Imagine my surprise when the pediatrician told me I really needed to have Jake's eyes checked. It couldn't be that his DNA is full of mostly blind, glasses-wearing ancestors? Being the best mom ever, I decided to wait a few months, but then the child started complaining at church that the words on the screen behind the preacher were blurry. Since he had decided to alert the entire congregation to this fact in a very loud "stage whisper", and I could see several ladies turn and give me disapproving looks, I decided to give in and make an appointment.
Prior to arriving at the doctor's office, Jake and I have several discussions about how we need to answer the doctor's questions honestly and not be silly.
We arrive, and he is called back for the initial tests. As the technician explained everything to Jake and had him start the process of going from machine to machine, Jake eagerly stuck his head up to the first one. He was sitting in a swivel chair and happily swinging from side to side calling out letters and shapes. He moved from machine one to machine two and likewise did exactly what was asked. Machine three was the pressure test - the one they blow a puff of air in your eye. The technician had obviously had quite a bit of experience with kids and this machine - she explained to him what would happen, let him hold his hand up and feel the air blow on it, told him how he must sit very, very still, etc. He put his head in the cradle, and just as she got everything set, he pulled back and said, "I don't think I'm going to like this." She looked at me, I looked back and shrugged. She was the one getting paid to get him to do it, afterall. She told him, "Are you sure? I had a four year old in here just a little while ago who did it?" Jake looked at her suspiciously, then slowly put his head back in the cradle. She started to line him up, and he started swinging in his chair. "Sit still, please," she said. (Good luck with that, I thought.) He pulled back and told her, "I'm really not comfortable with this." The technician looked at me, and I could tell she was overmatched by my precocious 6 year old. "Jake." I say in my warning tone. The technician valiantly tried one more thing: "If you do this, I may be able to get you a snickers bar from our candy store." Nice move, tech lady! Jake's eyes light up, and he immediately puts his head in the cradle. She adjusts and is able to set off the test. Jake looks back and me, thinks about crying, then decides it doesn't hurt, but he doesn't like it. "Where's my candy?" he asks. She tells him he has to have it done to both eyes. He looks back at me, and I shake my head in agreement. He reluctantly puts his head back, but twists it a little to the side. I tell him move it back square. The technician lines him up, he moves, I tell him put it back, she lines up, he moves, I tell him put it back.......you get the idea. Finally, taking pity on the tech, I lean down and whisper in Jake's ear through gritted teeth, "Put your head back and be still or I will hold your head in there and you won't get candy!" He knows this tone, and knows that he's never won a battle when mama has THAT look in her eye. The technician gives me a somewhat frightened/somewhat grateful look and finishes the exam.
Jake made sure she didn't forget about the Snicker's bar as she leads us down the hall to wait for the doctor in the other exam room. She brings the Snicker's bar, and Jake settles into the chair to munch away. Now, consider the cost of the equipment in this room. Now, consider the fact that a six year old boy has been eating a Snicker's bar. Now consider just how many places the office probably does not want chocolate. Fortunately, I find some kleenex and manage to pull Jake's fingers out of his mouth while he is trying to "clean" them the old fashioned way.
Thankfully, the doctor comes in soon. She greets Jake and gets right down to business. She pulls the equipment down in front of his face, so he reaches up and grabs hold and jerks it all the way down. She tells him not to touch it, which is akin to telling a dog not to shed. It ain't gonna happen. So, they battle back and forth for control of the equipment. She finally outlasts him and asks him to read a line on the chart. He does. She asks him to read the smallest row he can. He replies, "two, zero, slash, two, zero". I couldn't not hold back my amusement with the entire process anymore and laughed out loud. I look at the doctor and she is doubled over laughing. Jake pushes the mask away and looks at us like we are crazy, "What?" he says. "You TOLD me to read it?". I think if the kid can read 20/20, then he's probably alright.
The nice doctor decides she is going to dilate Jake's eyes. Little does she know that the little darling does not like you to do anything with his face. The battle begins with her swatting away his hands while she tries to aim the eye drops. She is a tall lady and would not be denied. I was laughing in the corner as she finally had his hands trapped and was trying to ignore Jake kicking her repeatedly in the shins while she administered the drops. She said she'd be back in 10 minutes (probably had to go calm down so as not to strangle my child.)
Jake hops up as he had been still long enough. He starts to play with the chair and reaches for all the fancy gizmos - I tell him to stop. I told him he'd end up in prison with all the other little kids who didn't listen to the eye doctor. His response? "Great! I bet I'll end up being the Mayor or the President!" Since that tactic wasn't going to work, I told him if he didn't stop his mama was going to take him out and spank him in the lobby. The fear of his public humiliation at least dissuaded him from playing with all the gadgets. He decided instead to entertain himself by playing "spy" with all the employees - he'd slide his door open and peek out - try to slip down the hallway and as soon as they saw him come running back. As I figured this was the lesser of two evils - and I really didn't want to pay to replace equipment - I let him do so until the doctor came back.
He was declared eye-healthy and in no need of corrective lenses of any variety. To which my checkbook sang a hearty Hallelujah!. The doctor told him she'd get him some sunglasses since the sun would hurt his eyes. She said to follow her, but she was too late. He had dashed out like Flash Gordon and led the charge to the front counter. He got up there and saw a display of very nice (and expensive) sunglasses and asked if he could pick his? The doctor just laughed at his disappointed face as she handed him his paper set.
