Last week, I had to turn over my prism and Polaroid glasses for my new borrowed stereoscope.
The receptionist asked me to sign the equipment return form and I couldn’t find a place for the “patient’s signature”, only “parent’s signature”. I looked at her and asked where to sign and she pointed to the “parent’s signature” spot. I laughed.
“No surprise. I am the only patient more than 3 feet tall in this office! I have to sign as my own parent.”
When I went to visit the strabismus specialist at the University of California San Francisco Hospital, the receptionist in the Pediatric Ophthalmology unit was surprised to see me sign in.
“You do know that this is the children’s eye care center, right?”
“I am a child at heart” I said.
“I am here to see Dr. Hoyt. I have strabismus and the only eye doctors who see cross eyed patients are pediatric ophthalmologists,” I added.
Then I went to the waiting room to find a chair to sit in, but almost all of the chairs were for little kids and I couldn’t fit! The “adult” chairs were all taken by the parents watching their kids playing with the waiting room toys. I just stood by the big windows admiring the gorgeous view of the rare fog-less San Francisco horizon.
Go figure. I am rewiring my brain to have what I should have had at birth. I am my own parent at the age of 33. Luckily, all the chairs in my vision therapist’s waiting room are big enough for adults.