A New Day at the Eye Doctor

A year ago, when this blog was young, I documented my visit to the eye clinic. Yesterday I had my annual checkup. Experiences are vivid, maybe because the eye is so vulnerable. I am hyper-sensitive during these visits. I bring hubby along and I am grateful that he drives me home. Drops are put in my eyes that keep my eyes dilated and keep me from focusing. For a brief time, my frenetic pace just stops. Until I can see again.



I noted some improvements from my last visit. Stations are now clearly marked with large signs, POD 1, POD 2, and POD 3 (large signs in an eye clinic. What a concept). But I get ahead of myself. I must first "report to the nursing station". Like last year, I take a number. I am 99. They are serving 98. Service was very fast.



I was directed to POD 2; much easier to find this year. There was still a hand drawn sign with a bold arrow, "Put your paperwork in the basket." the nurse was brisk, placing my paperwork in the basket and redirecting me to the POD 2 waiting room. I did note that she did not spare a moment for eye contact. So, despite the improvements, I still felt like a number.



The improvements needed now are human, and not as quantifiable. How many times a day are these nurses asked the same question? I can imagine how monotonous it can become...for them. For me, all is novel. How can they be engaged in their day so the experience is humanized?



As a side note, one of my favorite bloggers, Paul Levy, promotes Grateful Nation. Apparently, gratefulness is good for me. This I believe. I must learn more.




I am grateful that the tests for glaucoma so far come back negative. I treasure my eyes. I am grateful for a patient husband, who dreads the hospital even more than I do. I treasure him, too.

One tooth holds me hostage...

I was doing great, charging along, absorbing all the new information from the diabetic class, I get home, and pow. Down I go. A tooth, that has been sensitive for some time, starts sending out waves of pain.


I take an anti-inflammatory, and go to bed early. Hubby, bless his soul, notices, and puts a temporary halt to his endless teasing. He even offers to call the dentist at seven the next morning. I must look really, really bad. It turns out they are not open at seven but rather, open at ten in the morning! I take another anti-inflammatory, and soldier on to work. Taking a break halfway through the morning meeting, I make the call at ten sharp. And then another call at one minute past ten. Thankfully, the receptionist picks up on the second call.


I find out that dentists, or rather their loyal receptionists, can hold you hostage, too.


She asks if I can come in at three. "But I have meetings this afternoon. Can I make it later?"


"Our next opening is the following Wednesday."


I make it for three. Again, hubby refrains from teasing and picks me up promptly from the train station. I must sound really, really bad. The dentist checks me over, taps my teeth, shaves down the offending tooth, and confirms that I will likely need a root canal. He prescribes an anti-inflammatory and some antibiotic in the meantime. As I rise from the chair, I have to pause for a moment as I am washed over with an intense wave of pain. A tsunami wave that overruns all my senses and leaves me reeling.


The dentist quickly decides to do some emergency work. I sit back in the chair. I am given a happy face ball to squeeze the life out of. The dentist chatters about his "day of pain". It seems that everyone that came in that day needed help in the worst way. Sure enough, when he drills in he finds a dead tooth, just starting to abcess. He cleans it out and puts on a temporary filling. I am now on antibiotics and yet another anti-inflammatory.


But here I sit the morning after, and I am surprisingly pain-free. I was held hostage, but the ransom wasn't too expensive. I simply had to put a hold on my regulated day to take care of some necessary things. Now, to find the money for the root canal.

Oh, P.S. I've borrowed the picture from a fellow blogger, Willie Walsh:
http://williewalsh.blogspot.com/2007/06/early-rising-400am.html

Hi, what service are you looking for today?

Nicolle must have asked that twenty times or more in the twenty minutes I was in her care. Nicolle is the receptionist at the Alberta Motor Association, Manning office. She is friendly, efficient, and oustandingly hepful to everyone who comes through her door.

Her first job is to get you to where you are going, and she does that very well. She is alert and aware of all the clients in her space and what they are waiting there for. Of the half-dozen services offered at this location, there was only one line, waiting to pay insurance. She helpfully redirected one client, "Don't worry, that line is not for you; travel is around the corner." Another time a case worker called a name with no response. Nicole checked with the couple at the display, and sure enough, they were the ones waiting to be called.


It was also obvious that she's a warm person who really likes people. We got talking because she noticed I was crocheting a "kickin'" scarf. She asked lots of questions. Nicolle is also plugged in to one of those cordless phones, so it was a little disconcerting to sort out who she was talking to. I suspect our new generation will get better at filtering out their freind's eatherial conversations. Anyways, we soon had a lively conversation going, interspersed with her helpful redirections for newcomers.


She tells a great story about her father in law, who lives in a tiny town in Sasktachewan. Somehow we got on the topic of drunk driving and how wrong it is. I mentioned that smart alcoholics drink close to home so they can get home afterwards without hurting anyone. Which is where her father in law comes in. He taught his pig to take him to the bar and back! They had a few old pigs on the property, over five hundred pounds. He would climb on the back of the pig and say "Bar", and the pig would walk to the bar. He'd tell the pig to "Stay" and he would stay. When the drinking night was over, he'd come out, flop on top of his pig and say "Home", and old pig would take him home.

Pig stories and all, Nicolle is an outstanding example of how a receptionist, who loves her job and loves people, can make a world of difference for new people coming through the door.

A day at the eye doctor

I've just been diagnosed with diabetes, which leads to a whole bunch of other appointments and tests. That includes an eye exam. I couldn't help compare the intake experience at this very commercial enterprise, compared to the visit to the mental health clinic only a few days before.

The place is set up for profit. The architecture, the furnishings are all sleek and modern. Glass walls and chocolate walls sweep around in sleek curves, with little cubes to show off the merchandise. The cute little reception chairs were ordered in a perfect row. Instead of a coffee table, cushions. The fabric was worn in a spot and I couldn't help wonder, "Gosh, that fabric is going to be hard to match."

Anyways, the receptionist was pleasant enough. We had to lean close to talk. All those hard surfaces, and the space echoed with loud chatter. I asked her if it was like this all the time. "It comes and goes. Sometimes it is real quiet. When there's lots of people like now, yes, it is hard to hear." I make a mental note, "Put in some soft wall coverings." To the technician puffing air on to my eye, I complain about the absence of magazines. "Oh, but we have the big screen for that." What do you know. I completely missed the big screen on the wall, playing endless loops of instructional video on... you know what... the eye.

I'm not sure I am keen on all these instructional videos showing up all over the place. The Edmonton courthouse has the same thing. But I must say the courthouse video lady gives very practical advice. Advice that a live clerk of the court must repeat dozens of times a day. Most people (we hope) don't go to court that often. There's no way we could pick up all we need to know to keep ourselves straight, in the right place, and out of trouble in the short time we are there. I am grateful for the courthouse video lady. Though the courthouse is not so nearly as sleek and polished as that eyeglass store.

Should a public building pay as much attention to it's intake? What impression is it trying to build? Rather than prosperous, modern, and professional, what image is the intake office attempting to portray? Is it calm and efficiency? Or is it like the courthouse; authority and order? How does joe taxpayer feel about money being spent on a sleek and polished intake gallery?

The mental health clinic had patient artwork on the wall, which was very good. There was a great deal of random clutter, however, including the inevitable collection of ratty notices. Those notices, I swear, don't have nine lives. They are immortal. No-one ever reviews them or dares to take them down.