Los Angelean Earns 9.8 in Chin-to-Chest Event

So I returned to the doctor yesterday, this time well-armored (successfully) against motion-sickness (from riding face down in car) with dramamine. Eyes dilated and head bowed, I sat in the dimly lit waiting room of the Retina Vitreous Associates Medical Group, tightly packed with patients. Now that I have spent a half dozen or so appointments in the North Hollywood and Beverly Hills offices, I am quite familiar with the several hour wait and complaining waiters.

Although everyone in the waiting room has had their pupils dilated, not everyone has to be in the chin-to-chest position. That depends upon one's diagnosis and the waiting folks may have diabetic eye disease, vitreous hemorrhage, macular degeneration, retinal detachments, uveitis, or ocular tumors. Only the post ops from surgery for retinal detachment and a messed up macula have the gas bubble, which requires a head down position so that the bubble floats up and pushes the retina/macula gently into place. It is an odd thing, sitting with one's head down in a darkened room with strangers. A point my friend Linda, also a clinical social worker, made captured the experience: Having one's head down is the ultimate position of passivity. She demonstrates with her clients the difference between feeling assertive and feeling passive by having them assume a head up position and a head down position. With my chin to my chest, I do feel vulnerable--only gingerly do I insert myself in a conversation. Not being able to make eye contact makes me feel like an intruder, like a not enthusiastically welcomed guest.

However, sitting among the complainers, vulnerable or not, I eventually become indignant and announce kindly--but firmly--that the office is understaffed because of the recent death of one of the doctors in the medical group. On other occasions, I have offered, "Well, I am here for an emergency and I am grateful to be seen at all." My points made and seconded by others, I resume silence.

There are other things which keep patients apart. We span many decades for one. As well as cultures. One office visit very late in the workday, where I was about the last patient, I could tell that the only other person in the room was a man and possibly an older man, from his fairly formal coffee colored leather shoes. Not able to look up, I ventured, "Excuse me, sir, do you know what's happening with the Celtic game tonight?" He didn't respond. Soon, someone came in and spoke to him in Spanish and then led him away. I realized that he didn't understand my question, nor did he have the sight to know I was addressing him.

In an interesting bridging of culture and age among the sitters yesterday, a young Chinese American man, sounding in his late 20s, was engaged in conversation by a woman in her 80s with mid 20th century slightly Boston Brahmin accent. After complimenting him on how well he spoke English (he clarified that, while being Chinese, he was born here), the woman--out of the blue--began to boast about having had a very good return of serve in her day and of having played an exhibition tennis match tennis with Pancho Gonzales. While the young man had not heard of Pancho Gonzales, I remembered him from watching tennis matches with my dad on television in the 1960s. After listening to her anecdote and perhaps wondering about the origin of her accent, the young man asked, "Was that in England?" The woman explained that it had been in Santa Monica. I learned no more because--at that point--I was called into the one of the treatment offices. Alone, I sat wondering how many other conversations in these offices similarly span a variety of US generations and cultures.

The doctor was very pleased with my condition and remarked that he could tell I must be following the head down protocol very well. He told me I could look up at a higher angle now and that I didn't need to use the neck brace in bed. So, just as cousin Wanda has written in her comments, following directions exactly leads to promising results.

I can't leave the Eye Doctor Office saga without thanking my dear friends, Linda and Marylou, for driving me to and fro and providing the best company a somewhat-sightless gal could wish for. You are the best.