Eye-Care Center
And so my visit yesterday (Tuesday, May 29, 2007) to the vaunted Eye-Care Center in Canandaigua comes and goes.
About two weeks ago we got a letter from our old health-center in far-away Henrietta saying I needed their regular biannual eye-exam.
We stopped going to that health-center about a year-and-half ago. We started going there because at first it was part of the HMO I was signed up for at Regional Transit Service.
But apparently health insurance, and health maintenance, has moved beyond HMOs, so that now we could designate any healthcare provider, not necessarily our old health-center.
So I guess what happened was that our old HMO health-center had become independent, but we kept going there because we thought we had to.
Healthcare at that place was always a bit wacko. My doctor, old halitosis-breath, a towel-head, was the one who put me on calcium-blocker blood-pressure medication, and also the one who told my wife I’d have to be carted around like a vegetable after my stroke.
Towel-head departed, and was replaced by a lady who lasted about six months. She was too strung out. The health-center was allowing only 15 minutes per patient and wheeling them through like cattle.
Healthcare had to be scattershot. My doctor became exasperated and quit.
Suddenly we were on a doctor merry-go-round (counter-clockwise) at a health-center 50 minutes away.
We were apprised we could select any provider we wanted, so we switched to a small health-center in nearby Bloomfield, about five minutes away.
They aren’t stretched so thin. My doctor is from northeastern Pennsylvania, so always asks about my Horseshoe Curve jacket. —Apparently he has the time; old towel-head didn’t.
We dumped the calcium-blockers and halved the anti-cholesterol medication — thus making my anti-drug wife somewhat happier.
It also made me happier, since dumping the calcium-blockers seemed to end the so-called “episodes” that prompted my retirement. Blood-pressure, borderline as it was, was being lowered by getting back into shape.
I’ve lost 20-25 pounds, and am about to drop a waist-size from my levis. I’ll soon have to drill another hole in my belt so I can cinch it tighter.
Apparently Eye-Services at our old health-center was semi-independent; so they would still be soliciting appointments even though we had left.
I was happy with what they were doing, but they’re 50 minutes away.
Linda went to the Canandaigua Eye-Care Center for her last eye-exam; so I wanted to switch there too — 25-30 minutes as opposed to 50.
But my switching there meant I was a new patient, so true-to-form: “Mr. Hughes, we find no indication of your appointment.”
Well, here I am, guys; standing right in front of you. I wouldn’t have come here had you not made me an appointment.
They hemmed-and-hawed, having me kill time filling out various forms while they feverishly searched.
Finally after about 10 minutes a tiny butterball paddled out of an adjacent anteroom: “Mr. Hughes’s appointment was made this morning.”
“I didn’t call this morning. The appointment was made last week.”
Finally, “Have a seat, Mr. Hughes. We’ll be with you shortly.” (Peace and tranquility.)
After a few minutes I was whisked into a dark room with various gizmos, and interviewed by a youngish male technician.
Then it was into another room, where a bubbly young female technician performed various tests, including internal pressure of the eye.
“Can you read this, Mr. Hughes?”
“I’ll need my glasses;” it was for distance.
“E-T-O-P-Q;” over-and-over. All I could think of was the eye-chart in a veterinarian-office behind a dog (a photo that ran in a Post-paper); how’s a dog supposed to read that? (“Bark-bark-bark-bark-bark!”)
Finally I was whisked into another room, and “Dr. Pisello will see you as soon as she’s finished with another patient.”
Room-to-darkened room; this was certainly different from my previous eye-exam, where the entire exam was performed by the Ophthalmologist.
“You’ll see an old retina-tear that apparently healed itself; as I was never aware of it, but previous eye-exams have seen it.” I said.
“You’ll also see a slight floater in the left eye; I don’t find it bothersome.”
“What’s this comment about using a magnifying-glass if the type is really tiny?” she asked. “Do you wear bifocals?”
“Nope,” I said; “onliest one from my high-school class that doesn’t.”
“Do you wanna try bifocals?” she asked.
“Maybe eventually, but not right now,” I said. “Things aren’t bad enough.”
Step-by-step, she proceeded through the exam. She also looked at the old tear better with a special gizmo.
“I think you should have our retina-specialist look at that. We might wanna repair that with laser surgery.”
“You also have the very slight beginnings of cataracts.”
“Well, I am 63, and I think my grandfather had cataracts.”
“Not enough to worry about; you shouldn’t see anything.”
“All I wanna do is be able to see well enough to keep riding motorbike; right now it isn’t a problem.”
I was finally discharged into the bright sunlight, but not before forking over a $10 co-pay. My appointment is in late August; “If it’s that old, I see no hurry.”
