"Why am I so nervous," I asked myself as I drove to the VT doctor. What I was going to experience was just a normal eye exam… But the results would have many more implications than just an annual visit to my regular eye doctor.
As I anxiously drove to my appointment, almost absentmindedly, I was surprised to see my van (driven by my husband) directly in front of me! I was coming from a grading session at Starbucks (the joys of long hours of grading that finals week gifts me with) and my husband was coming from home with our boys. Our youngest was getting his eye examined first before my appointment.
Meeting up in the parking lot was a blessing...getting to see the smiles on all three of my boys' faces (my husbands included) brought me much comfort and relief. We all made our way into the building, to the elevator and up to the second floor. I was grateful our oldest was still in "pretty" school so that we did not have to manage all three kids.
We were greeted by the same wonderful receptionist I met a few weeks ago. His warmth made us feel at ease as we settled into the waiting room right next to the train table. All four of us sitting on the floor, enjoying the crashes and bangs of the trains competing for space on the little wooden train tracks. Before long we hauled all of things (and two kids) into the exam room.
I was asked to sit in the dreaded exam chair, holding our youngest for the brief eye exam. Within minutes my husband and I were told that our youngest would most likely need glasses and same with our oldest son. No surprise given my eye history and dominate genes. Soon after this exam, our oldest certainly needed food as it was nearing 11:30 (his lunchtime). My husband left with the boys to get food as well as to pick up our daughter from school.
After they left Then... the real "fun" began.
So, it began. My current eye glass prescription was measured before beginning the exam, then the real test came. Throughout the exam, I often felt like I was failing.
"Do you see one or two lights?"
"I don't know," I said confused because my eyes (separately) were fighting among themselves for dominance while my mind was trying to convince them to simply do the job they were made to do.
Early in the exam, tears started streaming. Seriously, who can't tell if there are one or two lights? Sometimes I see two. Sometimes I see one. Sometimes I see two but for a 1/2 second which causes even more confusion. In that moment, my eyes were constantly shifting and fighting against each other. How stressful.
We moved on from that portion of the exam to the torture brought on by the phoropter. My prescription was dialed in and the exam commenced. It started as you would expect a normal exam to begin. "What is the smallest line you can make out." "Can you please read me the letters." "Which one is the most clear, one or two (the turning of various lens strengths through the phoropter)."
I took several deep breaths knowing that "I can do this part." BUT... soon the exam was directed towards seeing things I struggle to see.... "Can you make your eyes see two?" "Are the images on top of each other or side by side?" "Can you make them horizontally align?" "Can you make them align if I do this (switching around the settings on the machine)." I was beginning to get frustrated. The seemingly easy tasks took so much focus that I felt my eye becoming exhausted as if I just had a personal training session at the gym...the first one in 10 years! Imagine that...just from a "simple" eye exam.
As I got through the far away "stuff," the doctor pulled down the chart that dangles just a foot or two (I'm not exactly sure how far away it is) in front of the phoropter. This is the work that is the most difficult. The thick chart had a triangle cut out in the middle. The triangle housed another chart with rows of small letters. At the base (or the tip) of the triangle, a few inches away, was a white plastic screw made for a flathead screwdriver. This screw was much easier for me to focus on than the letters so this is were my eyes first drifted, as my eyes resisted the letters (until I was called upon to focus on them....not by choice). :)
The same exercise as before was requested..."Can you make your eyes see two?" "Are the images on top of each other or side by side?" "Can you make them horizontally align?" "Can you make them align if I do this (switching around the settings on the machine)." This was the most difficult part of the exam for me. Not only were my eyes tired from the other portions of the exam, seeing the chart up close has always caused a lot of visual stress. It seemed like "ages" until this part was done and I was relieved when the doctor pulled the big eye seeing machine away from my face and said we were all done.
He turned from me, typing heavily on his keyboard near the dreaded exam chair. I tried to peak over to see what he was typing but it was all gibberish to me. A short minute later, he swiveled his chair towards me, clasped his hands together, I'm sure trying to formulate the words he was about to give me. I tried hard to focus on every word he was saying. I cannot remember the exact order of the things he said, but here is what I do remember him saying:
"I have been doing this for 50 years. Out of those 50 years, your eyes are the most screwed up I have seen."
