The Do Not Call List

I have a problem with doctors, but it's not what you think. It's not some unwarranted phobia of the blue paper gowns or the stomach prodding or having to talk about my bowel functions with a complete stranger. It's really more of an attitude thing--doctors and I just don't get along. I guess I should blame it on bad luck, because I don't know many people who have encountered the strange, haughty or generally off-putting physicians that I have.

It all started at Kaiser when I was about 7 and having a hard time catching my breath. I don't really remember what the doctor said at the end of the exam, because it was some kind of euphemism--well over my head--but I remember how my father responded. He looked at Dr. G incredulously and said, "so you're saying it's all in her head?" She nodded, but I knew then what I know now: she was wrong. Of course this pales in comparison to, say, the gynecologist who told me I had herpes and prescribed me Valtrex even though I KNEW there was no way I could. She called a few days later to tell me that I was all clear and didn't so much as apologize. And then there was the ophthalmologist who looked at my eyelid that was swollen shut and told me it was just a clogged oil gland that would go away if I applied a hot compress. It didn't go away, but the antibiotics that my general practice doctor prescribed did eventually clear up what turned out to be an infection.

So it would make sense that I've compiled a fairly long rap sheet of doctors who aren't worthy of my $5 copay. And it would also make sense that every time I walk into a waiting room, my palms start to sweat; I feel some mix of sickness and vulnerability.

But today I was just paying a visit to the optometrist to get my wandering eye checked out, so how bad could it be?

The answer is bad. Very, very bad.

When I was about 10, I looked at my sister out of the corner of my eye and she shrieked. "Your eye!" She screamed. "One is looking at me and one is looking at the wall!" My response was, "so THAT'S why I've been seeing double."

At first it only happened when I glanced to the left. My left eye would look left, while my right eye would lazily drift upward like it was saying, "I just don't know if I'm up to it right now. Yawn." And then sometimes if I was tired and reading, I would see double and I'd know that old rightie wasn't performing her required duties.

But in the last six months it's started to happen more and more. I'll notice it while at work, staring at the computer. Every time I read, I have to move the book around until I find a place that makes rightie willing to work. My right eye also feels a lot weaker, vision-wise. So I thought it was time to check things out.

I met with an intern who was going to conduct a full exam before a doctor would come in and finish up--sort of hygienist/dentist style, which was fine with me. At one point the intern stated that he believed this was a problem I had always had and that maybe I was noticing it more because of...."stress?" How random.

"I don't think so," I told him. He did a full exam, told me he thought it had something to do with the muscles around the eye, but assured me, "this is nothing crazy. We've seen this type of thing before."

While we waited for the doc to come, intern man glanced over the forms I had filled out. Something caught his eye.

"Oh," he said gravely. "Your grandfather has macular degeneration." Then he took a sharp inhale as if to cue some bad news and said, "you know that's hereditary." The way he said it seemed like a certain diagnosis.

I knew it was coming though and before he got through the full five syllables of the final word, I responded quickly, "yeah. I know." And then he started to grill me about my grandfather:

"Does he use a magnifying glass?"

"No, he only has peripheral vision." I could feel my face starting to turn red. That vulnerable feeling was returning. "But my dad is over 60 and hasn't experience any symptoms."

"Well that's usually when it starts," he shot back. "You should probably start getting yearly check-ups around age 40." Keep in mind, I'm 26. This man was inching slowly toward the Do Not Call List. "Also, make sure you ALWAYS wear sunglasses and eat your leafy greens." When I told Scooby about this, he said, "he had probably just read about that in a textbook."

He left to retrieve the doctor after it became clear that I wasn't going to speak to him any longer. I could hear them chatting about me as they walked down the hall. "She's experiencing double vision and it seems to be worsening," and now they were in the room, but it was like I wasn't. "Well how bad is it?" The doctor asked. "500," the intern said.

"NO WAY!" The doctor said. "ARE YOU SURE?" The doctor almost looked amused. I looked up at the intern, startled, and he smiled sheepishly back at me. "I've got to see this!" the doctor said and waddled over to me. What was happening? Did he just find out that my eyes were capable of producing beluga whales?

He then introduced himself, but would say very little to me for the remainder of the appointment. "There they go," doc said to intern. "It's NC!"

"Natural compensation," the intern said to me. "Your eyes have compensated and found a way to work even though they aren't teaming properly."

I didn't know two could make a team. Couples tennis, sure, but a whole team? Of course a tennis analogy would be more appropriate, considering that I could watch both sides of the court without moving my head.

"And she tilts her head to the left! Do you see that?" The doctor said. I felt tears well up in my eyes. Why was he talking about me like I wasn't there? It was like we were inside of a tv show on the nature channel and he was the host saying, "look at the way she hunts for her prey. Isn't it strange?"

"So I'm a freak?" I asked, but no one responded.

"Do you see that?" The doctor wondered.

"Weird. I hadn't noticed it."

"What IS it?"

"No idea."

"Probably a nevus," the doctor said.

"A nevus is..."

"A mole," I interrupted. "I have lots of them from the sun, but one on my eye? That's kind of odd."

The intern shrugged his shoulders. "You could think of it as a freckle."

"We should photograph the nevus."

"And then...?" The intern wondered. "I said we should send her to get a binocular evaluation."

"Why bother? They'll just say something different. Just get her some glasses with a prism between 1.5 and 2.5. But she shouldn't wear glasses all the time, only when she starts seeing double, because then she'll become dependent on them. And besides, the eye will just keep slipping. It's not going to stop slipping. It's slipping already," he shrugged.

Slipping? Like...into a coma? Into the back of my head? And then the doctor finally noticed that I was a person--a person who could speak, and actually understand what the hell he was saying if he bothered to put any of it in layman's terms:

"We're going to get you glasses. There is a type of training you can do, but it's very difficult. I don't think you want to go through that." In my head I was thinking, "If I can train for a damn triathlon, I think I can train my eyes," but I didn't think to say any of it.

"Oh, and her grandfather has macular degeneration," the intern mentioned shaking his smug, bald head. "But I told her to wear sunglasses."

And then, with their names and numbers firmly affixed atop the Do Not Call List, I took my lazy fuck-up of an eye and walked home, resolutely deciding that I wouldn't cry, even though I did--a little. Luckily, since the intern had put the fear of god in me, I was wearing sunglasses so no one knew.

When I got home, I called the binocular clinic, because I thought they might be a good second opinion. They were willing to see me....on April 23. For $200. I think I'll go to Kaiser instead for a second (worthless) opinion.

"I'm going to be blind and cross-eyed," I told my sister when I called her to vent. But being a good sister, she assured me that things could be worse. It turns out my niece found some dog "elimination" in the yard and mistook it for chocolate. I'm just hoping it doesn't make her sick, because if she has to go to the doctor, who KNOWS what could happen?