Bad hair day!
There’s no wind. It’s not raining. Can’t use either of those for an excuse. Maybe nobody will notice.
A lot of traffic on I-64. I’m glad Mr. H. is driving.
My appointment with the eye doctor for a Visual Field Test is at eleven. I had to get up at eight. Eight a.m. doesn’t usually exist for me. When you don’t go to bed until four or five a.m., eight is the middle of the night.
Oh my gosh! Mr. H. is tailgating again! My teeth won’t clench any tighter – fingernails won’t dig any deeper into the palms of my hands. Dear God, please don't let me die in a car accident on my way to a Visual Field Test!
Mr. H. hears the noise I make sucking air through my teeth.
“You need to calm down,” he says. “The traffic’s just fine, so stop it!”
“I couldn’t stop if I tried!” I say. “You think I’m sitting here getting nervous on purpose because I enjoy it? I can’t help it! It’s a natural reaction to intense fear. I’ve been plagued with it all my life!”
We make it. Two minutes early. A new girl calls my name immediately. On the way to the exam room, she says, “I’ll check your pressure, then we’ll take out your contacts and dilate your eyes.”
“I don’t usually get my eyes dilated for this test,” I say.
Looking at my chart, she asks, “Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’ve never been dilated for the Visual Field Test. And I have to wear my contacts for the test. I wouldn’t be able to see anything without them!”
“Who told you that you could wear your contacts?” she asks.
She leaves the room. When she comes back, she says, “I’m going to check your pressure now and then take out your contacts, dilate your eyes and put your contacts back in for the test.”
“I checked with the doctor and he confirmed it.”
“You haven’t had this test done since 2009," she says. "You probably don’t remember.”
I’m insulted! Four years ago? I believe I can remember that far back!
I’m reminded of the many times I heard my mother say, “When you start to get old, the younger generation thinks you’re stupid!”
Dilation done, the young lady pulls a tight elastic band over my head and brings a patch down over my left eye. And for ten minutes or more, I squeeze a little “clicker” each time I see a tiny light go on anywhere in this round contraption with a bright light in the center. My contacts keep drying out and we have to stop, put drops in and start again.
The tight elastic band is eventually adjusted to make the patch fit over my right eye so we can torture the left. The test seems endless. I’m cold. Agitated. I have a headache. My eyes’ll be dilated until late tonight. I don’t like that feeling and not being able to see well for the rest of the day.
I want to go home!
On the way out, I say, “I’ll never have this test done again!”
Mr. H. is not sympathetic. He says, “Look at it this way – if it’s another four years, you won’t remember.”
The trip home was very quiet!