The Way I See It

People are a complaining lot. Good things are taken for granted, while little setbacks are magnified and dwelled upon. A run in stockings is a bad omen, while everything else going well is overlooked. I know I’m guilty of this as well. It seems that once I determine that I’m having a bad day, I will notice only the bad things that happen that day.

Well, here’s my attempt at reversing that negativity. Back in 2002, I had Lasik surgery done on both eyes. I had been wearing glasses since fourth grade. I wore contacts for years, and eventually could only wear gas permeable (hard) lenses, which were rather painful if the tiniest speck of dust got into my eye. So when I had the chance, I got Lasik. And I have to say, despite the fact that my vision reverted a little bit and I had to get the procedure done a second time, it was well worth it.

When my second child was a baby, and I would have to get up in the middle of the night, I no longer had to fumble around the nightstand to find my glasses, or feel too tired to put in my contacts the next day and resign myself to a day of scrunching my nose to readjust my glasses again and again. I could see what time it was (to figure out if the baby really needed to be fed again or if we should just let him go back to sleep) without having to squint so much that half the time I’d just keep going and close my eyes, dozing off until he cried again.

These days, I can swim and see at the same time. I can enter a warm building on a cold day without worrying about my glasses fogging up. I can fall asleep watching television without waking up with super dry eyes from leaving in my contacts, or a sore face from the glasses pressing into my skin.

After the surgery, I apparently expected Super Vision. My husband got Lasik done shortly after me, and so for a long time, we’d be driving somewhere and I’d keep asking if he could see this sign or that. I suddenly expected to be able to see the smallest print on the further billboard, or to read street signs from the time I first spotted the sign. It took me a while to settle into normal expectations, but finally, after the dry eyes and soreness went away, and the nighttime halos faded, I got used to my 20/20 eyesight.

But now, nearly four years later, I find I take this gift for granted (I know it’s technically not a gift since you have to pay for the surgery). When I wake up in the morning and see my son’s little head at the foot of the bed, about to climb up and crawl under the covers with his Mommy and Daddy, I don’t think about how nice it is not to have to reach for my glasses. When a gust of steam rushes up as I cook, I don’t smile at the realization that I don’t have to take off my glasses and wipe them on my shirt. Every night, as I finish brushing my teeth, I don’t look in the medicine cabinet and think about how I no longer have saline solution or contact cases in the house.

But every once in a while, as I watch television, a commercial will come on. EyeMasters is having a sale on glasses, or Bausch and Lomb is advertising their colored contacts, or something of the sort. And it all comes back to me. I watch the commercial and smile a cocky smile.

When I was younger, I used to close my eyes and walk upstairs and complete my bedtime routine with my eyes closed. I reasoned that my worst sense was sight, and that if I ever had to live without it, I should at least be able to make it around my own house without fail. And I have to admit, I was pretty good at it. I didn’t count the steps, but rather felt around and grew very aware of slight differences that told me exactly where I was. I’ve tried it on occasion here, although I would not advise conducting this experiment in a house with toddlers, unless said toddlers either 1) are meticulous about putting away their toys, or 2) don’t own any toys. Basically, when I head upstairs at night, I sometimes don’t bother to turn on any lights and try to make my way up. I happened to break a glass doing that last week (I misjudged where the counter was), so I have to remember to do that only when I am not holding anything breakable. But I still think it’s an important exercise.

All our senses are important, but I really believe we depend too much on sight, at the expense of the other senses. In order to concentrate, we plug ear buds in and play music so we can’t hear anything else. We don’t learn to tune out sounds, or to hear multiple levels of sounds, but rather concentrate on how to restrict our hearing. “Shh. No talking. I’m trying to listen to this story on NPR.” I find myself saying this more often than I’d care to admit. I think with vision, you can take in more because the things around you are basically stationary (at least, much of the scenery is), but with hearing, you’d have to hear and process multiple streams of sounds at once, which is rather difficult. But a mother, I’ve learned, can be completely engrossed in a conversation, and still know when to step into the other room to take a look at what the kids are up to, either because of a sudden burst of noise, or a disturbing amount of silence. I know all my kids’ toys, and what sounds they make, so if I hear a sound, I usually know what my children are doing.

I used to enjoy asking probing questions, those strange questions whose answers may mean something to a psychologist, but just mean interesting conversation to me. You know, like, if you could have a minor super power, what would it be? (My husband’s would be bowel control; threaten to take over the world, and he’ll give you a case of the runs that’ll have you sitting on a toilet for a week). Mine, which I actually possess, is the ability to send an employer to bankruptcy, to make companies I work for cease to exist.

Well, if you had to choose to live without one of your senses, which would it be? See, I don’t think touch can even be considered, because that would be too dangerous. I remember learning in psych class in high school that some people actually are touch sensory deprived and burn themselves or seriously injure themselves because they don’t feel themselves getting hurt. That is too scary a prospect for me. As for smell and taste, well, I can enjoy food. Usually, eating is a bit of a chore for me (because I have to prepare all the food and do all that thinking that comes with meals, as well as often having to clean everything up), and I can’t imagine making the whole experience of mealtime – 3 a day plus snacks – that much more painful by not being able to taste.

I remember once when I was dating my now husband, he was back at school, and I was sitting at a table at Thwing Center when a friend walked up and we started talking. I had the strange sense that my boyfriend was nearby, and I looked around, obviously not seeing him. That was when I realized that this friend of mine had been wearing the same cologne my boyfriend always wore, a scent I had never even noticed on my boyfriend but had nonetheless associated with him.

As for hearing, well, I couldn’t bear to give that up. My elder son’s endless stories, my younger son’s wonderful mispronunciations (Chubob is SpongeBob), the new Coldplay album, my dog’s whimpering bark as he dreams, my husband’s car pulling into the driveway past the kitchen window as I finish up dinner. All these sounds are so integrated into my life, and I’d hate to give them up.

I guess that leaves sight. But how could I give up sight? How could I not see my children grow up, look at my husband, read a book (well, I guess I can always listen to books on tape), or watch television? How could I not drive, put on makeup (oh, wait, scratch that), read the comics, or see my children’s artistic creations? Then again, I’d have an excuse for clashing (since my husband definitely has more fashion sense than I do), I don’t believe I could cook (because I’m just not THAT good), and I do believe that putting away laundry would be a bit beyond my capabilities (though folding it would not). Also, I don’t believe I could safely and effectively change any more diapers. Yeah, I think I’m going to have to stick with sight.

But in the end, I am glad I’m healthy. And I’m glad there are commercials out there that remind me of just how lucky I am.