I have no night vision. At all. Even the little blue glowing plug-ins strategically placed on various walls and corners don't help.
Byrd grumbles and snarls whenever I turn on the light in the middle of the night in order to make my way to the bathroom, or to take my nightly medication, or even to rearrange the sheets (I hate when they aren't flat and square to the edge of the bed). It is a point of pride for him that he can perform all sorts of tasks with the light off. Bravo.
Things are complicated in my house by Dozer. His beloved toys are usually all over the floor, even minutes after I help him put them away. And he sleeps on the floor on my side of the bed, usually scooting his dog bed and blankets as close to me as possible. When I get out of bed, I find myself standing on his bed. So at night, I need the light on in order to pick my way through these obstacles safely.
The other night I got up at 4 am to go to the bathroom. I didn't turn on the bedside light, but I planned to hit the bathroom switch when I got there. Big mistake.
I slid out of bed carefully, feeling the dog bed under my feet. Dozer wasn't in his dog bed. This should have been my first hint to turn on the light. Keeping one hand on the bed, I moved around the foot, shuffling my feet. I kicked a toy harmlessly out of the way. Dozer was not on the floor at the foot of the bed, either, and this being his second-favorite spot, I should have scrambled for the nearest light switch immediately.
At this point, I figured I was in the clear, since Dozer's third-favorite spot is over by the television. I assumed he was there, since he was nowhere else in the room. I chalk all this idiocy up to the incredibly early hour; I was very groggy. At any rate, I commenced to take my hand off the bed and stride confidently for the bathroom door. It was only four steps at most, and nothing could possibly be in my way.
Except Dozer. He was in the bathroom doorway, which is not a typical sleeping spot at all. It was a great surprise to step directly on what I can only assume was Dozer's head, since he gave a very strangled gurgling sound (probably because I was standing on his head) and commenced to flee. Unfortunately, my foot was now relying entirely on an object that was heading the opposite direction, and my other foot was already in the air as I moved to take another step.
So I fell--directly on top of Dozer's rump, since he hadn't managed to get very far, what with me weighing down his head and all. He yelped with surprise and I shrieked as I plunged headfirst into a half-full laundry basket. My arm hit the edge of the plastic basket very hard--two days later it's become a nice purple bruise.
My poor dog fled the room for several hours, obviously confused and frightened by this sudden and vicious attack by his mommy. When he came back, he made sure to lie down on his dog bed.
Now, whenever I get up at night, Dozer presses back against the wall and makes sure to give me plenty of room to move around. His new uneasiness around scary, unpredictable Mommy makes me feel bad, but how do you explain to a dog that it's not his fault that you have incredibly poor night vision? Thank goodness for his really short-lived memory; hopefully by the time my bruise fades, he'll have forgotten all about this embarrassing incident.
Byrd grumbles and snarls whenever I turn on the light in the middle of the night in order to make my way to the bathroom, or to take my nightly medication, or even to rearrange the sheets (I hate when they aren't flat and square to the edge of the bed). It is a point of pride for him that he can perform all sorts of tasks with the light off. Bravo.
Things are complicated in my house by Dozer. His beloved toys are usually all over the floor, even minutes after I help him put them away. And he sleeps on the floor on my side of the bed, usually scooting his dog bed and blankets as close to me as possible. When I get out of bed, I find myself standing on his bed. So at night, I need the light on in order to pick my way through these obstacles safely.The other night I got up at 4 am to go to the bathroom. I didn't turn on the bedside light, but I planned to hit the bathroom switch when I got there. Big mistake.
I slid out of bed carefully, feeling the dog bed under my feet. Dozer wasn't in his dog bed. This should have been my first hint to turn on the light. Keeping one hand on the bed, I moved around the foot, shuffling my feet. I kicked a toy harmlessly out of the way. Dozer was not on the floor at the foot of the bed, either, and this being his second-favorite spot, I should have scrambled for the nearest light switch immediately.
At this point, I figured I was in the clear, since Dozer's third-favorite spot is over by the television. I assumed he was there, since he was nowhere else in the room. I chalk all this idiocy up to the incredibly early hour; I was very groggy. At any rate, I commenced to take my hand off the bed and stride confidently for the bathroom door. It was only four steps at most, and nothing could possibly be in my way.
Except Dozer. He was in the bathroom doorway, which is not a typical sleeping spot at all. It was a great surprise to step directly on what I can only assume was Dozer's head, since he gave a very strangled gurgling sound (probably because I was standing on his head) and commenced to flee. Unfortunately, my foot was now relying entirely on an object that was heading the opposite direction, and my other foot was already in the air as I moved to take another step.
So I fell--directly on top of Dozer's rump, since he hadn't managed to get very far, what with me weighing down his head and all. He yelped with surprise and I shrieked as I plunged headfirst into a half-full laundry basket. My arm hit the edge of the plastic basket very hard--two days later it's become a nice purple bruise.
My poor dog fled the room for several hours, obviously confused and frightened by this sudden and vicious attack by his mommy. When he came back, he made sure to lie down on his dog bed.
Now, whenever I get up at night, Dozer presses back against the wall and makes sure to give me plenty of room to move around. His new uneasiness around scary, unpredictable Mommy makes me feel bad, but how do you explain to a dog that it's not his fault that you have incredibly poor night vision? Thank goodness for his really short-lived memory; hopefully by the time my bruise fades, he'll have forgotten all about this embarrassing incident.
5 comments:
oweee for both of you!!! Especially you Jennifer! Dozer sounds like he was ok other than a brusied ego, that arm sounds like it must have hurt! You are prolly lucky it wasn't worse. Maybe you could get one of those hats miners wear with the light on it?
Ouch!! Hang a little flashlight on your bedpost or keep it on your bedside table. It'll make your nighttime excursions safer.
I'm sure he'll forget soon. I've kicked Trixie more than once in the middle of the night while stumbling down a dark hallway, and it makes her whine and cry, but she's always all wagging tails in the morning!
Hi,
I found your blog via googling ICL. I read with interset your posts on the subject and would love to hear how you making out. I was concerned that you started this blog by saying you have no night vision. Is this due to the surgery. I have learned through a lot of on line research that this can also be from large pupils. I believe they are up to version 6 of the visian lens. Have you looked into changing them out.. I apologize if you did explain this in earlier blogs.
Joe
Hi Joe,
No, I've had bad night vision since I was a kid. Not sure why, but I just have trouble distinguishing shapes and objects in low or no light. It all just looks like a big black hole to me. Everybody has this problem to some extent, of course, but I feel like I'm worse than average. At various times in the dark I have run face first into walls, broken vases and cups (tried to set a cup on the kitchen counter in the dark... and missed), tripped over objects, and knocked myself breathless on a dining room chair, among other things. Consequently, I have lights and light switches strategically positioned throughout the house (back when we remodeled, my very smart husband asked me where I wanted the switches to be) so I can move through the house from switch to switch without any dark spots (aka danger zones). When I find myself blind in the dark with no nearby switch, I move as slow as a turtle, shuffle my feet, and drag my hand along nearby objects until I reach a light switch. For the most part, that works (though I did knock a vase off a ledge that way once). It's when I get careless that I get in trouble, as in the Dozer Incident.
When it comes to the ICL, I'm very happy with the results. I do have some halos, but no more than when I had contacts. The halos are from a misplaced hole in my iris from the YAG laser iridotomy; it can't be fixed, unfortunately, but again, it's not really a big deal. I wouldn't trade the ICL for anything.
Post a Comment