Avoiding Mishaps When Trying Contact Lenses

My Experience with Contact Lenses: A Comedy of Errors

Last week, I had my first contact lens “lesson,” and let’s just say it didn’t go well. I can’t understand why I thought I would succeed at something that requires precision, dexterity, and repeatedly touching my own eyeballs. Frankly, I’ve never had much luck with any body-related endeavors that involve those skills. Ear piercings always end in disappointment as the holes magically close up. My brief flirtation with lash extensions was both painful and short-lived, and let’s not even talk about the time I attempted to use a diaphragm for contraception.

I’m perfectly fine with doing things to my body as long as I don’t have to perform intricate tasks that should be left to medical professionals. I prefer to be free from responsibility. I can handle a battery-operated foot file, but ask me to inject myself with a life-saving anticoagulant twice a day, and I’ll give you a blank stare that clearly indicates I haven’t processed the instructions. I can use Veet on my bikini line, but don’t expect me to examine my own c-section wound for signs of infection. Pierce my ears? Sure. But don’t count on me to turn the earrings to release any unpleasant discharge.

Since becoming a mother, I’ve developed a strong aversion to any form of bodily intervention. I’ve vetoed getting a contraceptive coil fitted, starting an Invisalign program for my necessary bite correction, or undergoing any facial alterations, injections, or treatments. Unless a procedure can prevent illness or save my life, I want nothing to do with it. Keep your needles, rollers, and fat-freezing gadgets away from me.

The Madness of Trying Contact Lenses

I must admit, my decision to try wearing contact lenses seems questionable at best. Some might even call it downright insane. After a traumatic experience with a cystoscopy (feel free to Google it if you dare), where I ended up sitting in a bath for five hours, silently rocking back and forth, you’d think I would steer clear of anything involving my eyes. Yet here I am, contemplating the insertion of foreign objects into those jelly-like orbs that Lady Caroline from Succession so eloquently referred to as “face eggs.”

Of course, having things inserted into my eyes is far preferable to enduring a camera up my pee-hole. I mean, who wouldn’t choose the eyeball ordeal over that? But let’s not mistake it for an enjoyable experience. Apparently, I have flickery eyelids, which complicates the process of putting in contact lenses. And really, who wouldn’t flinch when something approaches their vulnerable eyeballs?

It took an eternity to get the lenses in, and it wasn’t even my turn to do it myself yet. Dealing with astigmatism didn’t help either, as I had to blink repeatedly to position the lenses properly. It felt like having an eyelash stuck in my eye, completely counterintuitive. And even when the lenses were in place, they still felt foreign, like stray eyelashes or debris.

But just when I thought one torture was over, another one began: the lesson on how to take the lenses out. Positioned in front of an unflattering pedestal mirror, I saw a version of myself that looked at least fifteen years older (possibly due to my poor vision). I contorted my face in ways reminiscent of an aquarium creature, poking myself in the eyeball repeatedly, uttering a series of “ughs,” “ows,” and “arghhs”!

Needless to say, my journey with contact lenses has been quite the adventure.

If someone had stumbled upon me during my struggle, unaware of the fact that I was trapped in a lesson until I could extract these devilish eye discs, they would have surely believed I was in desperate need of assistance. Who willingly sits there, repeatedly poking and prodding their own eyeballs until they become dry (cue the need for emergency eye drops) and achingly sore? Especially when there are countless comfortable glasses just waiting to be tried on around the corner.

But they say it gets better. That’s what everyone keeps telling me, and that’s why I’m giving it another shot. I have another appointment on the horizon, aptly named “Eye Death Episode II,” and it can go one of two ways: another disaster, resulting in a mild panic where I flail about, begging for the removal of those cursed lenses, or a victorious emergence with a trial pack of my special daily lenses and a newfound spring in my step. I can’t foresee any middle ground. If my eyes once again feel like they’re being massaged with sandpaper, I’ll politely decline the trial and put an end to my contact lens escapades.

A heartfelt thank you to all those who have shared their tried-and-tested contact lens methods so far. Your advice is truly appreciated. Now, I’d like to see a show of hands from those who initially believed they would never conquer this challenge after their first attempt, only to emerge victorious in the end, just as I hope to do.

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