Day 13: The Five Senses (or Lack Thereof)

I went to the eye doctor today. At first the receptionist didn’t want to give me an appointment because I was just there in March, but she caved when I told her that I’m blind and can’t possibly wait another five months. Turns out the eye doctor felt I was exaggerating; my eyes haven’t gotten any worse. He gave me a sample of a new kind of multi-focal contact lens (I guess the word bifocals is no longer p.c.) that’s not even on the market yet that should -- OH MY GOD!!! David just walked in with a box of cupcakes from Magnolia Bakery! They’re the very best cupcakes in the world and at this moment he’s the very best husband in the world! And I can see them clear as a bell! -- solve my reading problems. That’s what he told me back in March when he gave me my first pair of bifocal contacts. We shall see. Aging eyes requiring five different sets of spectacles (and I'm not exaggerating) is one of the downsides of turning fifty, except when it means that you look in the mirror and give yourself a big thumbs-up on account of the fact that you can’t see your wrinkles and cellulite and whiskers.

A couple of years ago I went to the audiologist. When the receptionist asked me the nature of my problem I asked her how much time she had; then I told her that I was practically deaf. Turns out the audiologist felt I was exaggerating; she said my hearing was perfect. She gave me nothing but a disgusted look when what I really wanted was a hearing aid. I’m going deaf I tell you! Can't you hear me? I constantly scream at my children to “Come in here and talk to me because I can’t hear you!” or “Turn around and look at me when you talk so I can hear you!” or “Turn down the music so I can hear you!” or “I can’t hear a word you said!” They don’t think I’m exaggerating. Loss of hearing is one of the downsides of turning fifty, except when it means that you can pretend you didn’t hear something you don’t want to hear (not that I’ve ever done that).

There’s not a damn thing wrong with my nose except for its size. Believe me, I wish I could say that I suffer from anosmia, a loss of the sense of smell: remember, I live with three men and two dogs. A visit from Dr. Glade might help.

On the other hand, my sense of taste may indeed be growing duller. I’ve heard that happens with age -- our taste buds start to disappear, which explains why older people tend to enjoy spicier, hotter, more flavorful food. That might also explain why I can eat a pound of candy corn or a pint of Phish Food in one sitting. I simply can’t taste it until the last few bites. I thought it was an issue of willpower, but perhaps my taste buds are the real culprits.

And that leaves me with the sense of touch, the loss of which, I guess, is numbness. Although my ass-brain seems downright paralyzed from time to time, that's all I've got on that subject. The end. No exaggerating.