An interesting thing happened to me last week. I hadn’t had my eyes checked since 2003, and I figured it was time. When I’d last had them looked at, my doctor had been a gruff old man with the charm of a drill sergeant from the Marines. This had become problematical when he’d done that test for glaucoma or cataracts, the one wherein they blow air at your eyes from an enormous black machine. The air came at me so hard that it surprised me, and I quickly pulled my head away.
Don’t be such a little girl, growled Sgt. Bifocals.
In my day, we used hot embers from a burning fire. If you got out of the way fast enough, we figured your eyes were fine.So, when I went to a new doctor last week, I was pleasantly surprised to discover a clean office with professional-looking doctors in white coats assisting their patients with a smile. This also left me confused when a stunningly gorgeous woman in a sleeveless shirt, miniskirt and thigh high boots approached me and grinned flirtatiously.
Follow me, please, she said.
I’m your doctor.This was new to me and, while it seemed unusual, I decided not to be prejudicial. This is New York. People live here because they’re different. Maybe my new eye doctor liked to make sure people had the right prescription for their near-sightedness before she rushed off to her part-time job at New York Dolls.
The exam went well enough. It was slightly strange to have this alluring, scantily-clad woman put her face up to mine, tell me to look her in the eye and do nothing as she examined my eyes with various kinds of instruments. But we chatted, and she even laughed politely at my attempts to be funny.
Then it was time for the machine where they test you for glaucoma or cataracts. The one where they blow the air into your eyes.
I told the woman of my past experience with this. I admitted it made me uncomfortable. I even asked if we could skip the test.
Don’t worry, it’ll be fine, my new doctor said.
The machines are much gentler now. Just pretend I’m softly kissing each one of your eyes.I was flattered and puzzled and felt slightly dirty as I tried to make sense of what the doctor had just said. And by the time I remembered where I was, she smiled at me and reached for some eye drops. My eyes were fine, and I would just need a slightly adjusted prescription. And when I got home after staggering blindly through New York City because the eyedrops had rendered everything blurry, I looked up the doctor’s office on Yelp. And sure enough, the numerous reviews mostly said the same thing.
Good doctors, fine eye care, but what was up with the hot doctor in the skimpy outfit who’s a little too forward with her patients?
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