Not really. I’m not seeing any better or worse than I have been, thank you. But this past experience I had with the Optometrist opened my eyes some… lol. Get it?
My regular medical doctor, a younger male general practitioner that I have been seeing for the past decade or so, told me at my last annual physical to go see my optometrist. During his usual interrogation of my health history and habits, he asked me when was the last time I had my eyes checked.
Hesitating for the moment to search my mind for an approximate time frame, I looked up and said, “2015? Three years, I think.” Which sounded about right. I was working for a company in Buffalo Grove which was not too far from my eye doctor’s office. I remember scooting out during a lunch hour or two to get my eyes checked out and buy a new pair of frames. Yes, yes… it was during that time I worked in Buffalo Grove between 2013 and 2015. I remember looking specifically for a deli in the area after my appointment to have a handmade sandwich lunch before going back to the office. I think I found the deli but they didn’t make sandwiches, if I recall correctly. I struck out on that one. It always comes back to food.
My doctor’s comeback to me, “Make an appointment.”
There was nothing wrong with my eyes or sight. I wasn’t talking up any issues I might have been having with my eyes. I believe he was just doing what doctors do. Checking things out. I’m not a youngster anymore and problems with the eyes do appear more frequently when one gets older. So, I took it as a precautionary thing; like, stop eating carbs, use condoms, lose weight, and exercise more.
Putting his semi-strong suggestion on the back burner, it was mid-spring 2019 (eight months later) when one of my dogs (Sassy) decided to affectionately slap her tongue across my face. My dogs either think I taste like a salty treat, or they know facial licks (kisses) make me smile and laugh and make me pet them even more. Their aim or tongue placement however, has never been very good when it comes to kisses. Sampson will “kiss” me like I was an ice cream cone on a hot day. He will cover as many square inches of my face as he can before I have to come up for air and scoop away the layers of dog saliva. Sassy, with her tongue, she will only go for the light-touch lick or two; never really overdoing it like Sampson. But she has a tendency to go high, generally around my nose and eyes and forehead. And on this one particular time in May, as I bent down to get a loving kiss from Sassy, her tongue unintentionally whisked across my glasses leaving a wet smear across the lenses. Ugh! A pet peeve of mine. (Pun intended.) I took my glasses off my face with one hand and with my free hand retrieved the lens cleaning cloth from my pocket. As I began the process of removing the smears, I finger-gripped the eyeglasses by the bridge and *SNAP.* And suddenly I now own a pair of monocles.
After a few swear words, and coming to the realization there was nothing I could have done to prevent it or now even at this point reverse it or fix it, I made the decision to make that appointment with my optometrist, as my GP wanted, and get my eyes checked and buy new frames, too. I had an old backup pair of glasses that were definitely not up-to-snuff with my ruined pair, but they would hold me over for the time being. I gathered up the digits to phone the office to make that appointment pronto, with that ‘Just Do It” attitude. I remember it was early on a Saturday, so I was ready to drive up there on a minute’s notice if they had an opening for me that day. I made the call and when I went to request an appointment; I was placed in a bit of a shock because I was told I would have to wait three weeks in order to get in. Jeepers! I didn’t put up a fuss or demand anything. But three weeks?! Then, and I’m not sure what prompted me to do this, I searched on-line for frames. I looked at my broken pair and it had the brand and model number, which I entered in the search box and voilà, right before my eyes were my exact frames. Something new was coming into focus.
This huge revelation made me think… can I buy the exact frames that I’ve had on-line (?), receive them on my doorstep without leaving home (?), put my old lenses in the new frames without fancy fitters (?), and all will be right with the world??? YES, yes I can. I can do all this without leaving my house, dealing with eye doctors, and those people that sell you frames. And so, I did. I used my credit card and everything to place the order. The expectation of delivery took about a week longer than promised, but my new frames arrived, and perfectly accepted my lenses without complaint and I was back to seeing well again. With the backup pair retired back into its case, I pondered whether or not to see the eye doctor after all. I decided I would. My mind was full of ideas on how do I get more new frames again, and these now on my head would become the new backups.
