back to my house, as usual on a Monday, and Molly stayed to tea, until her Mum came to pick her up at about 6.30. I bombarded Molly with all the questions I have now become so used to: how long have you had them; why do you need them; do you have to wear them all the time; what can you see without them; what’s it like to wear glasses; how strong are they; can I try them on? Molly answered all my questions patiently: since Saturday; because I’m a bit short-sighted; no, but I will probably need to in a couple of years’ time; everything you can see, but it’s a bit blurry in the distance; I’m still getting used to them; not very; here you are then. Placing the glasses on my face, there was no sudden lightning bolt from above for daring to put someone else’s glasses on. They were quite comfortable to wear, and actually they looked quite good on me. I couldn’t resist taking a few pictures on my phone. I could tell they made a bit of difference to what I was seeing and, if I was honest about it, they made things a bit clearer. Molly and I decided to have a “Seeing competition,” both with and without the glasses. At least, I could see better with her glasses on than she could without them, and there was little difference between what either of us could see without them. Over tea, I told my mum what we’d been doing, so she said she would book a sight test for both me and my younger brother (he was 7 at the time), as it was probably three years since we’d last been to the optician’s. The final day of the Summer term, we always had a half day, to allow the teachers to tidy up before the Summer holidays. Instead of going home at lunchtime, we went into town. Mum treated us both to a burger and chips, before we went to get our eyes tested. Stephen, my brother, went first. There was nothing wrong with his eyes. I wasn’t surprised to be told that I needed glasses – actually, I was quite pleased, and more than a little excited. Apparently, I was both short-sighted and had some astigmatism. My mum kindly asked whether I should wear my glasses all the time when I got them, and was told that it would probably take me two or three weeks to get used to them, so I should wear them all the time at first, and then I could decide how much I wanted to wear them after that. I chose a frame very similar to Molly’s; I already knew that they suited me, so it seemed silly to waste time trying every frame in the shop on. About a week later, we got a phone call to say that my glasses were ready for collection. Although it wasn’t very convenient to go and get them that day, I pestered my mum so much, that when dad got home, she took me in to collect them. It was probably about ten minutes before closing time when we got there, so the shop was very quiet. There were a couple of ladies behind the desk, chatting away, killing time before they could lock up for the night. It took a minute or so to find my glasses. They had me sitting on a chair by a computer, while they logged on to find my details. Then, they opened the glasses case. I could see immediately that the lenses were quite thick and stuck out of the back of the frame a bit. My excitement turned to shock as I realised how much worse my eyes had to be than Molly’s. When they put the glasses on me, the fit was pretty good, but I really couldn’t see very well without straining. “How well can you see?” the lady asked. “They feel a bit strong,” I answered, understating my case considerably. “It’s probably because you’re not used to wearing them, but I will just go and check that the prescription is right.” “Don’t forget that you were told you’d need to wear them two or three weeks to get used to them, Steff,” my mum reminded me while the lady was gone I hadn’t forgotten, but I tried to sound as if I had only just remembered. As I was the only person in our house who needed glasses, I had already decided I was going to keep wearing them all the time, even after the three weeks were up. “Yes, the glasses are correct; minus six point five in both eyes, with minus nought point five of astigmatism in the right eye, and minus nought point seven five in the left. They will take some getting used to, especially as it’s your first pair of glasses, and you may well feel a little sea-sick because of the astigmatism. The important thing is that you keep wearing them, and the feeling will pass.” The journey home all passed in a bit of a blur – or, more precisely, quite a lot of a blur. When we reached home, I made some excuse about being desperate for the toilet, and raced upstairs. I did need the loo, but not as badly as I had made out. I wanted to see what my new glasses looked like on me, and to examine them more closely. The lenses were about five millimetres thick, and made my face look much smaller. I had to take a few selfies to see what they looked like on me, as I couldn’t see well enough through the lenses to use a mirror. My dad was very complimentary about my glasses, although he could not hide the look of shock on his face when he saw how strong they were. He told me how the frames suited my face, and that he could tell just by looking at them that I hadn’t been lying when I had said I needed glasses a few weeks ago. When he asked how well