THE OPTICIAN
I look exceptionally odd with dilated pupils...not to mention I look paler than usual here. In this light, I look like Lord Voldemort...
I'd not been to the optician for 16 years or more and when I let slip this little tidbit of information to my GP, she nearly went mental. I'd escaped for this long...almost 2 decades! I'd gone almost that long with avoiding the doctor, until I needed a medical for one of the countries I was entering. (Needed the vaccines and a GP sign off on them.) I was told that I had to go so with dread, I made an appointment. I've always hated going. I feel like they're judging me when they put the giant eye machine on my face and start asking me which one is clearer. They all pretty much look the same if I'm honest. And why would I go if I was experiencing no eye issues? Seems like a waste of my time.
Anyway, yesterday I headed off to the optician clutching a book and fear. The waiting room looked like something out of the British Museum, rather than a waiting area for an optician. I checked in and showed them my ID and was told to sit and wait until I was called. I tried to tuck into my book, but I was having trouble concentrating. It felt as if all the eyes in the room were on me. 'Dear God, let me be called in quickly. I might explode from anxiety.' And to make matters worse, I'd not taken my daily dose of fluoxetine, and with the recent panic meltdowns, I was in prime shape to have a proper freakout. Luckily, I was only in the waiting area for 10 minutes. (Though it felt like a semi-eternity.)
A little woman, dressed in a pleather skirt with gold rings pierced through the bottom called me in and introduced herself as the Optician. I couldn't believe my ears. She's, for lack of a better word, cool. She had hair just as black as mine and a brilliant red lippy to boot. She put the machine down over my eyes and asked me, "What is said on the 4th line?" The letters were the size of my thumbnail but I somehow managed to read off the letters to her and she gazed over at me, impressed beyond all reason.
She put the little lenses over the eye slots in the machine and asked me, "Which one is clearer?" Christ. The part that I hate the most. "Um...one?"She flipped more lenses and continued asking me for about 10 minutes. Satisfied with my answers she pulled the machine off my face and declared, "PERFECT VISION! NO NEED FOR ANY CORRECTIVE LENSES!!" "Well, I'm just gonna go-" "No, I still have to dilate your eyes and look into them." "Usually someone has to buy me a drink before I let them do that." She returned my smirk before pulling out a tiny bottle of eye drops. "Hold still." She dropped the icy liquid into my eyeballs and pulled back. Through the cold radiating into my eyeballs I could make her out perfectly. "Now sit for a good 15 minutes and when you're properly dilated, I will come and check you out."
She ushered me to another small waiting room, this one just as ancient classic. I pulled out a book and attempted to read. It went well for the first ten minutes, until the words all blurred into one awkward mess. I sat there clutching "Heaven and Hell" by Emmanuel Swedenborg, waiting for her return...30 minutes later, she poked her head into the room and called me in. After shutting the door behind us, she pulled out a little rolly cart with a different eye thing. (The one where you but your chin on it and look through the tubes) She shined a light in both eyes until I was damn near blind and declared my eyes completely healthy. Signed off and walked me out to the waiting room and told me that she'd see me again in a year for a routine check. Meh. This shit again in a year.
I walked out into the sunlight and was temporarily blinded until I could find my sunglasses in my bag. Less visually impaired, I made my way onto the public transit and found my way home. I only touched one lady as I stumbled off home, which is a miracle in and of itself.
Anyway, yesterday I headed off to the optician clutching a book and fear. The waiting room looked like something out of the British Museum, rather than a waiting area for an optician. I checked in and showed them my ID and was told to sit and wait until I was called. I tried to tuck into my book, but I was having trouble concentrating. It felt as if all the eyes in the room were on me. 'Dear God, let me be called in quickly. I might explode from anxiety.' And to make matters worse, I'd not taken my daily dose of fluoxetine, and with the recent panic meltdowns, I was in prime shape to have a proper freakout. Luckily, I was only in the waiting area for 10 minutes. (Though it felt like a semi-eternity.)
A little woman, dressed in a pleather skirt with gold rings pierced through the bottom called me in and introduced herself as the Optician. I couldn't believe my ears. She's, for lack of a better word, cool. She had hair just as black as mine and a brilliant red lippy to boot. She put the machine down over my eyes and asked me, "What is said on the 4th line?" The letters were the size of my thumbnail but I somehow managed to read off the letters to her and she gazed over at me, impressed beyond all reason.
She put the little lenses over the eye slots in the machine and asked me, "Which one is clearer?" Christ. The part that I hate the most. "Um...one?"She flipped more lenses and continued asking me for about 10 minutes. Satisfied with my answers she pulled the machine off my face and declared, "PERFECT VISION! NO NEED FOR ANY CORRECTIVE LENSES!!" "Well, I'm just gonna go-" "No, I still have to dilate your eyes and look into them." "Usually someone has to buy me a drink before I let them do that." She returned my smirk before pulling out a tiny bottle of eye drops. "Hold still." She dropped the icy liquid into my eyeballs and pulled back. Through the cold radiating into my eyeballs I could make her out perfectly. "Now sit for a good 15 minutes and when you're properly dilated, I will come and check you out."
She ushered me to another small waiting room, this one just as ancient classic. I pulled out a book and attempted to read. It went well for the first ten minutes, until the words all blurred into one awkward mess. I sat there clutching "Heaven and Hell" by Emmanuel Swedenborg, waiting for her return...30 minutes later, she poked her head into the room and called me in. After shutting the door behind us, she pulled out a little rolly cart with a different eye thing. (The one where you but your chin on it and look through the tubes) She shined a light in both eyes until I was damn near blind and declared my eyes completely healthy. Signed off and walked me out to the waiting room and told me that she'd see me again in a year for a routine check. Meh. This shit again in a year.
I walked out into the sunlight and was temporarily blinded until I could find my sunglasses in my bag. Less visually impaired, I made my way onto the public transit and found my way home. I only touched one lady as I stumbled off home, which is a miracle in and of itself.
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