Tonight, while Wade was reading to the boys, I thought, eh, I’ll just take my contacts out because then I will be that much closer to getting into bed. And when I pulled the one in my left eye out, it tore in half.
And one little piece stayed in my eye. Up under my lid.
This isn’t the first time this has happened to me, although last time, I was actually at the eye doctor’s office, which was super convenient if not a little surprising. Tonight, of course, I was in my bathroom, which does not come equipped with an eye doctor, unfortunately.
I got out my mirror and squirted some saline in my eye and poked around a little, but even though I could feel the wee bit of lens I couldn’t see it. So then I swiped Henry’s head lamp and tried to shine it up under my eyelid which is totally impossible, in case you were wondering, and also a little bit painful and a lot annoying.
Wade finished reading to the kids and tucked them in and I got him to come look under my eyelid which may very well have been totally beyond the call of marital duty. When he couldn’t find anything, he suggested that we call the opthamologist who lives down the street and see if he would take a look.
(Aside: You should totally buy a house down the street from a doctor. Especially if he’s a very dear family friend and an all around great guy. Hey you could buy the house down the street from me! And then you could come have drinks with Rita and me! And also have an eye doctor down the block. Perfect.)
Meanwhile, I texted Chris, because we had been having an exchange about just how horrific our days have been, and what’s more horrific than something scratchy jammed up under your eyelid?
Me: Have torn contact lens in half. Half of it is IN MY EYE.
Her: You win.
I drove myself down the street to the doctor’s house, and he met me at the door and said “Let’s have a look.” And he poked around a little and then says, “Well I’ll be darned! There it is!”
Apparently, nearly every time he’s seen someone who swears they have a piece of contact lens still in their eye, it turns out not to be the lens at all, but a little scratch from the lens tearing. But I am an over achiever, apparently, because lo there was half a contact lens right there on my eyeball.
For the SECOND time. Go me.
I texted Chris when I got home.
Me: Contact lens is out. Made the Dr. down the street take it out.
Her: Oh good. That sounds painful.
Me: It was like being licked by kittens.
Her: How did he take it out?
Me: Do you really want to know what he did? He flipped my eyelid inside out, stuck a Qtip in my eyeball and pulled the wee little shard of lens out. Licked by kittens.
Her: Um yuck. I hate kittens.
Me: Me too. Especially when they’re licking my eyeball.
(Eye is all better now, thus proving that the human body is an amazing thing. And also that I have the best neighbors ever.)