The office visit was scheduled for a weekday. On that day, I totally botched the time I should have left my office in order to arrive comfortably at the eye doctor. I was a miserable 15… maybe 25 minutes late for my appointment. I walked in with my tail between my legs and announced my arrival to the lady at the reception desk. I offered to accept the loss and reschedule if needed, but after she hesitated, and checked with someone in the back room, I was allowed to stay and was told to have a seat. I was handed “The Clipboard” and was asked to update my file information. I suck at this. Names, dates, insurances, employers, occupations, surgeries, family members, drugs, supplements, past aches and pains… I can’t remember this stuff! Thus, the idea for a phone app that stores all this data for you and is readily available to download by your doctor… or at the least provide you with a cheat sheet to help fill out these forms. (And here’s one of those apps => https://www.mymedicalapp.com) I was the only person in the office waiting, and there might have been someone picking out frames; basically, the place was empty. A short woman appeared from around a corner near the back and loudly asked my name, “STEVE?” Like, was there more than one Steve possibly in the waiting area? I was the only one waiting. With such a void of customers, I wondered why I waited three weeks for an appointment, and why would 15 minutes late warrant an approval from someone in the back room? It seemed to me they should be happy to have a customer today. Anyway… eye exams seem rather predictable. There’s this little room packed with a myriad of fancy, shmancy equipment. Probably bought by the business owner in hopes to make some money from it over time. Place your forehead against the tissues, now blink, can you see the tree, can you see the dots, what number can you see in the “test your color blindness” photomontage? Now let me blow air in your eye and see how far back you jerk your head. AND then there’s always that one fancy device that does something that is so essential to the health of your eyes that it is not even covered by normal eye insurance; but, it is always highly recommended. (Much like the fluoride application at the dentist. They always offer it, and tell you how important it is, but it is not covered by insurance; “Shall we go ahead and apply this today?”) Once all this data, photos, and records are gathered and the chin guards are cleaned with alcohol, I was herded into another dimly lit closet to “The Chair.”
“Have a seat and the doctor will be right with you.”
I enjoy my alone time in the chair. I like to look at the eye anatomy drawings and posters, fiddle with the gadgets and especially the phoropter. Ah, the phoropter… has there ever been 
such an invention so impressive as this infinite collection of gears and lenses and flips and levers? Even the unique sounds it makes when you spin the dials gives me chills. But, the phoropter and I do not have the best relationship going back some thirty years when we had our first falling out.
I have been visually challenged since I was 8 or 9 years old. I will never forget that day I walked out of the Golf Mill Sears’ store where my parents took me for my very first eye exam and pair of glasses. I walked out into the parking lot wearing my brand new fancy, dark tortoise, plastic frames… and the letters on the huge Sears sign in the distance along Greenwood Road was as clear and as sharp as a fisherman’s fillet knife. Wow! By the time I reached high school, I advanced to hard contact lenses which brought on a new set of challenges in eye care. Later, came the soft contact lenses and then the extended wear contact lenses, but all the while, there was the old standby; eye glasses. Ever changing with the fashions with every new pair. And with every visit resulting in a stronger prescription. It was in the early 90s when I came to dislike the phoropter. I never had a regular optometrist before then. I don’t know why. You can always go to a private doctor’s office, but during this time the retail, all-in-one, vision enterprise was becoming big business. You could walk into a store, get your exam, pick your frames from thousands of styles and have your new lenses made in their labs and fitted in the frames all within an hour (or so). And I have been there. I did Pearle Vision, I did Lenscrafters, and I probably have tried others. But it was at this time in the early 90s when things got serious.
My life events during this time brought me to a point where I was driving long distances daily for my job and in many cases, I had my young son alongside me in the car. It was not a good time in my life. It was rather stressful, and despite my troubles, I still had to keep my eyesight sharp. So, I ended up with this optometrist near my work. I had to get new a new prescription. The big details of this memory were that I recall the appointment was at the end of the day; perhaps the last appointment for the day. The days were shorter so it must have been during the fall season. I had my son with me. And I needed to drive 70 plus miles to get home. I vaguely recall the appointment itself, but I do remember leaving the office and driving a mile or two before turning back in total panic. My vision was horrible with this new prescription. I was totally afraid I was putting myself and my son in complete danger. It was rainy and dark, and the lights in my sight were big, blurry balls. I turned around and headed back to the doc’s office, but I don’t recall the immediate outcome. But I got my old glasses back and relied on those to make my way back home. I also remember there was a lot of arguing and disagreement with the eye doctor over what the phoropter told him was my new prescription and what my eyes were telling me.
