I can see clearly

18 01 2010

Today I took my eldest daughter and my son with me to the optometrist. It was their first ever visit. To prepare them, I explained carefully what to expect (I am quite the myopic mother, so have many years of optometrist visits to draw on). My son listened politely to me, and then said flatly ‘I’ll go last’.

So daughter hopped up in the chair first and the optometrist fitted her with the nerdy-looking spectacles for slotting in lenses, and my son hooted with laughter. Daughter grinned. And passed with flying colours. Her eyesight is perfect. (She obviously inherited her father’s eyesight genes.)

Then my son, won over by the nerdy spectacles, leaps up. He receives the spectacles like a coronation, and answers each question with an exclamation mark.

‘Is this better? Or this?’

‘The first one!’

‘Can you read this line?’

‘D, V H, Z, N!’

He climbs down begrudgingly when it is over. His eyes are fine. Not perfect, but fine.

My turn. I’m sure the optometrist knows the right answer already. They ask trick questions.

‘Is this better? Or this?’

‘The second one.’

‘Are you sure … ? … This? Or this?’

Am I sure? Why no, I’m not sure. They’re both as blurry as a rainy-day windscreen. That’s why I’m here, so you can make it stop.

Then: flip, clack, flip, click, flip, flip, flip.

‘How does that look?’ Ah, crisp vision. (Thank goodness I was born in the right era. Imagine not having access to glasses.)

My eyes are pronounced to be unchanged. I can keep my current glasses.

My son leaps up, ‘Can I go again?’

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