I could see with them, I explained that it was a bit of a struggle to see clearly at the moment, but that I had been told I needed to keep wearing them until I was used to them. Getting used to my glasses was easier said than done. Every morning, I put them on before I got up. The first few hours were a bit of a struggle. I could see well enough to watch the television, or to take the dog out for a walk, but I couldn’t play on the computer much before lunchtime, and reading books or my phone were out of the question. I just had to keep reminding myself that I only had to wear them all the time for two or three weeks, and everything would be fine. Each day, it became a little easier to see. Or at least, when I had worn them for a week, I was on the computer by eleven o’clock, and I could see my phone by mid-afternoon. I hadn’t told anyone about getting glasses. In one way, I wanted to surprise them when the new year started, but in another, I hoped I would be in a class where not as many people knew me, and maybe someone else would have got glasses during the Summer holidays, as well. I did, however, invite Molly to come around, as I told her I had a surprise for her. Molly arrived just before lunch on the Monday before we went on holiday. I had had the glasses for exactly two weeks by that point, and had been wearing them all morning. When I heard the doorbell go, I took them off and put them in their case. I heard my mum letting her in, so I waited in my room for her to come upstairs. After exchanging a few pleasantries, Molly asked what the surprise was. With a great show, I revealed my glasses case to her. “I sort of guessed it might be that,” she laughed. “Go on, then, close your eyes – I’ll tell you when you can open them again.” Once again, I was greeted with the same look of ill-disguised shock when she saw them on me. If the truth were known, that was rather the reaction I was hoping I would get – not only from her, but also from others when we got back to school. It was her turn to babble. “I love the frame. It really suits you. It’s just like mine. When did you get them? Why are they so thick? What can you see without them? How strong are they? How much do you have to wear them? Can I try them on?” “I got them two weeks ago. I’m still getting used to them. I don’t know why they’re so thick, but I was told they were minus six point five and some other numbers. Like you said when I asked you the same question, I can see without them, but everything is clearer with them. Oh, and I have to wear them all the time.” I didn’t add that this was just while I was getting used to them; for some reason, I was pleased that my glasses were obviously stronger than hers, and this was borne out when we swapped glasses. “I can’t see a thing with these,” she said. “I was the same at first, but I’m getting used to them now.” After that, we arranged another seeing competition. Molly won with her glasses on, and by making sure we sat as far away from what we were trying to read as possible, with my glasses on, I did better than she did without hers. Needless to say, I came last without my glasses. The following Saturday, we set off for North Wales for our annual holiday. It was still taking me about half an hour to get used to the glasses every morning, but I was now used to seeing myself wearing them, and once I had worn them for about an hour, I could even read the text on my phone, although it was still hard work. I think if my mum or dad had asked me at that point whether my eyes had adapted to the glasses, I would probably have said not, but I guess since I was wearing them all the time without saying anything, they assumed that I had. The turning point came in the middle of our second week. The weather hadn’t been the best, so we had spent our time visiting castles, going down slate mines or riding on steam trains. We had managed the odd game of football on the beach, but with a leaden sky, none of us was tempted to go in for a swim. However, we awoke on the Wednesday to a cloudless blue sky, and the promise of the temperature rising steadily throughout the day. Beach weather. No sooner were we down on the beach, than my brother and I wanted to go in for a swim. We got changed as quickly as we possibly could, and dragged our dad off down to the sea, leaving mum to look after the rest of the stuff. When I started to feel the cold, I suggested going back to where our things were kept, so that Mum could come down and have a swim. By the time I got back to her, she had changed into her swimming costume, and, as the water was about two hundred yards away, she asked me where my dad and brother were. “Hang on a moment,” I said, “I’ll just put my glasses on and point them out to you.” It was only when she had set off in the direction I had just indicated, that I realised what I had just done. For the first time ever, I had put my glasses on to help me to see. It wasn’t a case of putting them on in order to get used to them; I had really needed them. As I stood there, comparing the with and the without, I realised that I had truly become a glasses-wearer. I had told Molly that I had to wear them all the time. It was true – I did. There was no question of getting used to