It was a moment of complete terror... so unreal that I couldn't trust my senses. It was me, in the patient's chair in a room filled with completely fascinated eye specialists. The main doctor was so thrilled with what he could show his students, that he completely ignored the fact a real patient was in the room. He sputtered out a combination of numbers and letters, along with some Latin that made everyone in the room nod and make a fury of notes. When I asked to be included in the discussion, I was completely ignored.

I sat in the chair, eyes numbed, pupils dilated, feeling more than a little disoriented. I had just come for my two-year check up. I wasn't expecting to become the sideshow of the day.

Finally, the doctor ran me through a battery of vision tests that exhausted my eyes to the point of failure. All I could do was hold back the vomit while he tried this lens and covered that eye and demanded I look at his nose, and the wall, and back and forth he switched lens after lens, covered one eye and then the other in rapid succession until I couldn't focus on anything.

The doctors all excitedly conferred with each other on their exquisite find. Finally, the doctor addressed me. "What you need here is some surgery. We could weaken this eye muscle here and tighten this one up.." He lost me at the word "surgery". I can't have surgery. It involves anesthesia and needles and knives and hospitals, and the mere thought of going through that is really, really awful.

Apparently, the muscles in my eyes are rapidly deteriorating, but I was too freshet out to ask why. I tried to ask intelligent questions, but with my vision blurred with drops and three overly eager mouths drooling over what I can only assume is a rare find, I had no idea what I needed to know. I didn't even know anything was wrong with me. I just came in because I was trying to be a responsible adult.

"This can be done on an outpatient basis. You come in, we put you to sleep, we (I'm not actually sure what he said here, but I what I heard was: "we'll cut your face open")bandage you up. You should be able to go to work within a couple of days." He assured me there would be no pain involved. Before I could ask any of the important stuff I should have asked, things I am aware of now like, "what are you hoping to achieve?" "what are the chances you won't achieve what you are hoping to do?", I was already telling him that I simply could not have surgery. It is just too frightening to fathom. And what about after surgery? How would I even get home with my eyes all bandaged up? What if he made a mistake? Would I go blind? What the fuck would I do then?

Thank heavens he didn't push. He looked at my eyes some more and announced a prism strength and a number, and then changed his mind. He decided that if I won't do it his way, we'll get me some contacts. I was so relieved that he dropped his first suggestion that I didn't even ask him what contacts had to do with anything. He said something about the improvement of vision being so much more complete, that I wouldn't be quite so cross-eyed. Since when am I cross-eyed? Anyhow, he thinks that if I use the lenses I may also have to wear a thin pair of glasses at first, but that things may start to improve.

And I just sat there stunned and agreed to everything. I still don't even know what everyone is excited about. I just have to go back in two weeks when an array of contacts will be ready for me to try out. I'll bring a list of questions, but who knows if they will be answered?

Everyone is telling me that being freaked out about my age is pointless. Numbers are meaningless, right? Then why is it that every time in the past year that I go for a normal check up, something ends up being completely abnormal? I have to make this year's dental appointment soon, and I'm scared to death! With the way things are going, the dentist is going to want to pull all of my teeth out or something. Oh, wait, actually, the dentist found the tumor last year.

I guess the worst part of all the health issues are the actual decisions I end up having to make. There isn't anyone I could actually ask about any of this. I'm not entirely sure what to do next or how I would even go about gathering the information I need to make an informed decision. It is all up to me. Should I just try the contacts thing and punt from there, or find someone who can give me a second opinion? How do I even know I can trust this or that doctor of whateverology?

Or perhaps I should just do the most practical and melodramatic thing I can think of right now, which would be to go out to a field, dig a deep hole, and just sit by it and wait until lightening strikes. I don't want to deal with any of this. I didn't cause it, I didn't wish for it, and pretending it isn't there won't make it go away. And what the hell is "IT", anyhow?

Of course I don't expect any answers here. I'm just frustrated. Frustrated and old.