In Which I Adult

So what if I make a fool of myself? I won’t be around forever. People’s memories fade, and if they don’t forget about whatever ridiculousness I get up to, well then maybe my inanity will be relegated to things like “cute,” or “fun.” I can handle Fun; it implies a sense of warm recollection.Warm remembrance. That’s sweet.
And as I perch precariously on the precipice of a major life birthday, I realize I should Adult Up.
I made an appointment with the eye doctor.
Sure, that’s not something worthy of celebration to most, but to me, it’s an enormous pat on my own back because of Fear.
I have an Eye Thing.
It’s real, it’s a thing, this Eye Thing of mine. Eye professionals are the ones who suffer from my squeamishness. Even the thought of someone nearing my eye makes me flush hot and sweat. I’m nearly hyper-ventilating at the mere thought.
Many eye docs in the past have not appreciated my combative gestures,
Fortunately, I am a good mom and found a perfect complement to my Bubs’ lack of interest in physical health. When last I drug my boy into yet another doctor’s office for an appointment he had less-than-zilch interest in attending, I happened upon the best eye pro for my boy. Calm, soothing, able to distract with a single vignette.
Of course, I thought, this might be the One for Me. I, too, could easily fall for his Look Over Here methodology.
I made the appointment.
Remember the glaucoma test, the little tiny puff of air that shouldn’t bother anyone but I know for a fact that it does indeed bother others as much as it does me? (Perhaps not a whole lot of folks, but at least a recordable percentage.)
Well, a tiny woman tried to give me that test and I sadly thought, “I can take her.”
Not my finest moment, and after the fifth or sixth time of her puffing the air to a face that had left the chin rest tiny moments before the air hit its target, she got the idea that perhaps she was not the one to administer this particular time.
“It’s okay,” she said. “Lots of people have trouble with this test.”
Hence, she was my source for all that scientific data about lots of people having my particular eye issue.
With generous numbers of apologies, I moved from the pre-emptive trials to the gauntlet itself. The doc. The pro. The one who loves my kid and may not be fond of me at all in a mere half hour.
He sensed my unease, perhaps the clenched fists, bobbing knee, and muttering helped with his diagnosis.
Enter: the distracting story. Humorous, dramatic, effective.
No eye drops, only A or B a million times behind the strikingly cold robotic mask of lenses, you know the one.
No talk of dilation, either, thank heaven, after I told him I needed to drive to fetch my child, the Bubs he knew and appreciated.
BUT.
“Okay, I’m going to check for glaucoma,” he offered.
“The hell you say,” I accidentally blurted.
Not my finest moment, but the next few moments would be full of less than stellar behaviors.
The test wasn’t a puff of air — nope — it was a tuning fork apparatus to directly touch the eyeball.
And because I didn’t want to be hauled out of the office in cuffs, I held all my tension within. I was a rock. A vibrating, humming, gyrating rock. Those are a thing, in nature, I’m certain.
I leaned as far back as leather upholstered chair headrests will allow, and still the doc pressed forward until at last his penetrative fork made contact, to the shock of us both.
But I was not as smooth as I mentally pictured, because I realized my hands had come up in a chopping motion, and one knee was bent so far upward that it touched my rib.
I didn’t know I was that flexible in such a high tension situation.
Plus, my thigh was sore the next day.
I said apologetically, “I don’t know why my hands need to be in this position, but they do.”
He laughed.
This, my friends, indicated that he was eye doctor soul mate. I’m sure that’s a thing, too.
He asked if he should continue, and I boldly said, “Do it.”
And he did, after I’d positioned myself into combat form.
We are still friends, can you believe it? I’ve never not once been able to say that about any other eye care professional, especially once I’d sat in his official chair.
Plus, this one doesn’t keep a two thousand yard berth and a wary eye upon me when he sees me in public.
Score.