Currently, Dave is in the process of changing jobs, so all of our insurance benefits will reset. Naturally, we want to use whatever we can of the first one, before we switch. So, everyone has been to (and is going to and will always be going to) the dentist. And 4, of the 5 kids and I were also due for eye check ups.
The office we go to is competent and we've never had any issues with our lenses or exams. But their staff is a little odd. So far, 4 of the 5 kids wear or have worn glasses in the past. Dave and I both wear glasses and Dave and Rebi and I all wear contacts. I do. It's been known to happen. So, as you can imagine, in 3 years, we have spent a fair amount of time at this place. And we see the same doctor each and every time. For 3 years. Throw in an eye trauma or two and we're roughly looking at 25 visits to this doctor. Narcissistic me, I kinda assumed we would be memorable. But, in spite of the fact that I have been in that office 3 different times in the last week, and did I mention that I see the same doctor each and every time?, I sat down in the chair and he introduced himself to me. For the third time this week.
And while looking at my chart, where his notes state that I am a good candidate for eye surgery, he said,"Have any of your previous doctors recommended corrective surgery for your vision problems?"
"Umm, yes. You did. I can see it written on my chart from here. And not only did you encourage me to get my eyes fixed last year, you also suggested it 2 years ago, and 3 years ago when I saw you the first time."
And then, he proceeds to marvel at how freakishly different my eyes are from each other, both in shape and in disability. Because the right one is close to fine and normal shaped but the left one is shaped like a football opposite of how it should be shaped like a football in someone's head, and I'm very nearly blind in it. And I realize that on my fourth visit, I can relate nearly word for word exactly what he thinks of my eye. And what a freak I am, because clearly, with an eye this abnormal, I should be running to the laser surgeon just so I can retain a little dignity.
Except that my prescription has worsened in that eye, so I'm not actually a great candidate for surgery anyway. SCRATCH and it's marked through on my chart with a big black pen. I knew I should have paid thousands of dollars to lay sedated on a chair, with my eyes taped open, while sharp pointy things were aimed at them. That makes a root canal sound fun. And now, I have missed my chance. The black mark says so. Which is OK, because I bet by next year, he will have forgotten why he marked it out anyway and I will get another chance at the knives.
And if only that was the worst part of the visit. But no, I was then required to pick out glasses. And even though there are 3 people who help with that there, I always get the bitchy broad. Every single year and with each and every kid. And, although I can not use the word hate, this is a woman I wish not to talk to about glasses ever again in my life.
Her: So, you need new frames.
Me: Well, these are only a year old
Her: But your prescription has changed.
Me: Right. So I need new lenses
Her: Well, the insurance will pay for new frames. (but only $150. If I only need lenses, why spend the $$)?
Me: If I can find any I like (and please know, I'm starting to feel grumpy and confronted here)
Her: There are plenty of good frames here. (and she proceeds to bring out 4 or 5 of the high end, $275-400 frames. Because I am obviously made of money by the gold and jewels dangling off of me)
Me: Yes, but they are too narrow. It gives me a headache if I can see the edge of the glasses under my eye.
Her: (derisively) They don't make the big ones like yours anymore. (apparently my glasses are the size of dinner plates, even though they are not from the 80's, but from her display. Last year.) And anyway, you're going to have to change over at some point.
And now, I'm just annoyed because 2 years ago, I bought the cute skinny frames and had terrible migraines every time I put them on. I always felt like the rim was in the way of my vision in my left eye. And she is the one who half-heartedly tried to kinda sorta look like she was fixing the problem. Unsolvable, she then helped me spend an additional $300 out of pocket for bigger glasses. Hence the dinner plates currently on my face.
Me: I'm not going to purchase small glasses again just to find out they still give me migraines.
Her: Look at me
I look at her
Her: Well. There's your problem. (and would that problem be that I am STILL listening to you even though I think you're rude?) Your left eye is lower than your right.
Finally! My problems are solved! All I need to do is go to the plastic surgeon, ask him to reform my eye socket a bit higher, anchor my eyeball up towards my forehead so that I no longer resemble Quasimodo and I will be able to wear any cute little thin pair of $400 glasses she is dying to sell me. Does my vision plan cover that?
Or maybe it's time to stop being so freaking lazy and start wearing my contacts.
Me: I'm not ready to pick glasses today after all. I'll just pay for my visit and come back another time. And by that, I mean to pick up a copy of my prescription so that I can shop for glasses somewhere that the sales person can forget for a few minutes that she works on commission and pretend that she gives a rat's a** about her customer.
But you know I didn't really say that last bit. Because I'm a bigger person than that.
I did leave. I'll call for a copy of my prescription. Maybe they can fax it to me. . .