The vision test

Four-year-old, four-year-old, what do you see?

I see an eye doctor looking at me.

(Read any of the "Brown bear, brown bear" books if the above sentences don't make sense.)

Sydney had to see an eye doctor Thursday (a visit recommended to us last spring, after she was "uncooperative" at her preschool screening.) The approximately six minutes we spent with the doctor went just fine. It was the rest of the events surrounding the visit that sent my blood pressure through the roof.

Road construction and holiday traffic meant the 20-minute drive took 45-minutes, which meant we were 10 minutes late for the appointment. Poor staffing levels at the reception area meant we had to stand in line for another 10 minutes just to register. Which meant the schedule was now all screwed up. And so we waited. First in the reception area for another 20 minutes. Good thing they had fun binoculars to play with and watch boats.

At last we met with a nurse. She could have been a physician's assistant - I didn't catch her title - I just know she wasn't the doctor. She gave Sydney a brief test, which Sydney did just fine on - identifying  objects shown on a screen with ease. (And perhaps with more detail than required. For instance, she didn't see just a bear, she saw a panda bear.)

At last it was time for the dreaded drops to dilate her pupils. Inexperienced drop-getter that she was, Sydney did pretty good on the first eye. But she put up a struggle with the second drop. I pointed out to the nurse/P.A. that I saw the drop on her skin (before Sydney quickly rubbed it away.) Rather than give Sydney another drop, the nurse/P.A. suggested I "wait 10 minutes" and then look and see if there was a noticeable difference in the size of her pupils. Did she not believe me?

And so we waited. Some more. Sydney wondered when we were going to see the dentist.

Ten minutes later, Sydney's right pupil was about twice the size of her left one. Of course the original nurse/P.A. was nowhere to be found, so this time we got to deal with the guy who normally wrestles with AJ.

New drop in, we waited. Some more. Sydney had a hard time resisting pushing the buttons in the "rocket chair" (a name AJ gave to the chair that goes up and down).

Finally, Dr. Shuey came in. I again explained that Sydney's vision seems fine. She doesn't cross her eyes and only very rarely squints. The reason we were there is because Sydney had been uncooperative at her preschool screening, so her vision test had been inconclusive. Based on the fact that AJ needs glasses, the school nurse had recommended Sydney see a specialist.

And so he looked in her eyes and spoke in a form of English I do not understand to the guy who'd given the second eyedrop. "She's .075 off on the left, and .05, oh wait..." (readjusts the chair to look more directly in Sydney's eyes) "She's .07 left and..."

I don't remember the rest of what he said. But he then turned to me and said, "her vision is fine, but I think we should check again in a year."

Of course he wants to see her again in a year. Then he can charge us another $300 or so while I waste a couple more hours of my life.

Eyedrop guy then handed me an appointment card for next August 30. I am willing to bet right now that I will get a letter from his office sometime next spring saying the doctor isn't available that day. It happens with AJ's appointments all the time. (Can you tell I'm less than impressed with the guy? Unfortunately he's the only pediatric eye specialist in town.)

As Sydney and I at last headed home on another drive that took more than twice as long as usual, Sydney whined, "Why are we driving so slow."

"Trust me, kiddo, I'm as sick of this as you are."

"Mommy, don't take me back to the eye doctor. I don't want to go. Never, ever, ever."

"Sydney," I responded, "let this be a lesson to you. Next time you have to take an eye test at school - pay attention!"