Is anything clear?

While I was away on vacation my husband visited the eye doctor that the girls and I use. After the visit, he discovered, while paying, that our insurance had changed without it registering on our radar. I even had an exam in January using the old insurance! Bottom line? Our doctor isn't on this new insurance plan, so feeling like he was helping matters, my husband canceled the girls' eye appointments, asked the receptionist at the eye place for a recommendation, and called up and made new appointments.

Today was the day of those new appointments. I will admit that I entered the office with a chip on my shoulder. I hate changing doctors. I take great care in researching my decision in the first place, and having to change for reasons beyond my control really causes me great stress.

My old office was a huge building complete with a laser surgery center and all sorts of eye doctors from optometrists to ophthalmologists to pediatric ophthalmologists to eye surgeons. This new office was in a two-level strip mall of six offices, three of which were empty. The parking lot only had enough parking for about 8 cars. Strike one, I thought.

We entered the office and practically walked into the big counter desk that was situated quite close to the front entrance. To the left was a room for fitting glasses. To the right, lined up against the wall, were seven chairs. Two of the chairs were occupied; a young man, late '20s, with a horrible case of what I thought might be acne, playing a Nintendo DS and a younger girl, maybe 14, next to him slouching. No one was at the desk, but there was a row of clipboards with new patient forms attached sitting on the counter so I picked up one and sat down one chair away from the man. The only light in the room came from recessed lighting above the counter desk. There was no light anywhere in the area of the seating. Luckily, the floor to ceiling windows of the strip mall allowed natural light to help me begin to fill out the form.

I had just filled out the date when an older woman, I'm guessing 70's, with dark brown hair and glasses entered from the area behind the counter. She turned toward us in the chair area, squinted at me, leaned across the counter and squinted some more. Her little head was just shaking with Parkinson's, but she was smiling. I gave the girls' names, she replied, "Good", turned and sat down behind the counter. She never asked for anything, nor did she tell me to fill out the form in my hand. I waited for instructions and when none came, I continued filling the form. When I finished I watched her answer the phones and greet people as they entered. No one else joined us in the chairs.

Her: "I don't need your insurance information,"

I inquired if she needed me to fill out two forms. She did so I got up, gave her the filled out form, got another, quickly filled that one out, and returned it to her. I sat back down and observed my surroundings. The office was small, decorated sparsely, and the floor needed a good sweeping. I was chalking up Strike Two on the dirty floor when the man spoke to me.

Him: "I've been here three times and not for my eyes."

I thought maybe this place also dealt in dermotology.

Me: "Really? What do you mean?"

Him: "I've brought my girlfriend, her daughter, and now her son. That's who is there now." He pointed toward the door at the end of our row of chairs.

Me: "Have you always waited this long?"

Him: "This is the longest wait yet."

Darcy was sitting between us bouncing a super ball she had found under her chair. The ball kept getting away from her while we talked, sometimes hitting the man, but he seemed oblivious. Suddenly the woman behind the counter stood up, leaned over it, and gestured to Darcy, who was once again seated.

Her: "Stand up, please."

The man looked at Darcy. I looked at Darcy. Darcy looked at me and then at the woman. The woman gestured up with her hand so Darcy stood up. The woman looked her up and down.

Her: "I guess you are tall enough. Come on."

She then disappeared back into the area behind the counter. The man looked at me. I looked at him. Both of our faces had, what the hell was that expressions.  Suddenly she reappeared at a door to the side.

Her: "Come on, here. Up. All of you. Come this way."

We entered through the door into a hallway that twisted and turned so many times I was sure I was in a Harry Potter novel. Off the twisting hallway were doors into exam rooms and offices. The place was quite large once you got into its depths. She finally stopped and settled us into an exam room. She left. I surveyed the scene.

The office was clean. The border was of a cat sitting in a library not far from an empty birdcage. The bird was next to the cat. I gave up on figuring out the meaning.