them, and then deciding how much to wear them – I needed them. I did eventually get asked whether I had adjusted to my glasses. It was by my mum, and it was in the car on the way home from our holiday. I told her that I was fully used to them now (not quite true – it was still taking about ten minutes to adapt to them in the morning), and that there was no need to go back and get my eyes checked again; I could wait for my six-monthly check when it came around. To demonstrate my point, I read the furthest sign with them on, and then told her that I could hardly even see the sign without them. In the event, it was more like eight months until my next eye exam. My dad had been promoted at work, but that meant he had to move offices to the other side of London. Two hours each way around the M25 every day left him feeling very tired and stressed, so my parents decided that the only way ahead was for them to move house. As a result, Christmas was a very strange affair. The day itself was fine, but the days before and after saw all of our possessions either being packed away into crates or moved into storage. The letter arrived reminding my parents that I was due another eye exam, but it was put to one side as they didn’t have the time to get it sorted. In the end, our moving day was set – Valentine’s Day. This meant we would have a few days to get used to our new home before Stephen and I started at our new school. It also gave us the chance to say our own goodbyes, although as Mum pointed out, we would be able to come back and visit for the odd day, as they had friends here, too. When Molly came around, we had one last “seeing competition,” using both her first pair of glasses, and the new ones she had got a few weeks earlier. It was only when I wore my glasses and her new pair that I was able to see what she could, but that was no great surprise as I was beginning to struggle to read the board at school. Once we had settled in our new home, and I had started to get to know a few people at school, I had to remind my parents that I needed to get my eyes tested. They still seemed rather preoccupied with settling in, so I pointed out that I had to sit in the back row of the classroom, and unless the teacher was writing extra large on the board, I couldn’t read it properly. As we didn’t know any differently, my appointment was booked with the local branch of the high-street chain where I had got my first glasses. Although I had forgotten most of the details of my first eye exam, the pattern of the second one was something I got used to over the next few years: looking at a farmhouse in a machine, the machine where you got the puff of air in your eye, counting the dots as you saw them light up, the “which is better, one or two?” followed by “there’s been quite a bit of change since your last sight test,” and then going off to choose a new frame. “Stephanie needs quite a bit of an increase,” the optician said to my mother. “Her astigmatism hasn’t changed, but we need to increase her right eye by a dioptre to minus seven point five, and her left eye one more step, to minus seven point seven five.” “Is that strong?” my mother asked. “I see one or two adults a week with stronger prescriptions, but for a ten year-old, I’m afraid it is. Do you remember how strong her previous glasses were?” The optician seemed very surprised when she said that the glasses I had now were my first ever pair of glasses, but only commented that it might be better if I came back again in six months, and sooner if I felt I needed to. After that, we went off to choose a frame for my new glasses. I wasn’t feeling particularly adventurous, so selected the frame which was closest to the glasses I was already wearing. It was about ten days later, that we got the call to say that my new glasses were ready. The optician wanted me to come in at lunchtime to collect them. Also, he wanted to run one or two further tests on me, now that they had received the written notes from where we used to live. It took a couple of days to arrange this, and my mum ended up picking me up from school just before lunchtime on the Friday afternoon. When we got there, we had to sit and wait for a few minutes, before we were called through to the same testing room, where I had had my eyes examined. The optician was there, as before, and we were introduced to the branch manager, who was going to fit my glasses. Once they were on my face, she checked the fit, and I was made to read as much of the chart as I could on the far wall. I read all of the letters without problems, and was able to read the first line on the next set of three, before I had to admit defeat because the letters were too small for me. “Very good. How does the vision compare with your old glasses?” “It’s much better, thanks.” “Tell me, how long did it take you to get used to the old glasses?” “They told me it would take two to three weeks.” “And how long did it actually take?” “More like two to three months, before I didn’t have to strain at all first thing in the morning.” “I see. So now, I need to run one more test. It won’t take long, but I need to put some drops into your eyes, and test you again. It won’t hurt, but it will take quarter of an hour or so