|
|
 |
|
The
views expressed
on this page are soley those of the author and do not
necessarily
represent the views of County News Online
|
 |
Broke Wife, Big City
When stuff
turns into a whole, like, thing
By Aprill Brandon
I should have known better. As soon as I walked in, I had a bad
feeling. This was going to turn into a THING. It always does.
“Hi. I just need to get new eyeglasses. I have my old prescription
right here.”
“OK, when was your last eye exam?”
“Honestly, I just need new glasses. No need for an exam.”
“Ma’am, I need to know the date of your last eye exam.”
“Um…sigh…five years ago, I think.”
You would have thought I told them I pluck out the eyeballs of orphans
every week and used those in lieu of contacts.
Even better yet, I’m lying. It was seven years ago.
“But…I mean…how have you been getting eye contacts?”
“I-800-CONTACTS.”
You would have thought I told them I also kick baby goats in the groin
after stealing little orphan children’s eyeballs.
“Oh…oh, that’s so bad. You shouldn’t do that. I can’t believe
1-800-CONTACTS lets you do that.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell them that getting contacts using an
ancient prescription via the Internet is literally one of the easiest
things in the world to do. The only thing easier, of course, being
ordering a hooker online who also brings you a bagful of heroin and
curly fries.
So instead I just shrugged.
And this is why I hate adulting. I’m just so bad at it. See, in my
mind, if I need new glasses I should just be able to walk into this
strip mall eye place with my ancient prescription, pick out some Zooey
Deschanel wannabe frames and haul my adorkable ass home in time for
lunch. And as long as I can still kinda, sorta see with my current
prescription, also keep ordering contacts from the Internet until the
day I die.
But instead, I get busted by THE MAN and I’m now stuck filling out a
mountain of paperwork, answering questions about insurance with a
blank, vapid stare and getting the third degree about leaving the space
marked PHYSCIAN’S NAME blank.
“You don’t have a regular doctor?”
“No. I have an OB-GYN. Does she count?”
“What do you do when you get sick?”
“Mix Nyquil with wine and shop online for secondhand books.”
And as if all that wasn’t bad enough, I was then informed I was legally
obligated (yes, legally obligated in my state) to get professionally
fitted for contacts by their office within 90 days of this initial
exam. Which seems like a special sort of anal bureaucratic overreach.
“But I just want new glasses.”
“Would you like to schedule that today?”
“Um…how much does that cost?”
“$95.”
“With my insurance?”
“Yes.”
“On top of the exam cost and the cost of the frames and the special
lightweight lenses with the special blah-blah something coating you are
insisting I get and the eye allergy medication I now apparently need to
buy because I sneezed once in the waiting room and NOT including the
cost of new contacts?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah. I’ll wait.”
“OK, but remember, you only have 90 days and if you try ordering from
1-800-CONTACTS again, they’ll have to verify your prescription through
us now, which we can’t do until you get fitted.”
“Son of a …”
See? What did I say? It totally turned into a THING. All those years in
school wasted on advanced math classes when I should have been studying
up on how to handle stuff that turns into a whole THING without rolling
my eyes.
Of course, don’t get me wrong. Although I make a horrible adult, I’m
excellent at mothering. My son has a pediatrician who I thoroughly
researched and vetted before my kid was even born and he already has a
dentist lined up. Not to mention, my dog has always had a fantastic,
thoroughly researched vet no matter what state we lived in and I
recently successfully nagged my husband, who has the same wicked mature
attitude toward personal health as I do, to find a doctor and get a
checkup (which he finally did only a record-breaking six months later).
But make no mistake. This isn’t some sort of martyred mom complex,
where I make sure everyone else is OK and taken care of before I think
about my health (although that would make a better excuse). It’s just
these seemingly simple things always get so complicated, you know? I
just want new glasses, but suddenly half my day is gone and my wallet
is empty. I just want a teeth cleaning, suddenly I’m scheduling surgery
to rip out my wisdom teeth. I just want a regular checkup, suddenly I’m
being lectured that mixing Nyquil and wine is not medically advisable
and here, call this specialist about that mole that is probably nothing
but will most definitely kill you if you don’t see him.
Ugh. What is it with these medical professionals and “health”?
And, let me stop you right there. Because I know what you’re going to
say. That now that I’m a mom, it’s my duty to make sure I’m healthy and
will live forever so I can smother my grandbabies with love and sausage
and slip them $20 when no one is looking even when they’re in their
30’s like my grandma did. I’m well aware of that, which is why I now
exercise on a regular basis and eat fruits and vegetables on purpose
and not just when they’re garnish for my cocktail.
So, I am slowly trying to get my medical act together.
Just don’t rush me. I’ll get fitted for my contacts and find a regular
doctor and even schedule a teeth cleaning right after I renew my
recently invalid driver’s license. And fix the mysterious clangy noise
on the car. And call the handy man about that tiny large-ish leak in
the middle of the ceiling. And buy underwear with actual working
elastic. And…
Can’t get enough of Aprill? Can’t wait until next week?
Check out her website at http://aprillbrandon.com/
|
|
|
|
