The story of my second-most-recent visit to the emergency room goes a little like this:
One high school night, I was taking out my contacts before bed. The right one came out just fine, but I couldn’t seem to get at the left.
Wait – was my contact still in? I pulled my glasses out of my backpack and checked – and, sure enough, the vision in my left eye was blurry. After a few minutes of fruitless struggle, I called my parents over.
Imagine: Dad gripping my shoulders, as Mom slowly plucked at my eye with her deathclaw fingernails.
A quarter-hour later, my father proclaimed: “This is no good, I am taking her to the emergency room.”
And so he did.
“Well,” said Doctor Lee, “I don’t really know what to say. You aren’t wearing any contacts.”
What? I took out my glasses again, and realized the horrible truth: after all the jostling my backpack had taken, that treacherous left lens had been knocked out of the frame.
So, yeah, Younger Self. If you ever get this… just go to bed, man.
I’m putting that on my list as another reason why I never plan on getting contacts. I was already freaked out by the idea of sticking a finger in my eye to get them in.