Tuesday, August 21, 2007
A Little Lunch For Thought (TM) #9
Had my annual date with my optometrist today. A very sweet and professional one, whose room is a blessed haven where Hebrew is spoken, which is a highly appreciated rest for my tongue.
Once the discussion on our befuddling new insurance was over, I was taken into the examination chambers. There they were, awaiting my shortsighted eyes, the various machines of torture, which shall determine the fate of my eyes this year. The one that makes you repeat meaningless lines of letters (reminded me of the word verification when posting a comment on a blog); the scanner that shoot a dazzling light right into your retina (still much better than those dilating drops of horror); the one that spits a puff of air into your unsuspecting eye (not sure what they check with that!), and for dessert, the fun one that tests your peripheral vision: you stare into yet another lens that has the fascinating sight of a white arid field with a tiny black square in the middle, and each time you see a blinking thingy, you are supposed to click a button. I rock at this game!Then you finally get to meet with the optometrist herself. She goes through a more thorough testing, in which we carry a profound dialogue (with poetic lines such as "this? ...or this?" "Ahm, this, I think") and exchange a lot of numbers and letters.
Then comes the scary moment in which she looks at my eye-scan results, which have green and red lumps all over and terribly-looking branching veins and the occasional shape of eyelashes (as I always blink during the scan). Each year it looks like I have all the possible eye diseases that ever existed, but after that moment of fear, she assures me nonchalantly, "OK, that looks fine".
Then I am asked to stare into her eyes through some monstrous machinery, and follow a stick with a clown sticker on it (yup, it's weird).
And then I am instructed to look at her ears.
There I am, sitting sans my contact lenses, feeling as blind as a mole, staring at her ear while all the lights in the world are being shone into my eyes - - -
- - - and for the past 5 years, each and every time I go to her, I want to ask her why.
What's with the ear?
And yet, I never do.
So tell me, why is it that when we go to a doctor, we usually hesitate to ask what we want? It's the only chance to get an answer, we have set this appointment, we pay for it - why does it feel like we need to just sit there and obey? Or am I the only one??
At least I got my year's supply of contact lenses. The number on the left eye has gone down, thank you for asking. Which is nice. But I am also gradually becoming more farsighted. Getting old is soooo much fun!
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Labels: Damn Technology, Little Lunch for Thought
But you don't respond to Anon posts...
: 8/23/2007 9:49 PM It seems to really help. Some still intimidate me though. Working on it.
The air poof this is a sham, its just a way for them to torture patients. I am phobic, utterly PHOBIC, about my eyes and I refuse all tests except where I read letters and numbers. I still get anxious when those giant glasses-substitutes come at me.
Sure hope I don't have glaucoma or eye disease, for I'll never know it until I go blind.
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