My Eye: Part III (Thanks, Ladies)

My dad showed up three hours later, and we set off to the eye doctor.  I was now able to open my eyes for longer segments of time without wanting to die, but only while wearing my darkest pair of sunglasses.

Once we got there, I had to fill out two pages of paper work.  Naturally.

Fortunately, it was no longer a breathless Baywatch type of scenario, but more of an I’m-on-the-top-of-Mount-Everest-and-its-constantly-much-harder-to-breathe type of situation.  Honestly, it was much harder to endure listening to the people on The Chew talk about puddings as I waited for half an hour with my eyes closed.

“Youngman Brown?”

I opened my eyes to see a woman holding my chart, beckoning me to follow her.  I stood up and walked towards her.

“Wait, Linda,” said one of the girls behind the desk.  Then she whispered something to Linda, which I could not hear.  Apparently, your other senses don’t become super-heightened.

Linda told me to take a seat in the waiting room again, which worried me.  I heard muffled discussions taking place behind the desk and saw my folder being passed around, which also worried me.

Ten minutes later, Linda called me back up to the desk.  Two other ladies stood there with her as she informed me that my insurance would not, in fact, cover my visit to their office.

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