My dad called me a couple hours later to see how I was doing.
I was doing the same: not well.
He told me to schedule a doctor’s appointment. He was going to leave work and drive two hours to take me to the eye doctor, seeing as I lived in a ghost town and also could not drive myself – me being blind and all.
I was touched. A tear of joy/pain/gratitude/my eye’s self-survival fell from my eye.
All I needed to do was schedule an appointment. The only minor problem was that I couldn’t go to my normal doctor since I was currently out of the area, as I was currently staying in New Jersey. My insurance is based in Pennsylvania, but has a fairly far-reaching network, allowing me to go to a doctor in New Jersey.
It was all still a pretty simple task. Here’s what I needed to do:
1) Locate wallet.
2) Pull out insurance card.
3) Call number on back.
4) Write down details of doctors near me which my insurance covers.
5) Dial these numbers, set appointment.
Oh, and also:
6) Call out of work.
These six straightforward tasks were unquestionably the hardest set of affairs I have undertaken in at least two years. I don’t mean to sound like a little bitch, but (insert stuck-up toddler whine) it huuuuuurrrrt.
Each task required me to open my eyes, although generally for one second at a time. I also required a break after each mission, which typically consisted of me collapsing face-first onto my bed, burying my head in pillows and sheets, and making low-pitched guttural sounds. After the pain subsided and I developed enough courage, I bravely moved on to the next undertaking.
It felt like a rescue scene in Baywatch. You know, where David Hasselhoff or Pamela Anderson dive beneath the surface to search for a drowning victim.
They scour the murky water, only to be forced to resurface for fresh air. They do this a few times, until the victim is finally spotted. Oftentimes, though, (in my memory, at least) the victim is not just floating there, but is in some other form of peril aside from being lifelessly devoid of oxygen. The drownee is either stuck under a heavy board, handcuffed to a sunken pirate ship, or caught in the bear-hug of a giant affectionate starfish. Whatever the case, it required Mitch or C. J. to only be able to accomplish a small amount of work with the limited amount of oxygen they received with each breath.
All in all, it took me about ten to fifteen minutes to finally set an appointment. The not-so-nice lady from my insurance gave me the phone numbers of three eye doctors within thirty minutes of me. When I double-checked to make sure that these doctors all fell under my insurance plan, she asked if it was for a regular check-up. I jokingly told her that I couldn’t open my eye, and that I did not believe that fell under the umbrella of “regular check-up.” She didn’t laugh, and that upset me. But either way, my insurance covered it, so long as it was not a regular check-up. [Continued…]
Onward to Part III!