I can't read what I'm typing.

So please excuse any typos.

I got back from the eye doctor around 6:45pm tonight and am just starting to get my vision back. Gil was instant messaging me in 40 point font, probably as a joke but, believe it or not, that's what I needed. I still look like a frightened cat in the mirror and it's been almost 3 hours.

The optometrist, who looked quite young, called me sweetheart a few times, and talked to me in a sing-songy voice, "Okay? Now I'm going to ask you to put your chin right here hun, and look at the doctor through those silly big glasses! Now look down at your little toes!" He actually said "little toes." When he noticed that something appeared abnormal around my optic nerve, he asked me, "Does anyone else in your family have a history of glaucoma?" I said no and waited there while he wrote in my file for about three minutes. Silent. He took photographs of my nerves and compared them to a database that spit out something about it being within healthy limits. I couldn't quite make out what was wrong since he was speaking to me in babytalk. "This is the part of your eyeball that talks to your brain. And if you look at something and it doesn't talk to your brain, it's like, 'Hey! I didn't see that!'"

Please. I didn't appreciate being spoken to like that when I was 5.

Anyway, the peepers are still better than 20/20, I don't need glasses, and I don't think glaucoma is something I'm going to worry about. They used to tell Poppy he was going to get glaucoma for years, and he's 62 and still doesn't have it. He didn't wear glasses until he was in his 50's either. I told him on the phone today, "I got your eyes, Pop. Your eyes and Mom's teeth." He said, "Well, that's a shame."