Tuesday morning I woke up and my right eye was blurry. I chalked it up to not getting enough sleep and went about my morning. As the day wore on my vision got worse and by lunchtime I was seeing double. My left eye was fine so I googled “blurry right eye.” The search yielded a long list of potential ailments that could have led to my condition, ranging from a stroke to a tumor to something called “ocular herpes.”
While a stroke or a tumor certainly sounded like an awful diagnoses, ocular herpes (or as I call it OH, as in “OH shit, I have ocular herpes!”) seemed the most embarrassing. I immediately began to wonder how I could have contracted such a virus. I hadn’t 69ed or had a girl use my face as a stool any time recently. I wondered if I possibly rubbed my eye after putting my fingers in that bowling ball the night before. And no, that’s not a metaphor for using my hand to pleasure a fat girl-- I’m actually in a bowling league Monday nights.
|How does one get Ocular Herpes?|
Concerned that I could have the dreaded OH or one of the other conditions, I set up an appointment with my optometrist for the next day. And then my imagination kicked in. I began to worry about the worst-case scenario: What if I had a tumor and they had to remove my eye? Would I be able to drive with no depth perception? What about my softball career? I hadn’t been hitting well lately as it was! Worst of all, I was currently single-- how would I meet a woman in a city as superficial as LA if I only had one eye? Would this mean I would have to settle for someone with only one eye? I think I’d rather be blind!
|“Come here often?”|
Now, after reading the abundant amount of medical “expertise” offered on the Internet, I began to hope for a terminal diagnoses as opposed to one that would simply mar my face. Somewhere in the back of my potentially doomed brain I wondered, What kind of a person am I if this is how little I value my life? For many people out there, “life” was purely survival-- battling poverty, disease, genocide, etc.—and they were happy just to stay alive another day. And here I was, only worried about my hybrid car going to waste, my softball stats suffering, or my ability to meet women taking a hit because I would scare them off with my flawed facial façade.
|“Congratulations! You’re healed!”|
At least that’s what I thought.
I had my optometrist appointment yesterday. As I sat in the waiting room I realized I didn’t want to die-- I hadn’t even had a threesome or tried lobster yet! No matter what deformity I was left with, I would find a way to be happy. The doctor called me in, and after a few tests, my fate was sealed. Apparently I simply had astigmatism and that was causing my blurred vision. I won’t be dying anytime soon-- at least not from a brain tumor.
The thought of dying at my young age made me appreciate all the seemingly small things that I never thought were enough to make me happy, but were actually the only things that should really matter. Maybe in a few days when I’ve forgotten about the eye scare, I will go back to taking these things for granted, but for now, it was a nice reminder to always appreciate everything I have (friends, family, career) and everything I don’t have (ocular herpes). It’s ironic that it took blurry vision to get me to finally see things clearly.