I Went for Glasses and Got an Eyeball Plot Twist

I Went for Glasses and Got an Eyeball Plot Twist

🌼 Date: Thursday, June 25, 2026

⚡ Energy: Blurry, surprised, and mildly offended

💝 Status: Eye appointment complete

🤨 Outlook: Apparently my eyeballs wanted their own chapter

Today I finally had my eye appointment.

Finally.

I knew chemo could cause vision changes, and I have definitely noticed changes since treatment.

Back in March or April, I realized my close-up vision had gotten much worse.

I already wear progressive lenses because thank you, 50-plus-year-old eyeballs, but lately I could easily put a second pair of readers over my current glasses and see the computer better.

Very classy.

Very stylish.

Very “grandma at the slot machine.”

My distance vision has also been worse, but I am not sure wearing readers on top of my glasses would help with that unless my goal was to give myself a stiff neck and a new personality disorder.

Plus, I still have not been cleared to drive, so apparently my distance vision does not need to be winning any awards right now anyway.

My last eye appointment was June 24, 2024.

My insurance covers a vision check every year and new glasses every two years, so I made my appointment for June 25, 2026.

One day after the two-year mark.

Look at me being responsible and insurance-compliant.

Casey has also been spending more time on the computer at work, and his Dollar Store readers are no longer cutting it, so I made him an appointment too.

His appointment was first.

Very textbook.

Very simple.

He went in, did the tests, walked out with a new prescription.

Easy peasy.

Then it was my turn.

Because apparently my body saw a normal appointment and said, “Absolutely not. We do plot twists here.”

The doctor did all the same tests she did on Casey.

Then she pulled out a few different lenses to look into my eyes.

Then came the sticky drops.

Then another machine.

Then the word glaucoma entered the conversation.

Excuse me?

Ma’am?

I came here for glasses.

Not a new medical vocabulary word.

She explained that the nerve tests they have been doing over the past couple of visits were being used to map out a baseline because they knew glaucoma was probably in my future.

Umm.

That would have been nice to hear in those exact words.

Because apparently they were over there quietly building an eyeball file on me while I thought we were just doing regular eye appointment things.

Because let me tell you, the last time I heard something along the lines of, “We have been watching this for a while,” it led to breast cancer, a double mastectomy, chemo, radiation, expanders, hormone blockers, and well… you know the rest of the circus.

So when someone says they have been watching something in my body for the last couple of years and I did not fully understand what they were watching for, my internal alarm system does not gently ding.

It goes full tornado siren.

Rationally, I know this is different.

I know glaucoma is not breast cancer.

I know watching the optic nerve over time is exactly what they are supposed to do.

But emotionally?

My brain heard, “We’ve been watching this,” and immediately grabbed a helmet, a flashlight, and a panic snack.

So, I asked the obvious question:

“Is this another one I can thank cancer for?”

She said not likely.

More likely genetics.

But chemo may have helped speed up some of the symptoms, like the floaters and the rapid change in my prescription.

Because of course chemo had to be involved somewhere.

Chemo is like glitter.

Even when you think you cleaned it up, it shows up later in places you were not expecting.

Chemo can cause temporary vision changes like blurry vision, dry or watery eyes, light sensitivity, trouble seeing in the dark, and floaters.

A lot of those symptoms can improve after chemo ends.

But I finished chemo in February, and here we are in June, and my vision is still acting like it joined a witness protection program.

So mine may not be temporary.

At least not completely.

My prescription has changed so much that she wants to see me again in six months.

Six months.

Not two years.

Not “see you next time your insurance allows it.”

Six months.

She said sometimes a prescription jump this big can cause more harm than good if my eyes and brain cannot adjust to the new glasses.

Cool, cool.

So now even seeing clearly comes with a warning label.

Love that.

Now, let’s talk about glaucoma in normal-people language.

Glaucoma is usually about damage or potential damage to the optic nerve, which is the nerve that sends visual information from your eye to your brain.

Your eyeballs see the world, but the optic nerve is basically the cable sending the message.

If that nerve gets damaged, vision can be affected.

Often, glaucoma is connected to pressure inside the eye, but pressure is not the whole story. Some people can have optic nerve changes even without sky-high pressure, which is why they do more than just the little air puff or pressure check.

Those nerve-mapping tests they have been doing are likely looking at the optic nerve and the nerve fiber layers in the back of my eye.

Basically, they are taking pictures and measurements so they can compare them over time and see if anything is changing.

So instead of just saying, “Looks fine today,” they can say, “This is what your optic nerve looked like last time, and this is what it looks like now.”

Which is helpful.

Annoying, but helpful.

There may also be visual field testing involved, which checks for areas where you are not seeing as well, especially in your side vision.

Because glaucoma likes to be sneaky.

It can steal little bits of vision slowly, and sometimes people do not notice until damage has already happened.

Rude.

Very rude.

So what does this mean for my future?

Am I going blind tomorrow?

No.

Do I love that glaucoma is now part of the conversation?

Also no.

From what I understand, glaucoma is something they monitor closely, and if it needs treatment, the first step is often eye drops to lower eye pressure and protect the optic nerve.

There are also laser treatments and surgeries if drops are not enough or if things progress.

So I am not jumping straight to “well, guess I’m blind now.”

But I am also not ignoring it.

This is one of those things where catching it early matters.

Watching it matters.

Follow-up matters.

And apparently, my eyeballs have now earned themselves a six-month check-in.

Congratulations, eyeballs.

You have joined the medical appointment rotation.

Honestly, I am tired of adding body parts to the watch list.

Boobs.

Lymph nodes.

Skin.

Nerves.

Fingernails.

Liver.

White blood cells.

Ovaries.

Bones.

And now eyes.

At this point, I feel like my entire body is just a group project, and everyone is turning in their assignments late.

But I am grateful we caught whatever needs watching.

I am grateful she is paying attention.

I am grateful there is a plan.

I am grateful I can get new glasses and hopefully stop stacking readers on top of progressives like some kind of optical Jenga tower.

I just wish one appointment could stay boring.

Just one.

Go in.

Read the letters.

Pick the frames.

Leave.

No plot twist.

No new medical term.

No “we have been watching this for a while.”

No “come back in six months.”

But apparently that was not today’s theme.

Today’s theme was:

You need new glasses.

Your prescription changed a lot.

Chemo may have helped speed things up.

Glaucoma is now in the chat.

And your eyeballs would like attention too.

Fine.

I hear you, eyeballs.

You dramatic little overachievers.

I will get the glasses.

I will go back in six months.

I will ask questions.

I will follow the plan.

But I would like to officially request that the next body part looking for attention please take a number and sit down.

The line is full.

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