So, that was the trip to the eye doctor. When you quit laughing, thank the good Lord that you are not me. Or Jake's eye doctor.
Prior to arriving at the doctor's office, Jake and I have several discussions about how we need to answer the doctor's questions honestly and not be silly.
We arrive, and he is called back for the initial tests. As the technician explained everything to Jake and had him start the process of going from machine to machine, Jake eagerly stuck his head up to the first one. He was sitting in a swivel chair and happily swinging from side to side calling out letters and shapes. He moved from machine one to machine two and likewise did exactly what was asked. Machine three was the pressure test - the one they blow a puff of air in your eye. The technician had obviously had quite a bit of experience with kids and this machine - she explained to him what would happen, let him hold his hand up and feel the air blow on it, told him how he must sit very, very still, etc. He put his head in the cradle, and just as she got everything set, he pulled back and said, "I don't think I'm going to like this." She looked at me, I looked back and shrugged. She was the one getting paid to get him to do it, afterall. She told him, "Are you sure? I had a four year old in here just a little while ago who did it?" Jake looked at her suspiciously, then slowly put his head back in the cradle. She started to line him up, and he started swinging in his chair. "Sit still, please," she said. (Good luck with that, I thought.) He pulled back and told her, "I'm really not comfortable with this." The technician looked at me, and I could tell she was overmatched by my precocious 6 year old. "Jake." I say in my warning tone. The technician valiantly tried one more thing: "If you do this, I may be able to get you a snickers bar from our candy store." Nice move, tech lady! Jake's eyes light up, and he immediately puts his head in the cradle. She adjusts and is able to set off the test. Jake looks back and me, thinks about crying, then decides it doesn't hurt, but he doesn't like it. "Where's my candy?" he asks. She tells him he has to have it done to both eyes. He looks back at me, and I shake my head in agreement. He reluctantly puts his head back, but twists it a little to the side. I tell him move it back square. The technician lines him up, he moves, I tell him put it back, she lines up, he moves, I tell him put it back.......you get the idea. Finally, taking pity on the tech, I lean down and whisper in Jake's ear through gritted teeth, "Put your head back and be still or I will hold your head in there and you won't get candy!" He knows this tone, and knows that he's never won a battle when mama has THAT look in her eye. The technician gives me a somewhat frightened/somewhat grateful look and finishes the exam.
Jake made sure she didn't forget about the Snicker's bar as she leads us down the hall to wait for the doctor in the other exam room. She brings the Snicker's bar, and Jake settles into the chair to munch away. Now, consider the cost of the equipment in this room. Now, consider the fact that a six year old boy has been eating a Snicker's bar. Now consider just how many places the office probably does not want chocolate. Fortunately, I find some kleenex and manage to pull Jake's fingers out of his mouth while he is trying to "clean" them the old fashioned way.
Thankfully, the doctor comes in soon. She greets Jake and gets right down to business. She pulls the equipment down in front of his face, so he reaches up and grabs hold and jerks it all the way down. She tells him not to touch it, which is akin to telling a dog not to shed. It ain't gonna happen. So, they battle back and forth for control of the equipment. She finally outlasts him and asks him to read a line on the chart. He does. She asks him to read the smallest row he can. He replies, "two, zero, slash, two, zero". I couldn't not hold back my amusement with the entire process anymore and laughed out loud. I look at the doctor and she is doubled over laughing. Jake pushes the mask away and looks at us like we are crazy, "What?" he says. "You TOLD me to read it?". I think if the kid can read 20/20, then he's probably alright.
The nice doctor decides she is going to dilate Jake's eyes. Little does she know that the little darling does not like you to do anything with his face. The battle begins with her swatting away his hands while she tries to aim the eye drops. She is a tall lady and would not be denied. I was laughing in the corner as she finally had his hands trapped and was trying to ignore Jake kicking her repeatedly in the shins while she administered the drops. She said she'd be back in 10 minutes (probably had to go calm down so as not to strangle my child.)
Jake hops up as he had been still long enough. He starts to play with the chair and reaches for all the fancy gizmos - I tell him to stop. I told him he'd end up in prison with all the other little kids who didn't listen to the eye doctor. His response? "Great! I bet I'll end up being the Mayor or the President!" Since that tactic wasn't going to work, I told him if he didn't stop his mama was going to take him out and spank him in the lobby. The fear of his public humiliation at least dissuaded him from playing with all the gadgets. He decided instead to entertain himself by playing "spy" with all the employees - he'd slide his door open and peek out - try to slip down the hallway and as soon as they saw him come running back. As I figured this was the lesser of two evils - and I really didn't want to pay to replace equipment - I let him do so until the doctor came back.
He was declared eye-healthy and in no need of corrective lenses of any variety. To which my checkbook sang a hearty Hallelujah!. The doctor told him she'd get him some sunglasses since the sun would hurt his eyes. She said to follow her, but she was too late. He had dashed out like Flash Gordon and led the charge to the front counter. He got up there and saw a display of very nice (and expensive) sunglasses and asked if he could pick his? The doctor just laughed at his disappointed face as she handed him his paper set.
So, that was the trip to the eye doctor. When you quit laughing, thank the good Lord that you are not me. Or Jake's eye doctor.
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