When I was twenty-three, not quite twenty-four, and also not quite employed (I would be, again, during this episode; the timing just really sucked because it managed to fall during the one month I didn’t have vision insurance), I got new contacts. I switched from rigid gas permeable lenses (very small, hard, sit directly on your on cornea) to scleral lenses (larger, vault over the cornea to sit on the sclera [white part] of the eye).
They usually give you some practice time with your new lenses when you get them. This was my third type of contact, so my practice time was less than a minute. I didn’t need more. I put the lens into my eye, blinked, and -
I didn’t realize until that moment how uncomfortable I’d been.
For more than eleven years, I’d worn my rigid gas permeable lenses. They’re challenging lenses to wear, and I did well with them. I could tolerate them. They move a lot, and you can feel them on your eye all the time. My brain had learned to ignore that feeling. In under thirty seconds, I’d shattered the illusion I’d cast on myself.
I found my old hard lenses when I was cleaning my apartment in the fall. I’d stored them dry, and this means they would have been usable. My prescription has changed slightly but if I needed them, I had them. However, I also had moved to a new pair of sclerals and the old sclerals were also stored dry beside the rigid gas permeables. I twisted open the case, looked at the little blue half-spheres, and threw them out. I thought about continuing to keep them, just in case - but when I stopped to think about training my eye and my brain to deal with them, I couldn’t put myself through that discomfort again.
I am very uncomfortable now. New job, new home, new life. I like a lot of it, and it’s slowly making more sense to me, but I’m still uncomfortable. It’s exhausting.
I didn’t know how comfortable I’d become. I had an inkling; I was starting to feel a little under-stimulated and the things that were enough in my twenties were falling short in my early thirties. But I only found out in hindsight, the opposite of my contacts. Once I made the leap and the move, then I realized that I’d grown deeply comfortable. Sure, I could be bored and frustrated by times, but it was easy. Finally I had achieved work-life balance. I had friends and hobbies and habits. I never had to think that hard about where stuff was or what I wanted to do.
If I’d known the depth of my discomfort, would I have still made this choice? Yes, most likely. I know this is a temporary state, and I’ll make it through. Something I have learned, though maybe not practiced so much.
Last week, my wisdom tooth started to come in again. I am thirty-two years old, and I’m basically teething over here. I did not think this wisdom tooth would ever come through; I had several X-rays which indicated two of my wisdom teeth were sideways in my jaw and were unlikely to grow. This one, however, seems to have righted itself, and is now slowly, fitfully breaking through my gums. My tooth is reflecting my life right now: a slow, quiet buzz of discomfort in the background. My gum is sensitive where I can feel the back cuspid just underneath. The front has already erupted. It doesn’t hurt like another one did, in my fourth year of university. Twenty-one with a swollen cheek from the pain, I found the leftover Percocet from my last eye surgery and used it to dull the pain for a few days.
I found the last tab of Percocet when I was packing my medicine cabinet. It expired in 2015.
Comfort, discomfort, uncomfort. The way I feel in my skin right now is unsettled. I keep reaching for something that isn’t there anymore, and I feel the loss of comfort in my life the same way I felt the loss of discomfort after I got new contacts. When I got those uncomfortable rigid gas permeable lenses, I had to learn to manage the feeling. I learned to ignore my discomfort, and while that’s not the best strategy - at least for now, I need to ignore my discomfort in my new life. It will become worn and comfortable. I just need to break it in.
I felt your discomfort reading this, Alison. And, I like that. I felt we were sitting together, looking at your dried up contacts and talking about how things change. Well done!
“If I’d known the depth of my discomfort, would I have still made this choice? Yes, most likely. I know this is a temporary state, and I’ll make it through. ..”
Instead of not sleeping the other night, I just needed you to articulate my thoughts. Beautiful. 💕