Dodging The Presbyopian Bullet

Just got back from the annual eye exam I'd been so diligently putting off. Which featured the following conversational snippet, after the doctor got the funky lens-switching machine to a setting where things looked pretty good:

Doctor: Try this. *makes one final adjustment*

Me, pleased: Hey, that's even better! That looks pretty great!

Doctor: That's the bifocal strength.

Me: Shit.

Fortunately, however, possibly partly in response to my pitiful puppy-dog look, he allowed as how I could reasonably put off switching to bifocals for another year. Well, it's not like I've actually been having any trouble reading or anything, and with as much reading as I do, you would think I'd notice. Reprieve!

But, man, there are just not words for how much I do not want bifocals. It's not really the fact that it's an annoying acknowledgment of advancing age, although that certainly doesn't help. It's that already any time my prescription changes significantly, I feel queasy for a week, and my confidence in my ability to adapt to bifocals, of any kind, is thus extremely low. I also really didn't want to have to spend the money right now, to be honest. Next year, I will hopefully have to buy fewer plane tickets to oblige relatives who for some reason insist on me visiting them.

Also, when I told the optometrist that I really didn't know whether progressive lenses or regular bifocals would work better for me, he immediately replied with, "And you won't until you try them." Great. Just great. I mean, that's kind of a lot of money to spend only to find out you've made the wrong choice. (And I don't have insurance that covers my eyeballs. My work does offer an optional vision plan, but since I've generally only needed new eyeglasses every few years, it hasn't really seemed worth it.)

Oh, well. I'll worry about it all next year.