
Sometimes doctors can make you feel so dumb. At the optometrist’s office last fall, I had this conversation:
“So, Mrs. Smith, how well do you feel you see?”
“Well enough. I was told some years ago that my vision wouldn’t deteriorate after age 55.”
“Um, that’s not true.”
“Well, I just use readers from the dollar store and I do fine so I don’t think it’s gotten a lot worse.”
“Do you have to buy stronger and stronger readers as time goes on?”
“Well, yes.”
Here we just sat quietly for a moment while I caught up.
Sometimes we’re reminded that doctors are just people trying to do their jobs, with varying degrees of success. I went for a physical shortly after menopause and complained about my waistline — no longer “nipped in”, as it were. The professional assessment:
“If you’re asking Dr. Don the physician, you’re fine. Perfectly healthy. But if you’re asking Dr. Don the man, you’d look better 5 to 10 pounds lighter.” Strange thing to hear from a doctor, I know, but he was trying to be honest (and it turns out he was right).
And then there are times when doctors seem like absolute saviors. In June, I began having a strange sensation on my daily hike. The first couple of hours of the day I was fine. Then I’d get out on the trail and it was fun-house-mirror time the rest of the day. The ground seemed to move toward me and away. It was awful.
I called an ophthalmologist and apparently my symptoms sounded serious enough to skip me to the front of the line but ONLY if I went to the hospital first. Now they had my full attention.
The day was a lot of waiting punctuated by tests — blood work, CT scan, you name it. Finally, it was decided that I would have an MRI.
Inside that noisy machine, the fear and fatigue finally took hold of me. I just knew they would find a brain tumor or something equally terrifying. I imagined my husband calling the kids and telling them to come see us because Mom is really sick.
Tears are a little like students who ask for a bathroom pass. Once one goes, they all want to go. I allowed myself a single moment of self-pity and when the poor technician pulled me out of the machine, she was face-to-face with an ugly panic-induced flood that I could not stop.
“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” I sobbed. “You’re busy. There are other people waiting. I’m just being a baby!”
This angel in a white lab coat said, “Don’t you worry about that. This is your time. You’re scared and we ladies feel we have to take care of everyone. What can I do to help you?”
Of course, she’d already given what I needed by allowing me to get the fear outside my own head. I calmed down and waited for the doctor to come tell me about my future of chemotherapy and radiation.
They say no news is good news so I tried to rejoice when the ER doc said they didn’t find evidence of tumor, stroke or nerve damage. The verdict: Keep the ophthalmologist appointment and go from there.
So I did. We played a lot of “follow the finger with the blinding flashlight in your face.” Finally, he said, “You have reading glasses and distance glasses, right?” “Yes,” I answered, “but I don’t use the distance ones at all.” The final prognosis: “If you want to feel better, wear them.”
Yes, I needed to wear the glasses I kept in a drawer. The ones I bought last fall for driving but never felt compelled to use (be thankful you weren’t behind the wheel in my area).
The bills from this adventure are $2,295 and counting. I console myself by noting that I have met my deductible so stuff will be cheaper the rest of the year but, truth to tell, I feel like an idiot. A very lucky idiot.

Okay Cindy….follow the blinding light to the bottle of wine waiting for you…..open, pour, and drink! It’ll make you feel all better about the doctor bill!
It will if I get to do that with YOU!
I loved it! Really great job of relating this scary and personal adventure! Thank you for sharing your hilarious details. I understand about the MRI… it was so loud that I had to repeat the Pledge of Allegiance and the 23rd Psalm I don’t know how many times!
Thankfully you are alright regardless of the fact that you have to wear glasses now!
Thank you for reading! Miss you, friend!
I have felt all those emotions at doctor visits as well. It is amazing how we can image the worst possible problems.
Nice sensitive piece about our medical fears.
So thankful you are okay. You look good in your glasses, Elizabeth!
Thanks for reading! Miss you!