When I am in the doctor’s office, I feel rude asking questions or challenging a diagnosis. Yet I know that it’s crazy not to. I’m not sure where the fear comes from. I don’t really believe that they will withhold treatment if I presume to question them. Maybe I’m still trying to earn a lollipop on the way out. Who knows.
I took Sarah to a very nice eye doctor yesterday. Given some of Sarah’s reading issues, we thought it made sense to check her eyes.
And of course, they found something—nothing terrible and nothing permanent. It seems that the muscles in her eyes are out of alignment, causing her to tilt her head and skip lines when she reads. The doctor prescribed glasses to correct the issue until she grows out of it.
Sarah is delighted. She looks adorable in the frames she chose and can’t wait to wear her glasses to school. She also believes (based on an anecdote I wish the doctor had shared only with me) that the glasses will make reading a breeze, and I REALLY hope she isn’t too disappointed if they don’t.
I have mixed feelings about the glasses. Of course I hope they will help her, but I also think that (paraphrasing my friend, Tricia) if you go to a bicycle store, they’re going to sell you a bicycle. We’ll see.
The good news is that I questioned the doctor thoroughly, about what we can expect from the glasses, about what is behind her diagnosis, about what she would have said if Sarah hadn’t mentioned skipping lines (which I don’t think happens that often). I asked her to repeat herself, which she may not have liked but which I needed so my non-sciency brain could assemble a full picture.
It’s a little scary how late in life I am coming around to the idea of questioning medical authority. I trust doctors, but no one should accept medical advice without question.
No matter how cute you look in glasses.