Shortly after all this, I landed with another optometrist. He was an older gentleman more patient and willing to listen to my sight issues. While I sat in the dimly lit closet, with the phoropter balancing inches from my face; he bent down and pulled an old wooden case out from under the desk. If he had blown dust off it, I would have been even more impressed, but I don’t think he did. He opened the wooden case, and inside it looked like the tool case of a steam punk jeweler from the 1800s. Organized with everything in perfect place. This guy was going to pull some old-fashioned optometry right here. The doc removed the gadgets and gears and lenses one-by-one. He built a mini-phoropter right on a pair of frames. He put them on my head, adjust the eye holes… and we went outside… Yes, you read correctly. He and I went to the outdoors and he had me look at store signs in the distance. After changing only a couple of the lenses until my vision was sharp; he recorded the prescription. It worked. That was all the exam I needed. When I received my new pair of corrective lenses, I had no issues, and I could see clearly once again.
As a couple more years passed, I think I saw Dr. Old Timey once or twice more. With each visit, I would remind him of how we did the exam last time, and we repeated the steps for another successful eye check-up. The problem with seeing an old doctor is that tend to want to retire and enjoy their lives. Yeah, well, what about me? Ugh! I think I saw his associate or business partner until that clinic finally closed. After some more years, I learned my new girlfriend took herself and her daughter to a place in Lincolnshire they were very comfortable with, and as our relationship became more immersed… then so began I with another new optometrist. Again, with every visit to the dimly lit closet, I would try desperately to explain how to satisfy me with the old fashioned face-phoropter. Those desperate attempts became more and more futile and at some point in my miserable search for clear, sharp vision, I gave up the ghost of Dr. Old Timey.
The eye-timeline brings me back to Buffalo Grove and the fine eye care specialists that work there. To be fair, up until the visit that prompted me to pen this blog post, I have had good success with these doctors. In fact, here’s one good thing… I was turned on to a flexible style frame that I really like made by Nike with Flexon technology. The metal keeps its shape even when one of lovable dogs drives his big, wet snout into my face plastering an image of my retina on the lens. I can even wear my motorcycle helmet and maneuver my spectacles onto my face without worry they will be bent in half by the inner foam sides. Also, one doctor at this clinic (may have been her) suggested my cholesterol levels were high because of a build up seen in the veins in my eyes. Another doc offered up eye vitamins that I never bought. Their equipment is up-to-date and provides more and more accurate information about my aging oculi.
So now, after a short time in the chair, which always makes me wonder what on earth does this doctor do back there that would make me have to wait; Is she checking in on Facebook? Her Post: “Oh boy, another old, fat guy in the chair… gotta go listen to the “dad jokes”!”
“HEY DOC, I THINK I HAVE GARY LARSON DISEASE! I’M FARSIGHTED!”
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The friendly doctor strolls in shutting the closet door behind her. She’s a young woman of Indian descent (not Native American, but Western Indian), and she is very pregnant. Needless to say, we share the usual pleasantries and proceed with the examination.
“Tell me the lowest line you can read,” she said.
“Hmm, it looks like E, V, O, T, Z, and 2?,” I guessed. I guessed right. And I guessed right, over and over, and over again. You see… EVOTZ2 is really easy to remember, as well.
After we ran through the tests… 1? or 2?, 3? or 4?, etc., she told me that my nearsightedness (inability to see far) has actually improved. That’s not really how she put it but in terms I can understand, but by reducing the power of my prescription, to me, means my vision must have gotten better. I shrugged and thought, “Hmm, how about that?” We finished the exam and the doc led me to the lady that lines up the new frame purchase. This was a pointless waste of time with me. I’m thinking, I’ll pony up for new lenses in my existing frames and buy a second pair for backup. First of all, I didn’t do the math very well, because my eye insurance at my new company was no better than the TP in the restroom at this clinic. My other company had decent eye coverage, and that policy covered a certain amount for lenses and frames. I found my old invoice from my last visit when I bought the Nike brand plus a backup pair and that came to $679. Today’s purchase could have gone well into four figure$$. Also, it is futile for me to find a style that looks good on me. I was totally unprepared for that part of the process, as well. Looking in a fuzzy mirror trying to measure up my looks with new frames. And at the very start this whole encounter was totally uncomfortable. She was an older European woman who spoke broken English with a HEAVY Polish or Russian accent. I told her a wanted the same frames as I was currently wearing and although I thought I saw those exact frames directly behind her on display, she went and grabbed something totally different. I think she received a commission on her sales… she had to, otherwise why was she pushing so much…
“You buy today,” she tried to sell me, “I work out deal 20% off. It is best I can do. You want keep those frames, I need to send to lab,” she continued, “It will take two weeks.” Oh brother, now I’m bothered by all this. I’m not giving up my glasses for two weeks. I didn’t think this through. Wait, a minute I just bought frames last month on a website for less than $150… I need to do better than this. I had to get out of there… and I did.
