Mama had an appointment at Duke Eye Center yesterday. She was up early and dressed. Not just dressed, but decked out in a suit, a tasteful fitted brown plaid affair with a white lacy ascot. She looked like a fine English lady ready for the sound of the horn at a fox hunt.
As we left the house, I reminded her that it was still brisk and she’d need a jacket. As we headed to the door, she was not wearing one.
“Mom, you need a coat.”
“No, I don’t need a coat.”
“Yes, you do need a coat.”
“Well, I don’t need a coat, I don’t feel the cold anymore.”
“Just because you don’t feel the cold doesn't mean you don’t need a coat.”
“I don’t want a coat.”
“Mom, what if we got in an accident and were on the side of the road and it was cold and you needed a coat?”
“I don’t think I will need a coat.”
I picked up the coat and took the mountain to Mohammed.
“Put on the coat.”
She acquiesced, but the look she gave me confirmed that she genuinely was not happy with the decision.
We loaded into the car for her 1:45 pm appointment. And yes, it was cold but you didn't hear her say so.
The parking lot at the Eye Center was characteristically overflowing. We were actually seeing her specialist there a month early. The ophthalmologist she saw in Roanoke Rapids at her last 6 month checkup was not her usual one. He discovered that her corrected vision in her left non-dominant eye had fallen to 20/200. I had watched her take the eye test and in growing horror realized she could just barely read the E on the top of the eye chart and nothing else! She struggled and tried, but nothing. This meant either surgery or injections and Duke would tell us which and when. It was not a happy thought.
After checking in at Duke we settled into two chairs to begin our long wait. The place was jammed as usual, a TV set was blaring on the wall, and snippets of conversation drifted our way.
“How on earth did you let someone hit you in your bad eye with a rubber band?”
“We let my son take the easiest high school classes because who really needs algebra?”
“ The snow is supposed to start this afternoon…”
Ready for a long wait, Mom started reading her book and I,mine. We were antsy to get going knowing that this appointment would result in a path of that was not of our making. We were about to board a train and we didn't know when or where we were going.
Mom soon uncharacteristically abandoned reading. I continued with my book, it was awful and I abandoned reading too. The two of us sat and listened for “Mary Draper” to be called. We did a lot of sitting. And a lot of listening. After an hour and half we won the golden ticket back to our first stop: vision testing and pressure screening.
We were escorted back and I anticipated a replay of our previous appointment. Again, I could see the eye chart from my position and as expected she proceeded with flying colors with her right eye. “About the same” the technician assured us. On to the left. I held my breath, and then the most beautiful sound: “P E C F D.” She was reading the eye chart! She continued to other random letters and the technician said again “About the same as last year.”
What the ?!!!
Before I could absorb this new development, Dr. M’s Fellow stepped in with a clipboard and consent form. “Pictures with dye this time.” Mom signed and we moved to our next location. Her eyes had been dilated and she asked if she looked like the pictures of puppies with big eyes. She definitely did.
After another 30 minute stint we were rewarded with another “Mary Draper” and a very slow moving gentleman took Mom in for the test. I settled in to read again, but this time chose Mom’s book instead of mine. I got off to a good start and then a very large man wedged into the chair next to me. He filled his space, the shared armrest and a good bit of my space. I tried to shift right in my seat, away from his bulk, but there was too much of him to escape. He didn't speak, but instead made heavy sighing noises and occasional snorts and I tried desperately to be transported by my book to a place where I could exhale without touching a stranger. What was taking so long?
At last Mom’s voice. “My daughter’s over here.” The slow moving man handed her over and we haltingly crept back to the primary waiting room.
As we slowly walked Mom looked over her shoulder with disdain. She said under her breath “That man was so slow. I never saw anyone so slow.” He must have been slow indeed.
We settled back into our original seats and waited. By now we were about 3 hours into our visit. As Mom couldn't read we began to bond with our neighbors, learning about their problems and how far they’d traveled. The family across from us had been there since 10:00 am! Eventually a volunteer distributed candy (thanks!) and coffee (no, thanks!)
And just when we felt we couldn't wait another moment, the Fellow reappeared and called us back. (Mama got a little cheer from our neighbors.) He then very carefully reviewed Mom’s pictures and history and started his exam. By now it was about 5:45 pm. He was polite and thorough, but he couldn't understand why Mom couldn't keep her right eye focused on his ear while he examined her left. (1. She is 87. 2. She had been waiting over 4 hours.)
Usually Dr. M. joins us immediately after, but as he was running behind we were sadly relegated back to the waiting room. The sun set. The desk closed. People went home. Still we waited.
At last a nurse called “Mary Draper” one last time escorting us to yet another exam room. When Dr. Mruthyunjaya walked in, he brought in a wave of peace and calm. His warm smile and genuinely affectionate manner made us feel our wait was completely worthwhile. He visited with Mom, noticing her ensemble and asking about small details of her life. He included me in the conversation and a feeling of warmth pervaded the room. In a relaxed manner he described what the day’s exam had shown: no change from a year ago! He said perhaps her poor score prior was probably the result of dryness the day of her exam and recommended some OTC eye drops. He wants her back for a visit in a year, unless, he stressed, something changes, in which case to contact him straight away.
He left then, telling my Mom Happy Birthday and Merry Christmas, and stopping to give me a hug on his way out the door. We were both elated! Mom said the good news was all she wanted for her birthday. I said it was a miracle! We both thanked God and remembered the prayers that were said on her behalf.
As I reflected later on the visit, I realized that the meeting with Dr. M was a small reminder of what it will be like when we at last stumble into heaven. All the trials and tribulations leading up to that beautiful moment will be worthwhile and all our earthly worries and concerns banished. We will be at peace and recognized as unique children of God and appreciated for who we are. And most of all we will be loved. What a beautiful promise we have from the risen Christ!
When Mama and I left the exam room, it was pitch black outside and the waiting room was a ghost town. We floated outside and stepped into the chilly night.
Mom let out a quick “brrrrr” and concluded “Good thing I brought my jacket!”
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