The equipment in the room was all eye equipment I recognized, but instead of bringing me relief I was annoyed that it was modern and not ancient so that I had Strike Three and could just walk out the door.

Instead, I remained seated. The door opened and in walked the doctor. He was of medium build with a weathered tanned face, a head full of salt and pepper hair, and was possible anywhere from his late 50's to his early 70's. I couldn't tell. He did not smile. He looked at me, said hello, went to his chair, sat down and asked why were here.

I told him we were here for the girls' yearly eye exam. He asked who was going first. He spoke in a gruff monotone. There was no idle chit chat, no jokes, no conversation other than is it clearer in one or in two. He examined Darcy and told me she was farsighted.

"Do you know what that is?" he asked.

Me: (silently in my head) "Buddy, I have had glasses, contacts, cataracts, two eye surgeries to remove cataracts, laser surgery, and I've got the CrystalLens implants. There isn't much I don't know!"

Me: "Yes."

Him: "Questions?"

Me: "Last year their eye doctor explained this farsightedness is normal in kids her age. He told me it could be outgrown. Am I wrong to assume that?"

Him: Lengthy tirade about farsightedness and kid's growing and how "outgrown" was not the correct word.

Bottom line: he was writing her a prescription.

By this time I was sort of going into a Kelly hyperventilation. Last year's doctor had told me both girls were farsighted and that it was very normal. Most kids outgrew it and that we would test them again in a year and compare and take measures if necessary. I'm thinking to myself, "I knew it. I knew I shouldn't have rushed into this appointment. I should have gotten their chart from the other place, blah, blah, blah."

Of course, Madison checked out with farsightedness as well and again he told me to get her glasses. He said that neither child would notice a difference with the glasses on, but that the eye muscles wouldn't be so overworked.

Him: "Questions?"

His tone implied that he hoped not, that he was the expert, that I had come to him, and by golly, I should do what he says.

I hemmed and hawed, and he stood up and thanked us, told us we were done and to follow him. He led us back through the maze of twisty hallway turns into the room with glasses all over the walls. He deposited our chart on a desk, muttered to the woman there to fix us up, and he left. Poof. Gone. She told us to have a seat and she would be with us in a bit.

I sat there sweating. What was I doing? Was this necessary? I texted Tom.

The glasses lady, who was blonde with a styling pair of black square rimmed glasses, came over, lifted up a giant wooden box and set it on to the table in front of us. She opened the box to reveal about 30 different pairs of glasses and a mirror. She had Darcy sit down and she began taking out glasses for her to try on. By now my mind was racing a hundred miles per hour.

I put up my hand and asked what our insurance covered on glasses. I just wanted to leave and was hopeful the amount would be hundreds and I could escape by using the "oh, I have to check with my husband" routine I do to get rid of unwanted solicitors and telemarketers.

No such luck.

This insurance, this insurance that we have that we didn't know about, that doesn't pay to go to my eye surgery place, pays every little bit of the glasses except for $20. It would cost me $40 for two pairs of glasses.

Only catch...we had to pick from frames out of this box.

There weren't too many options for kids. Darcy had a choice of a purple pair and a brown pair. She went with the brown.

All of the kids glasses were horrible on Maddy's face so I insisted we move to the adult glasses. The lady went around to the other side of the box, where it too opened, and she selected two pairs. One looked great on Madison and so we agreed on that pair.

I paid $60 for two pairs of glasses and two eye exams. I got out to the car with one kid whining and the other crying from the eye drops. I sat in the car for a few minutes, called Tom, had him calm me down, and we went home.

I'm not sure this is the right thing. I've researched everything I could read and it all agreed with the diagnosis of last year, but I don't know if the sight has worsened or not. I figured for $20 I'm not going to stress about it, and then I felt guilty for thinking that. Especially having watched one woman enter while we tried on glasses to explain about how she couldn't afford to pay for her glasses but that she couldn't see and really needed them. Insurances make little sense.

I'll see how the girls do when the glasses arrive in 10 days.