I also found out I have something called Pigment Dispersion Syndrome, which is where the pigment in the colored part of your eye flakes off into the fluid which can clog in the drainage ducts of your eye which increases pressure and can lead to glaucoma.
Now of course, the second I get the news, my hypochondria kicks into hyperdrive and I'm convinced I have blind spots and I feel like my eyeballs are about to pop out of my head.
And even more pathetically, I'm worried slightly less about the glaucoma and possible blindness than I am about having a milky eye. I don't want a milky eye. I may not win the blue ribbon at the county fair, but I'm a little vain about not having a milky eye.
I just don't know how I'd handle being introduced to people and having them not look at my milky eye. I'd probably do something awkward like say, "Hi, my name is Zelda. I have a milky eye, and I'm totally fine if you want to stare at it. Or not. I'm cool. Just because I have a milky eye doesn't mean I'm not cool. Fucker. You try living with a milky eye and see how you like it."
But it might be totally worth it if I get to look at Jethro seductively through a colored contact and ask "with or without?" That poor man. I'll have him up to his eyeballs in midgets and glue (and chocolate for me) yet.
And to top it all off, doing anything that jiggles your eyeballs around can cause more pigment to dislodge, so I was told that I am not supposed to exercise. I have been waiting all my life to hear those words, but of course they come just after I find an absolutely flipping fantastic sports bra
and began draggin' my wagin around the block so I can do a Warrior Dash in November. It really is almost epically bad timing.