My pupils were dilated, so driving was a bit wonky. I was glad I wasn’t riding motorbike.
About two weeks ago we got a letter from our old health-center in far-away Henrietta saying I needed their regular biannual eye-exam.
We stopped going to that health-center about a year-and-half ago. We started going there because at first it was part of the HMO I was signed up for at Regional Transit Service.
But apparently health insurance, and health maintenance, has moved beyond HMOs, so that now we could designate any healthcare provider, not necessarily our old health-center.
So I guess what happened was that our old HMO health-center had become independent, but we kept going there because we thought we had to.
Healthcare at that place was always a bit wacko. My doctor, old halitosis-breath, a towel-head, was the one who put me on calcium-blocker blood-pressure medication, and also the one who told my wife I’d have to be carted around like a vegetable after my stroke.
Towel-head departed, and was replaced by a lady who lasted about six months. She was too strung out. The health-center was allowing only 15 minutes per patient and wheeling them through like cattle.
Healthcare had to be scattershot. My doctor became exasperated and quit.
Suddenly we were on a doctor merry-go-round (counter-clockwise) at a health-center 50 minutes away.
We were apprised we could select any provider we wanted, so we switched to a small health-center in nearby Bloomfield, about five minutes away.
They aren’t stretched so thin. My doctor is from northeastern Pennsylvania, so always asks about my Horseshoe Curve jacket. —Apparently he has the time; old towel-head didn’t.
We dumped the calcium-blockers and halved the anti-cholesterol medication — thus making my anti-drug wife somewhat happier.
It also made me happier, since dumping the calcium-blockers seemed to end the so-called “episodes” that prompted my retirement. Blood-pressure, borderline as it was, was being lowered by getting back into shape.
I’ve lost 20-25 pounds, and am about to drop a waist-size from my levis. I’ll soon have to drill another hole in my belt so I can cinch it tighter.
Apparently Eye-Services at our old health-center was semi-independent; so they would still be soliciting appointments even though we had left.
I was happy with what they were doing, but they’re 50 minutes away.
Linda went to the Canandaigua Eye-Care Center for her last eye-exam; so I wanted to switch there too — 25-30 minutes as opposed to 50.
But my switching there meant I was a new patient, so true-to-form: “Mr. Hughes, we find no indication of your appointment.”
Well, here I am, guys; standing right in front of you. I wouldn’t have come here had you not made me an appointment.
They hemmed-and-hawed, having me kill time filling out various forms while they feverishly searched.
Finally after about 10 minutes a tiny butterball paddled out of an adjacent anteroom: “Mr. Hughes’s appointment was made this morning.”
“I didn’t call this morning. The appointment was made last week.”
Finally, “Have a seat, Mr. Hughes. We’ll be with you shortly.” (Peace and tranquility.)
After a few minutes I was whisked into a dark room with various gizmos, and interviewed by a youngish male technician.
Then it was into another room, where a bubbly young female technician performed various tests, including internal pressure of the eye.
“Can you read this, Mr. Hughes?”
“I’ll need my glasses;” it was for distance.
“E-T-O-P-Q;” over-and-over. All I could think of was the eye-chart in a veterinarian-office behind a dog (a photo that ran in a Post-paper); how’s a dog supposed to read that? (“Bark-bark-bark-bark-bark!”)
Finally I was whisked into another room, and “Dr. Pisello will see you as soon as she’s finished with another patient.”
Room-to-darkened room; this was certainly different from my previous eye-exam, where the entire exam was performed by the Ophthalmologist.
“You’ll see an old retina-tear that apparently healed itself; as I was never aware of it, but previous eye-exams have seen it.” I said.
“You’ll also see a slight floater in the left eye; I don’t find it bothersome.”
“What’s this comment about using a magnifying-glass if the type is really tiny?” she asked. “Do you wear bifocals?”
“Nope,” I said; “onliest one from my high-school class that doesn’t.”
“Do you wanna try bifocals?” she asked.
“Maybe eventually, but not right now,” I said. “Things aren’t bad enough.”
Step-by-step, she proceeded through the exam. She also looked at the old tear better with a special gizmo.
“I think you should have our retina-specialist look at that. We might wanna repair that with laser surgery.”
“You also have the very slight beginnings of cataracts.”
“Well, I am 63, and I think my grandfather had cataracts.”
“Not enough to worry about; you shouldn’t see anything.”
“All I wanna do is be able to see well enough to keep riding motorbike; right now it isn’t a problem.”
I was finally discharged into the bright sunlight, but not before forking over a $10 co-pay. My appointment is in late August; “If it’s that old, I see no hurry.”
My pupils were dilated, so driving was a bit wonky. I was glad I wasn’t riding motorbike.
posted by BobbaLew at 8:15 AM
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