July 11

I've been eye-phobic for as long as I can remember so I actively avoid visiting the optometrist. It's just not appealing to be sitting in an exam room praying that I won't break into a cold sweat and pass out. (I've done the former. More than once. And it's more than a little embarrassing to have a panic attack at the doctor's office at 45.) But Abby needed to go so I bucked up and made myself an appointment as well (since my glasses literally fell apart a few months ago). And today was the day.

Fortunately, everything looked fine for both of us, and we both had only minor changes to our prescriptions. And although I did feel my anxiety level rising as I sat in front of the glaucoma test machine and I absolutely glanced around the room to see if there was an emergency trash can available (there was not), I prayed for peace. And I got through the experience just fine.

Abby found herself a new pair pretty quickly (and they'll be revealed at a later date; these are her old ones). But me... nope. I tried on just about every pair and didn't love any of them. So my quest will continue.

But for now, I'm grateful that my prayer for an uneventful visit was answered as it was. Me keeping it together wasn't exactly a miracle, but it was close.