Page 65 of Storm in a Teacup
I check the time. It doesn’t matter. I have to get to an appointment at my ophthalmologist’s. I go every six months. It’s not that big of a deal, just a task. Not one I love, but not one I hate. I mean, what are they going to tell me? I’m losing my vision? Fully aware.
I pop in the back to tell Carolyn I’m taking off, then head out the front door, careful not to bring any ghosts with me.
The eye doctor is within walking distance from the shop, so I’m over there in fifteen minutes.I wore my glasses today because I’d have to take my contacts out anyway, so it’s easier towear glasses that I can take on and off as necessary. I walk in, and the receptionist smiles at me. “Hi, Linny. We’ll call you back in a sec.”
“Thanks,” I say, taking my seat. I don’t believe I’m here often enough for the receptionist to recognize me on sight, but two visits a year for five years must be sufficient.
The tech calls me back and sits me down in front of a big gray machine, the one where you have to look in and stare at the hot air balloon. She explains how it works and what they’re testing for, and I nod along like I haven’t had to take this test at every eye doctor appointment since I was seven, when I got my first pair of glasses.
Then she drops two eye drops in my eyes, the first to dilate and the next to numb. The numbing drops are so they can touch my eyes with this tool to take the pressure. Gross, I know. My eyes are spread wide as they do so. Okay. Done.
After the pressure is taken, I am led to the back to sit while my eyes fully dilate. As my near vision gets blurrier, I still try to look at my phone. I have a few texts from Mel that I cannot make out. I lift my glasses off my eyes and find I can see better that way. Though texting is still a bit touch-and-go. I find myself thankful for autocorrect as I attempt to converse with my cousin.
MELANIE: Should I have invited more coworkers to my wedding?
ME: No? Not if you don’t like them
MELANIE: But I do like them. Or, a few of them. Some of my American colleagues
ME: Why would you invite your American colleagues?
ME: I guess so they can send presents
ME: But because they’re in the US, maybe they would think you only invited them to get presents
MELANIE: Yeah. But I have one colleague whose sister lives in Edinburgh. I should have at least invited him. He and his girlfriend probably would have liked the excuse to come visit his sister
ME: They don’t really need a wedding to do that. It’s fine. Your day. Don’t worry about random coworkers
MELANIE: Fine. Okay. You’re right. Thanks
ME: Doing okay beyond that?
MELANIE: Yeah. It’s just getting so close! I’m anxious
ME: Understandably. It’ll all work out though. It will be a great day
The tech calls me back to do more tests. It’s time to do a field vision test, which is basically the worst video game ever invented. I stare at a green cross in the middle of the screen as dots flash around it. Every time I see a flash, I press a button. There are gaps between me seeing flashes that last a little too long, so I know I’m missing some. The gaps get bigger every year. We do one eye at a time, and I have to keep a silly eye patch over the eye not being tested. Once we finish with the right eye, I swap which eye is covered by the eye patch.
The tech titters and says, “You know, you’re the first person who has ever moved that on their own. Normally, I have todo it for them.”
“Not my first rodeo.”
We test the next eye. I prefer testing the left eye because it’s my better eye, so it makes me feel like I passed the test. This test is not pass or fail, but it certainly feels like it.
Then I pivot to another machine so they can take a picture of my eye. I hold still, eyes wide open as they snap the photo of each one. Then, my least favorite one. The tech cleans my forehead and under my eyes with an alcohol wipe, then sticks patches connected to wires to my forehead and cheeks. I stare ahead at a red cross, covering one eye at a time, as they flash a bright light to check my eyes’ responses.
This test always makes me feel like a science experiment, the wires and all making it intense and somewhat sci-fi.
Lastly, we move into another room so I can wait for the doctor. I twiddle my thumbs while I wait, but before long, he enters with a knock on the door. We go through the standard greetings, then he pulls up the photos they took of my eye. He rubs his chin as he assesses them.
“Looks about the same as last time,” he comments. “Have you noticed anything getting worse?”
“Not significantly.”
“Good.” He points out a few things on the scan, explaining what we’re looking at. Tells me the pressure in my eyes isn’t too bad, so I just need to keep using the eye drops I have been prescribed to keep the pressure down. I assure him that I use them as directed, twice a day.
Then he slides over on his chair and takes a look at my eyes himself. “The cataract forming on your right eye isn’t terrible. I see a little clouding, but it’s not bad enough to be removed any time soon.”
