Adventure with Contacts

"So, young lady, how are you with sticking stuff into your eyes?" asked the doctor.
"Uuuuuum, I'm not really sure," I answered nervously.
"Well, I think you're gonna love them." He ushered me into a tiny room, more of a closet really, and pointed to the sink in the corner.
"Wash your hands."
While I busily swished and scrubbed, lathered and rinsed, he pulled down flat trays, thumbing through little blue-and-white packages. Apparently what he was looking for was there, for he tossed two little blue-and-white packages on the counter.
"Here you are, and the ladies will be right in to help you with those," the doctor said.
After pointing me to a chair, he left the room/closet while I pulled out miles and miles of white paper towels--not real ones, just those cheap, thin excuses for paper towels--to dry my hands. I had disposed of the excuses for paper towels, and seated myself in the chair, when a lady in a white lab coat walked through the door.
After the usual pleasantries, formalities, and how-do-ye-dos, we settled down to business. She pulled up a magnifying mirror, and I took one look.
I am supposed to stare into that thing while I put contacts in? I thought. You've got to be kidding. I can see all the way up my nose! I am going to die.As it turns out, I wasn't going to die. Not yet, anyway. The lady told me to open my little blue-and-white packages. There was a little white arrow in a corner of each, which obviously meant to pull the wrapper up there. I pulled, and it wouldn't open. So I stuck my nail under the wrapper, and it still wouldn't open. Not because of the wrapper, but because of my violinist nail, which is really not a nail at all. (If that makes any sense at all.) Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I was able to open up the package, and was staring down into a little tub of water with what seemed like the top of a jellyfish inside. The lady told me to take off my glasses, and I obeyed. Then she told me to take out the little top-of-a-jellyfish-that-was-really-a-contact and place it on the tip of my finger.
"What contact?" I asked.
"It's right in there, can't you see it?"
"No," I said.
The lady then told me to put my glasses on, take the contact and place it on the tip of my finger. I put my glasses on, so far so good. I then tried to take the contact out of the solution and place it on the tip of my finger. No go. Mr. Contact wanted to stay in the solution, and when I got him out, he wanted to stay plastered to my finger, and not raise up in a nice little bowl. Or he wanted to pretend he was a flying saucer and tilt lopsidedly all over my finger. I finally ended up giving Mr. Contact a nice little talking to, and then he settled down.
Then the lady told me to take my fingers, pull my top eyelid up, take my other hand and pull my bottom eyelid down, and place the contact in my eye, creating a gruesome spectacle.
My goodness, I thought, I've got to make myself look like that and do all those things at the same time? Oh well, the price of beauty, I guess...
So, for the price of beauty, I endeavored to make myself look like that and do all those things at the same time. And, guess what, it did not work. Big surprise! I mean, who on earth expects a person to make themselves look like that and do all those things at the same time on the first try? Absolutely no one. Except, of course, perfectionists. Who are really disillusioned people. But that's getting off subject.
So I tried again. And a third time. And a fourth. And a fifth, and a sixth, and a seventh, and an eighth, and a ninth, and so on. After about the fifteenth try, the lady suggested I try the other eye. So I did that for about twenty tries, and then switched eyes again. During this time I had received lots of helpful advice from the lady, my mom, and the eye doctor. I had also received a couple of "whoa, you look wierd"'s from my middle sister. Not to mention I had used up about fifty tissues in dabbing at my tearing eyes and running nose. I had also sprinkled about five gallons worth of contact solution all over the table, and on my face. But I was not going to give up. We Karakos may be a sinful lot, in fact we ARE a sinful lot, but we are not quitters. So I kept pulling, and poking, and blinking, and rubbing, and finally I managed to pop one contact in my eye.
"Whoa," I exclaimed. "I can SEE!!"
"All right," said the lady, "See, that wasn't so bad. Now we just have to get the other one in."
Being able to see a little bit, even if it is only out of one eye, helped a lot. I got the second contact in after about fifteen tries! New record! Fireworks, confetti, skywriting, parades, and general happiness prevailed. I was ecstatic. I could see EVERYTHING!! There was no line around my vision that dictated the boundaries of my sight. There was just clearness everywhere. I mean, sure it felt like I had flexible frisbees in my eyes, and the world was focussing like a stuck record, but I could see. That is the main point of this whole story. It's like, DUH, if I can't see, it's end of story. In fact, there would be no story.
In the midst of my celebration, I heard this voice penetrate the mists of happiness:
"Now, we just have to see you take them out."
"I'm sorry, I think I heard you incorrectly. Did you just say I had to take these OUT???"
"Mm-hm."
"But, but, but, but, but, I just worked so HARD," I wailed.
I was informed that I would still have to take them out, so it was no use pretending I was a broken boat motor. So, with a sigh, I sat back down and prepared to undo all my hard work.
And, staying with the usual trend of this story, it took about forty tries on each eye before I was able to pluck a contact out. I had received advice from everyone listed above, with the addition of a new lady, and a couple more "whoa you look wierd"s. And then I had to put it back in, so I could at least walk home without tripping over the floor. Fortunately I succeeded after about three tries that time. After I had collected my little bottle of solution, my purse, my former eyes, and all my various paraphenalia, I staggered out of the door, and into the great big world. For the first time in 10 years, I was walking in public without my glasses on, and able to see. So, doing what any normal person would do who had been unable to wear them for ten years, I headed straight for the sunglasses department. I picked out a pair of big, white, sparkly sunglasses without looking at the price tag, and bought them. Then I strutted out of the store, a new person.

And so, dear readers, the moral of my story is that if at first you don't succeed, try try again. And always remember that no matter how much it may seem to the contrary, YOU are the boss of your contacts.

The End

Note: This event occured in early August.