Yesterday's Irksome Procedure

I was early for my two o'clock appointment. When I walked into the storefront operation in a small out-of-the-way strip mall, I walked straight to the reception desk, declaring my name, my appointment time. The receptionist, a mid-40s, dark-haired, harried-looking woman invited me to fill out a form with my particulars, adding that under it was a 'privacy document' also to be filled out and signed by me.

In the reception area there was another couple, an elderly man and woman, ostensibly
waiting on the services of the optometrist. I was there at the recommendation of our family doctor's office for a preliminary examination. The optometrist, putting me through a series of eye examinations, would be able to determine whether I needed a further examination by an ophthalmologist.

A month ago I'd suddenly experienced a series of odd, unfamiliar and disturbing symptoms. It really was sudden; sitting beside one of our little dogs I was completely taken aback to see, from the corner of my eye, something jumping away from his haircoat, and thought, fleas? Not likely, since they both are treated with a triple protection against intestinal parasites, heartworm and fleas.

Although it took me a few moments to realize that, before which I parted his curly hair to see if there was anything to be seen there. It took a little while longer to realize that it was my eyes playing tricks on me. I began to see flashes of light, then floaters, and finally my right eye began pulsating, a pressure not quite painful. That lasted throughout the day, was ameliorated the following day, then diminished to nothing.

Who knows, I'm almost 72 years old, haven't had an eye examination for more than a dozen years, and although I wear prescription glasses sometimes, I also use dollar-store glasses for random, temporary vision assistance, as when I'm out shopping. We were about to go away on a trip for a week, so I set aside the notion of an eye examination. When we returned I occasionally had similar symptoms, and decided an eye examination might be a good idea. Hence the visit.

I dutifully filled out the first form, responding to routine questions; identification, age, medical history. Then turned to the second page, the 'privacy document'. As infrequently as I'm at a doctor's office or a hospital I'm aware that privacy documents are heads-up information sheets to ensure that patients are aware their health information is protected by law from any kind of abuse.

I'd brought with me a pair of one of my old prescription eyeglasses. About 20 years old; quite venerable, still moderately serviceable; certainly no longer reflective of my remedial reading needs, but then I hardly anticipated I'd be sitting there reading a long document requesting my attention to a number of items, all of which appeared on first, then second reading, to be related to marketing techniques.

The first item was fairly straightforward; by signing the document I'd be permitting the optometrist's office to call me regularly for updating appointments. The following five explained how beneficial it would be for me to permit my data to be circulated among various health-related agencies who would be pleased to forward to me personally, newsletters, advertisements, information on medical advances as well as special deals on health appliances.

I placed the second document, unfilled and unsigned, back behind the first and returned it to the receptionist, then sat back to await my examination. Very soon a heavy-set woman with blond hair and a concerned expression approached me, those documents in hand, to remind me I'd overlooked signing the second document. Damn, I rose to stand beside and and explained I had no interest in signing it; it was commercial and intrusive.

She wasn't quite clear what I meant and I explained in a little more detail, that what was being proposed was that I permit my personal data to be circulated in venues that held no interest to me, since they were simply commercial in nature. She pointed out to the first, how very helpful the reminder from the office for timed appointments might be, and I told her I could live without it.

The form, she said was a standard industry form, circulated by the association representing optometrists. Her office was interested only in the first of the stated options, the reminder. But, I pointed out, no guarantees that I wouldn't be harassed by commercial interests as pointed out in the other options. Get another form, one more suited to your own needs and less intrusive for your customers, I suggested.

She shrugged, seemingly puzzled by my obstinacy and walked away with the forms. And then the optometrist appeared, a short, slight woman with dank brown hair, homely visage and a frown on her face. I hadn't, obviously, endeared myself to her, having undoubtedly overheard my conversation with her office manager. She peremptorily motioned for my hoary old eyeglasses, while I explained their vintage and purpose.

Studiously ignoring everything I said, she professionally placed them in a device that identified their optometric logistics, while I hazarded to her that they magnified vision by two times though I was certain my need was closer to 3-1/2. Like talking to a wooden pole. No wonder; my cavalier attitude was an affront to her profession. She coldly invited me to follow her, and I did, into an examining room.

I attempted a little joke to break the ice, but it was frozen solid. Got off on the wrong foot, I did. And I simply detest people without a sense of humour. There were photographs front and centre of two young, nice-looking boys and I asked how old her children were. Thirteen and fifteen, she responded in a strangled voice. Why post children's photos, if personal queries were off limits?

She grimly began to pose a series of instructions to me in a sing-song routine. The kind of intonation and absence of personal investment one uses toward a recalcitrant child. I smiled and acquiesced to her continual instructions, a biddable biddy, no longer protesting at the potential intrusion into my privacy. And, since this was an extended, prolonged and insistent examination for my very own good, I moderated my behaviour to suit her expectations.

Poked and pressured, and eye-lighted and instructed to evaluate one vision assist after another, the optometrist was able to determine my optic needs due to my very much altered vision. Four times magnification, evidently, determined through the process of nearly an hour of prodding and evaluating. My eyes stung from two sets of eyedrops, and I experienced, for the very first time, blurred vision.

But I had no other symptoms that might forewarn of grave problems, present or to present in the near future. The symptoms of which I explained I'd been concerned with, represented nothing very amiss, simply random eye events associated with the advance of the ageing ocular process. Otherwise my eyes were healthy and with remedial lenses, my vision was restored to 20-20.

Good news, hurrah! Why not overlook first bad impressions? After all, I managed to reconcile myself with the receptionist and the office manager, both of whom I had very nice conversations with, while awaiting eye dilation to be completed. I handed my elderly and useless eyeglasses to the office manager for the program they assist with, in providing still-useful eyeglasses to third-world countries.

And left the office, moderately relieved - since I wasn't all that worried to begin with - that my questions had been resolved. My reading passion, my writing interests would not so soon be imperilled by poor eyesight. And truth to tell, I'm a trifle too casual about protecting my eyesight by regular, advised checks. And that's that.

But still ... damn!