Then, I wasn’t a quarter-mile away from the eye clinic heading back toward my workplace when I realized she said my vision is better? Really? I fell into the same old phoropter trap. Here we go again… I’ll get new lenses. I’ll complain I “can’t see.” The doc and I argue, she adjusts my prescription, the new lenses are ordered… hassle, hassle, hassle. No one is happy. Time and money exhausted. The only good thing to come out of all this would be the ability to see clearer. But I didn’t want the hassle, so I decided to attempt something completely different… I simply made another appointment to see the doctor BUT this time I won’t just read off those letters because I WILL NOT GUESS. EVOTZ2 will have to be crystal clear before I step one foot out of that chair next time.
This is where things got interesting. After some days had passed, I was in the area of my eye clinic and stopped in to make the second appointment with the receptionist in-person. The biggest hurdle was explaining that I was just here recently and I want another appointment with the doctor only. I didn’t want the fancy color charts and photos of my retinas again. Just some chair time with the doc. I think I threw the receptionist for a loop. No one does this apparently. Anyway, I got the appointment this time on a Saturday morning three weeks out.
Fast forward three weeks, and here I am at the eye clinic again for my appointment with the doc. I have psyched myself to really look at the letters on the wall and not give her the inkling that I could see them clearly… until I do see them sharp and clear. I rummaged through the magazines and pamphlets stacked on the table in the fauz waiting room as I waited for my call… again, no other patients in sight. And like clock work, an assistant lady popped out from around the corner of the exam rooms and called my first name… with a question mark, of course. I dropped the literature and jumped up to her call and prod full steam ahead. As soon as I came within a few feet of the assistant and began to detail my reason for being here. I basically said to her I have just been through the fun eye games we always do just a short couple weeks ago and there is no need to play this again. (I also think for some reason this should lower my bill for today’s visit.) The assistant woman is totally confused; this doesn’t normally happen in her world. And in this office, it began to be clear….
She takes me to the dark exam closet and puts me in the chair for the doctor. In short time, still enough time for me to play with the equipment dangled near my face, the doctor arrives and begins the stern questioning about what am I doing here. I was being as tactful and honest as I could be… but, she may have taken offense to the comment I made about not trusting the prescription change. I was trying to be tactful, but I think I forgot with whom I was speaking as I may have just insulted her work. It was at that point she was agitated and short with me. (Yes, I blew tact out the window.) I was told I had to go back to the eye gaming room and go through the series of eye tests before we would check the letters on the wall. She said that is procedure and if I want to continue I must start back in the room. Okay! So, I did. I went though the routine, and was led back to the exam room.
The doctor strolls in with a whole new attitude; almost as if this was a do-over for her. We chatted again about the last test and she lined up the equipment for another vision go-round. But I said, it wasn’t her, it was me guessing at the letters and her thinking it meant all was clear and sharp… and her response, “I’ve been doing this a long time,” she said, “and we learn how to detect lies. I go through this all the time with kids.” So, although that made perfect sense that somehow, because how else can she ever trust the judgment of the youth. But, still it was like totally illogical… absolutely no way could she know what what I see. She said there was no change to the prescription, of course. Of course. I was released from the chair, and sent to the front desk. I kindly asked for the prescription on paper, because I was NOT going to buy new glasses from this place. Hrumpf.
When, I got the front desk to pay my bill for the visit… the doctor said to the lady from the back of the office, “Print a copy of Steve’s prescription for him, and it’ll be ‘no charge’ for today.” I sat in my car for moment before heading home, and I wondered if the doctor did that because not only did she know what my eyes were seeing, but that my mind was thinking about this is the last time I would be at this office. Maybe she saw that as clearly as I did…
HomeFree_77 