"My sisters Amy and Gretchen were, at the time, undergoing therapy for their lazy eyes, while my older sister, Lisa, had been born with a lazy leg that had refused to grow at the same rate as its twin. She'd worn a corrective brace for the first two years of her life, and wherever she roamed she left a trail of scratch marks in the soft pine floor. I liked the idea that a part of one's body might be thought of as lazy — not thoughtless or hostile, just unwilling to extend itself for the betterment of the team." (Me Talk Pretty One Day).
In April, then, when I noticed in the mirror that my right eye was a little wonky, I figured it just wasn't playing nicely with the other eye. And then I thought maybe it was because of Peter Falk, known for, among other things, his lack of focused eyes. Since he died this year, I figured the universe needed to balance the number of lazy eyes in the world, so I was selected. (This is how I think, people. If you don't know that by now, you haven't been paying attention). At first I was honored, but then I remembered that Peter Falk's eye wasn't just lazy: it was dead (surgically removed because of childhood cancer). So...um, I don't want a dead eye.
Once I saw it in the mirror (and I looked a lot, because it's really distressing and hard to actually see in a mirror), I noticed I was having difficulty focusing, especially when wearing my glasses, and especially when I was tired. Then I noticed that while driving and wearing my glasses, I had trouble with depth perception (which makes sense, if you think about it: if one eye's looking up Broadway and one is looking across, it's hard to judge how far it is to the crosswalk). I started wearing my contacts more regularly. I thought about getting an eye patch. It made me giggle.
I went to the optometrist in July, for my yearly check up. I told her I was worried about this wonky eye business, and as she examined me, she kept saying "Huh." Not like "Excuse me, what did you say?" but more like "Huh; that's weird." Now there are many things you don't want professionals to say while they're looking your direction. For example, you hope your dentist doesn't say "Oops" during a root canal; you'd prefer your ob/gyn doesn't say "Sweet holy Moses!" at any point at all....and you don't want your optometrist to say "Huh...." over and over. It turns out that it's really not normal to develop a lazy eye as an adult. It's almost always a childhood affliction, and important to correct right away as the brain is developing. My old brain is fully developed, though, which is why my focus and depth perception get messed up so easily. And why it surprised Dr. Optomitrist.
Anyhoo, Dr. O sent me to an opthalmologist; Dr. Opthalmologist seemed to think my laziness was unimpressive (which, frankly, was a bit disappointing), and I likely just need to do some exercises of some sort, or perhaps some motivational activities to get the right eye back on board as a team player. To learn those, though, I have to go to an eye muscle specialist (whose fancy title I don't recall). The eye muscle specialist is in high demand, and also not local, apparently, because he's only here one day a month. Which means I can't see him until late November. By then, my right eye could have just migrated right out of my head, for all I know. But I guess we'll wait and see (ha! Vision humor!). I'll keep you posted, even if you don't want me to. Peter Falk would want it this way.