Why A Routine Eye Exam Brought Me to Tears
If you’ve had a routine eye exam, you know the drops used to dilate your eyes often cause your eyes to tear. But those are not the tears I’m talking about.
And no, my eye doctor is not a terror, or rude. On the contrary, she understands that my illness has affected my vision, and I need frequent eye checks. It’s why she sees me every six months.
But my routine appointment this past week snuck up on me, and I forgot I needed a ride.
The technician who brought me into an exam room reminded me of my oversight. As she prepared the drops for my eyes, she asked, “You have a ride, right?”
I answered sheepishly, “No, I don’t today.”
She then asked if I could wait long enough until my eyes adjusted to drive myself home. Knowing it takes several hours for my eyes to adjust, I quickly replied, “Sorry, I can’t wait that long.” The technician put the drops down and left the room, clearly frustrated by my responses.
A lump began to form in my throat.
The door swung open, and my eye doctor walked in. Knowing I can’t drive when dilated, she said she’d do half the exam, and then I’d have to reschedule. For the next 15 minutes, as I tried to focus on the letters on the screen across the room, thoughts raced through my head, reminding me how few people I had in my life to ask for a ride.
Out of nowhere, the realization that I’m closer to 60 than 50, single with few friends in the area and little family, struck me like a ton of bricks. It also didn’t help that it was the third anniversary of my father’s death.
As the letters flashed on the screen, I struggled to focus, remembering the many times my father had driven me to doctor’s appointments or was waiting for me after a test or surgery.
After my appointment ended, I quickly returned to my parked car. I didn’t notice the bright blue sky, the fall colors, or the unusually warm temperature.
What I noticed was no one was waiting for me.
My dad wasn’t waiting for me.
And that’s when the lump in my throat became a steady stream of tears.
I’ve often written about the many ways grief catches us off guard.
I equate it to being in the ocean when you’re suddenly knocked down and trapped under a wave and wall of water. The power of the sea knocks the wind out of you, and you struggle to get your bearings.
You look up, searching for the sunlight and the surface, but remain weighed down by the darkness and heaviness of the water.
I sat in the parking lot for a while. I couldn’t drive through the tears, and I definitely didn’t want to drive by my father’s office, which was on the next block.
When the tears finally stopped, instead of going to my next appointment, I headed home. The headache that was fast approaching became a migraine. The tears came and went for the next two days. The migraine lasted 24 hours.
The feeling of loss continues.
Despite my efforts to be kind and give myself grace, I’m still struggling.
That’s grief. There’s no timeline. It comes and goes on its terms. It knocks you off your feet when you least expect it. And it settles in whether you like it or not.
But it’s also the reality of aging, particularly if you’re single.
Last week, I wrote about the many ways I’ve embraced my age. This week, I’m here to tell you that grief, aging, and loneliness happen to all of us.
While I know I have friends and family who would have stepped up had I asked for a ride this past week, asking for help can be challenging, too, especially when chronic illness forces you to ask more than most.
Some days, you move more quickly through the hard stuff. Other times, you need to accept where you are and give yourself time to heal. Today is one of those times.
Grief. Loss. Aging. Loneliness. Illness.
I hope you’ll understand why I’m keeping things brief today. I recently reviewed the research on the epidemic of loneliness if you’d like to read more on that topic.
I’ll be back next week with my regularly planned content.
Until then, I’m holding the memories of my father close and remembering the many times he waited for me.
As an eye doctor, I’ve had patients cry in my chair more times than I can count. Going to the doctor always brings up some sort of emotion, even if it has nothing to do with the visit.
Here for you, Tracy. I see you. I'm sorry about your Dad. Sometimes these moments are to keep his memory alive.
“While I know I have friends and family who would have stepped up had I asked for a ride this past week, asking for help can be challenging, too, especially when chronic illness forces you to ask more than most.”
Tracy, having had similar thoughts in the past, what has served me is to remember that countless friends and family “thank me” for asking them to help, telling me it is a gift to them vs. the burden I perceive it to be.
They’ve taught me that my perspective of thinking it would “cost” them some of their precious time is far from the truth. Rather, they tell me time and again it fills them up with gratitude, nourishing them as they can be of service to someone they love.
I suspect time spent with you would bring them immeasurable joy - even if they looked a little blurry :)