before the drops are working fully. You can keep your old glasses on, but I’d prefer you not to wear the new ones until after we’ve done the extra test.” The wait for the extra test seemed to go on for ages. When it came, it was a bit of a disappointment. It was just another eye exam. When he had completed it, the optician turned to the branch manager. “The new prescription is pretty much right; the right eye is spot on, but she’s tending to favour a minus eight in her left eye. We might as well order that, and we can swap the lenses when it comes in.” At this point, it was the branch manager’s turn to speak to us. She was extremely apologetic on behalf of the company, as she explained that, whoever had entered the details of my prescription into the computer had mis-read a couple of zeroes as sixes, so my first glasses had been six diopters stronger than they should have been. This, in turn, explained why it had taken so long for me to get used to my first pair of glasses. However, the extra test they had just done clearly showed that I now needed the new prescription, and they were going to get me a slightly stronger lens for my left eye, as tests with the drops always gave a more accurate reading than those done without. What she was unable to say, because to research it would have been unethical, is to what extent my most recent change may have been due to the first pair of glasses I was given, and how much of it was down to natural causes, including the imminent onset of puberty. She also said that the company would be in touch in due course to discuss the issue of compensation for their mistake and its probable effects on my eyesight. When I finally got the chance to examine my new glasses for myself, I realised how much thicker and stronger they looked than my old pair. There hadn’t been the light or the opportunity to do so in the examining room, but once I was home, it was much easier to compare the two. It took me all of ten minutes to get used to the increased prescription. I did try wearing both pairs together, but the thought of trying to force my eyes to see through glasses which were far too strong, once again, didn’t appeal. Besides, seeing someone in one pair of glasses is pretty normal, but you hardly ever see people wearing two at the same time. Back at school, one or two people noticed that my lenses seemed thicker, but as those who had tried my old glasses on had not been able to see with them, there was no demand to try the stronger version. When I got the new left lens fitted, no-one said a thing; even I could hardly tell the difference. After that, my parents took much more careful notice of my eyesight, and the moment the reminder arrived, the sight test was booked. If there could be said to be an upside to rapidly-changing eyesight, it was that I always had the latest, most stylish frames. Puberty was not kind to me, and I had five sight tests in the space of just two years, and gained at least a dioptre every time. By the time I was thirteen, the strength of my glasses was more than my age, and it continued upwards from there. The compensation package wasn’t brilliant - £5000 per eye, to be paid on my 18th birthday, and a permanent 50% discount on any pair of glasses I ordered through the chain. It did mean we were able to afford the thinner, high-index lenses, so my glasses were never quite as thick as they might have been, but once my prescription hit double figures, and I started to need adult-sized frames, they were never going to be thin. I had reached the point where I no longer looked forward to having my eyes tested. The seemingly pointless agonising over which of two virtually identical frames to get, was more like a chore than a pleasure. I knew I would be getting new glasses again six months later. Also, it made little difference what the frames looked like – it was the lenses which were the most noticeable thing. I was seventeen and a half when it was first suggested that I might like to try myodiscs. The lenses would be thinner and lighter, and my vision would probably be better, but they would be noticeably different. With a prescription of R -19.25 -0.75 x 180 and L -19.75 -1.25 x 180, I still had some choice in the matter. It took me a while to reach what I thought was the best solution: to get normal thick glasses this time around, and to switch to myodiscs before heading off to university in the Autumn (provided that I got the right grades in my A-levels). From a practical point of view, that worked extremely well. I was able to get used to the reduced field of vision in the comfort of my own home, and my initial conversations with my fellow freshers, when I got to university, focussed far more on where I came from and my choice of degree than they did on my eyewear. However, as I got to know them, we seemed to end up discussing eyesight all the more frequently – and particularly mine. So next week, when I get my eyes tested, I’m going to get contact lenses. I want boys to be interested in me as a person. I want them to ask me about my past experiences and my future plans. I want them to notice my body. I am a woman. I am more than just my glasses.
https://vision-and-spex.com/i-am-more-than-just-my-glasses-t1277.html