The optometrist puts on a headlamp that makes her look like a spelunker or miner, but it is my eye she’s climbing into, peering deeply as if assessing a long tunnel and running her search beam along its ceiling, walls, and floor. I stare where she tells me and marvel at what she can explore within my retina, which at this point seems bigger than the world my mind encompasses, an expansive universe exhaustively filled. My right eye alone is packed with mysteries. The potential for discoveries must be huge, for she presses closer, blinding me with her beam’s white glare as I empathize with the cave that must endure the encroachment of adventurers. “Look up, left, down, right,” she instructs, but I see nothing of the portents that enthrall her.
NUDGE: Describe being looked into by a medical professional. I don’t mean someone examining you from the outside; discuss the experience of being explored internally and the mysteries you contain that you know nothing about.