There is a piece of paper sitting in a doctors office, and right now I can’t think of anything else.
I had another blog post planned, which might possibly have been the best thing you had ever read, but now we will never know. On account of a note, in a doctor’s office. Unread and unknown.
Early Sunday afternoon, whilst we discussed whether or not the midget cyclone hovering around the top of the WA coast would have any impact on us at all, my five year old son came into the kitchen and said, ‘Mum, I can’t really see out of this eye.”
I was surprised, and my face must have shown it. That’s not the thing kid’s normally say. So I did what any mother in that situation would do, and told him to go wash his face. With that much nutella on, there was no way I could work out what was going on!
He came back, gorgeous face almost sparkling, and I covered his left eye and asked him how many fingers I was holding up. “Three,” he said confidently, and I was quietly high fiving myself that at least he can count ;). Repeated the process on the other eye, and he got it right again, so I thought nothing of the whole thing. He’s 5, he says funny things, and everything seemed ok. I suggested he just have rest, and see how he felt.
Half an hour later, he comes out of his room, and tells me the same story. His left eye feels weird and he doesn’t feel like he can see out of it.
I am well and truly stumped, and decide that tomorrow, barring cyclone’s, I’ll call the optometrist.
So Sunday passes without a hitch; Alessia has no intestinal fortitude and dissolves into a low the second she hits land and leaves us with a lot of frogs croaking, but not much else in the way of monsoonal weather, and everything else is just the way it should be. Except for a little five-year old boy, whose eye feels weird.
Monday morning dawns overcast and cool. Boatman is forced to go back to work, and the kids to school, although Bridie insists she is actually sick and must stay home. Seeing no evidence of any malady, and the fact that I have very important things to do today (buy Christmas decorations and a new bathroom bin), I send her to school with Taylah, hoping they won’t call me in half an hour and accuse me of being the worst mother ever.
Speaking of calling, at 9 I call the optometrist. “Have you got any appointments available today?” I ask nicely.
“We have one at 2,” the receptionist answers.
“No that won’t work for me,” I say apologetically.
“Well what will work for you?” asks Miss Snooty Pants.
“Anything this morning?”
After a huge, highly put out sigh, “I suppose I could squeeze you in at 940?”
“Thanks! That would be great!” I say in the chirpiest voice possible. Kill the snotty lady with kindness I say.
When we arrive, the optometrists is hardly a hive of activity where people need squeezing in. In fact we are the only one’s in there, and the optometrist himself is sitting in his office looking kind of bored. He calls us in, and Bailey pops up in the chair.
“How old is he?” He asks.
“Does he know his numbers?”
“Yes! He is great with numbers.” (Again feeling oddly proud.)
“Ok, we will go with numbers then!”
Then he began the standard optometrist procedure. Put the numbers on the board, ask what they are. BJ is all excited he keeps getting them right and everyone is happy. Eye Guy covers the left eye and all is well, covers the right and asks what he sees.
“I don’t know.” BJ says.
“Keep looking,” he encourages gently.
“I don’t know.”
I thought he might be joking, so I asked him if he was lying. “no mum.”
“You’re not being silly are you? I won’t be mad.”
“No I’m not! I don’t know what it is!”
And I could tell he really meant it.
The doctor tried everything to trick him to see if he was putting it on, but it wasn’t working, and after not too long he said to me he was concerned and was referring us on. Sudden loss like that is not good, and needs to be seen too. He called the ophthalmologist straight away and said they would call when he was in the office, just after lunch. Most likely we would be seen today or tomorrow.
I felt a little weird after that. They gave me no referral or number but sent me on my way to buy my decorations and bin, and act like it’s all normal in the world, and that the optometrist is not totally concerned about the state of my beautiful boy’s beautiful eyes.
Finishing the shopping I go home and do normal things. Make the kids lunch, take a photo of mine and put it on IG, check FB and doctor google long enough to know that sudden loss of any kind is never a good thing.
I watch the clock anxiously, waiting for my phone to ring. I carry it around like a security blanket, but it never makes a sound. And so then I turn into the mother from a Jodi Piccoult book, calling the optometrist’s office and checking if they have faxed it off, and then calling the ophthalmologist to find out why they have not called yet. Have they got the referral? Don’t they know it needs attention?
Yes they have it, but the doctor is busy so I need to wait until he is finished. “It may be a while,” she says, “but I have the referral here.” Basically telling me, there is nothing else I can do.
I hang up the phone, staring at the bit of paper with all the numbers and names on.
I make a milo, cause it seems the thing to do.
I put my phone on charge, so I know it will ring.
I put it back on charge, because what if I’m out at the doctors this afternoon and it goes flat?
I pick up the computer to write my IBOT post, because I have a post that will be awesome, all lined up.
I check Facebook again.
I flick through Instagram and message Daisy.
And then I write this. Not the post I wanted, but the only one that could be written.
Because there is a piece of paper in a doctor’s office, and right now, I can’t think of anything else.