"It is not your eyes that are screwed up. It is your brain."
"You have to be prepared that if you go about this, this will be a journey with a CAPITAL J. It is not something to be taken lightly."
"I could see you doing this [VT] for 12-months, easy, maybe even more. Two sessions a week for the first 2-3 months followed by weekly sessions after that."
"There is a possibility of another surgery to correct your vision."
"We will have to get you seeing double vision on a regular basis first, before we can start working on anything else."
"Your case will be like opening Pandora's box. We just have no idea how you will respond to vision therapy."
"If you would have come 3-4 years earlier I could not have helped you but technology has made it possible!"
The real kicker, after hearing (and trying to process all of this) was the cost:
"It will be about $14,800 for your therapy. Insurance 'may' cover some of it. We always bill insurance. And if for some reason we decided that the therapy is just not working for you, we can refund a portion of that money."
Okay...wow. Talk about having your life flipped upside down within a matter of minutes. I believe that he was speaking in the kindest heart possible and the news was delivered in a friendly and personable manner. I never felt like I was being made fun of. I left the office with mixed emotions...on one side eager to get started and on the other baffled at the seemingly horror that my eyes really are "that bad".... the worst he has ever seen in 50 years. I should have left the office wearing some kind of badge of honor, right..."the worst eye ever over here?" Instead I left the office feeling conflicted and frustrated at the diagnosis. He did prescribe a new power for my glass, which I took directly my my regular eye doctor. I am hoping this will allow me to see better than my current prescription which is still slightly blurry out of my right eye.
I felt overwhelmed (I still do). I don't know what to think about all of this.
Today I received a call from the financial/billing office to discuss scheduling my first VT appointment. Reflecting on the "cost" (or rather sacrifice) that VT would entail, my husband and I are just not exactly sure if the time is right. To be honest, we are both a little hesitant about this. It would not only take a weekly (or twice a week) commitment, it would require time at home to do these exercises. And this does not account for the physical "side-effects" VT may cause as my eyes begin to change.
So, during my chat today with the billing office, apparently the $14,800 cost needs to be paid upfront...UPFRONT. Are you FLIPPIN' KIDDING ME? Yes, let me just reach into my money bag and write you a check. A "perk" of paying with a check...or get this...CASH...upfront is a "5%" discount. HA! Funny. I was given the option of putting the full amount on my CREDIT CARD...okay, I don't know about you but I am not about to MAX OUT my credit card and leave no option in case an emergency happens in my family. That option is out. The third option is like a medical credit card which has no interest for 12-24months (depending on what you are approved for) and monthly payments...roughly $1300/month.
We just do not have that much "wiggle room" in our budget to afford such an expense. Ha. Ha. Ha. It is kinda a joke, right? $14,800 up front and insurance "may" cover some of it. I guess I need to make a call to them?
So here I wrestle.
My vision is what it is. It is what God allowed me to have from infancy. Up to this point in my life, I have done fine. I can do most things I want to do. I am not putting anyone in danger, really, by seeing the way I see. I know my strengths and my weaknesses. I have learned to adapt. Cosmetically, I know it can be hard to look me in the eyes (especially when I am tired) because of my wandering eye.
The other part of me is curious, like a scientist on the verge of conducting a monumental experiment...wondering, if I don't try then I will never know.
Regardless of my curiosity, I think the actual dollar cost has won out and has made the decision for us. If I am not in danger, if I am not endangering anyone else, then this is simply a luxury. A luxury that we cannot afford. So my journey, it seems, has ended almost as abruptly as it began. I am still the same me, yet with a deeper understanding about a part of me that has remained hidden from the public for many years.
So, thank you for joining me in this journey of exploration. Maybe one day, I can continue this portion of my blog, "Learning to See." Until then, I will "SEE" you around...not sure whether it will be with the left eye or the right one, but I will see you.
~B~
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