I’ve been wearing glasses since I was 11 years old. Short-sightedness, brought on, I like to think, by my childhood bookworm habits. Anyway, for the last 44 years I have been meticulous about having regular sight tests as dictated by my optometrist, which meant every year until my eyeballs reached adulthood and settled in their prescription, then every two years hence.
This rhythm was interrupted by the arrival of the zombie apocalypse, of course, so my latest test was delayed by a few months but yesterday I booked an appointment on-line and arrived for aforesaid appointment at 8.30 this morning.
I was made to stand outside until EXACTLY 8.30 a.m, and then the door was ceremoniously opened and the greeting assistant instructed me to ‘enter and stand to the right THERE and wait, please.’ Which I did. She then fired a thermometer gun into my third eye and declared my temperature to be ‘fine’ at 35 degrees centigrade. She then approached with the ubiquitous bottle of hand-sanitiser. ‘Not too much, thank you,’ said I. I have learned that some sanitisers have an ingredient in them which makes my skin sting like it’s been plunged into a thicket of particularly spiteful nettles, suggesting an allergy, so I’ve avoided the stuff as much as possible. She squirted a tiny amount and I dutiful spread it out on bits of my hands whilst surreptitiously removing some using a handy tissue in my pocket.
‘Now stand over by THAT screen,’ continued She Who Must Be Obeyed. I may have raised an eyebrow at this point. I may have exuded the air of someone who is a paying customer and therefore should be spoken to in an appropriate tone. I don’t know - maybe my Healer training is making me a tad sensitive to the spiky energies of others. At this point, the greeting assistant left me and was replaced by someone who had clearly been better trained in the art of customer service. Seriously, I am an elder of the community now. Young people should really respect my age and wisdom...
Had photos taken of the backs of my eyes. Two sets - one lot whilst looking at a hot air balloon, one lot whilst staring at a VERY bright light á la nuclear explosion variety. I was then instructed to wait OVER THERE, please, and then the optometrist called me in, and we went through the usual ‘Is it better like this, or like that?’, ‘Is Number 1 clearer, or Number 2?’ ‘Can you read the second set of letters?’ ‘Just going to shine more lights in your eyes whilst your eyeballs do ocular gymnastics...’ followed by ‘now a quick puff of air...’ and the proclamation that my prescription had not changed, my eyes were healthy but were a bit dry, did they bother me? I said they got a bit gritty about a year ago but I treated them with a misting spray and they’d been okay since. I said, ‘I expect it’s the menopause, eh?’ I didn’t add, ‘...because everything seems to have dried up and headed south since then,’ because my optometrist is a gentleman, ergo does not need to hear about ‘women’s stuff.’
He said it possibly could. There are many contributory factors leading to dry eyes. Should I try eye drops, said I? You could, said he, and recommended some. We agreed prevention is better than cure. I paid for my sight test and eye drops and was escorted from the premises by assistant number 3 just as I was beginning to enter Mask Panic Mode.
Job done for another two years. And now I just need to get the knack of inserting eye drops. Somehow I mostly miss my eyes, I think because I can’t see what I am doing and I don’t like things going into my eyes and have developed a very efficient blinking reflex. I expect I’ll develop proficiency soon. Dry eyes, be gone! Failing that, I do have a resident vet to administer them!
Comments
KJ