And That Was That

I had Todd in for his annual eye exam with Dr Goei, the surgeon who did his surgeries when he had his accident and lost the vision in his right eye.
He has never, and I mean NEVER, done well at these appointments. The last time he was to see her he did okayish, which was a great improvement over previous times, but they have never dilated his eye and done a full-fledged test because he is petrified and uncooperative.
We had an appointment with another doctor in the interim that will live in infamy.

This time, when we got there, and settled ourselves in the waiting room he crawled up on my lap and started compulsively twisting the buttons on my dress. "Oh dear." I thought, "here we go again." I breathed a prayer for him...poor little guy; fear is the worst of all fiends.

The waiting room held a young Hispanic couple and their three-year-old boy. The parents sat on opposite sides of the room, and the boy sat somewhere in between. Their stuff filled in the gaps. I had chosen a seat as well as I knew.
There is this unspoken protocol about which seat you choose depending on the seats available and the positions of the current occupants, but it was a little tricky here, because I infringed on either them or their stuff no matter where I was.

As it turned out I was seated closer to him than to her and he proved to be extraordinarily friendly. He said hello instantly. Then he asked what religion I was and what we believed. He told me of the Bolivian Mennonites he had seen featured on a television show. There were two different kinds down there he told me; the one kind kept entirely to themselves, and the other kind didn't. What kind was I, he wondered. I told him I didn't know too much about the Mennonites in Bolivia.
It was the truthful and safest answer.
"Do you believe in the Holy Spirit" he said. I said "Yes."
"We're the same then." he said with guileless acceptance and confidence. "We're Pentecostal. We and the Baptists and y'all believe the same. The Jehovah's Witness don't. They don't believe in the Holy Spirit".

Todd carefully kept his back to him.

By the time their name was called, I knew they were from Mexico,  and about his siblings, the ones who lived and the one who had died, his daughter named Genesis, his mom, and their ill-tempered Shih Tzu, and who was due to deliver twins in March.
 He had pictures of them on his phone and when he had largely concluded the commentary he scrolled through them and provided me with visual aids.
His wife sat across the room and regarded him pleasantly. She was silent till it was time to leave and then she said goodbye warmly, as if we had been long friends. It would have seemed so.

Todd was in quiet mode.

In the meantime another couple had entered with a charming cross-eyed little guy. The parents were substantial. The lady came in, surveyed the available seats and taking the first one inside the door, said calmly, "I might as well block the door." and proceeded to do so. Her husband played games on an I-pad most of the time while simultaneously engaging his wife in conversation. A remarkable man. She asked him nicely for a turn. He nicely refused.
The cute little guy knocked all the legs off an activity table and walked around the room chewing on them.

It was a blessed distraction, really. Dragons seldom shrink for the thinking of them.

A third couple moved in with a brand-new baby in a carrier. The daddy was a gentle looking sort littered with tattoos. He took care of the bags and the baby.
The mom who was pencil thin and wore heels, came in like a whirlwind, dropped her stuff on the chairs, announced, "I'm going potty," and promptly walked back out.
How in the world she got to be that size two weeks after giving birth, I do not know. Women want to know these things.

Todd surveyed it all silently, no doubt less distracted than I. He lay against me like a little monkey

The cute little guy with crossed eyes came over to explore the new folks. "He'll get in your bags." warned his mom. "He'll have them emptied out in one minute." The tattooed man pulled the bags close around him.
This was no match for the cute one.
Dad put the bags all up on the chair. Cute one's mom came and followed him around the room keeping him out of everything remotely interesting to him.

I have always found waiting rooms fascinating. This one was no exception.

One by one each group was called out and Todd and I were left alone.

"Todd," I said "they're not going to do anything scary. They're just going to look at your eyes and have you look at things. Just answer their questions, okay? It won't be anything scary." Todd had moved to sit a few seats away from me.
He said "mmhmm."
"Todd?"
"Yes, ma'am."

He said it. But he had said it before. Somehow when we got to the examining room his fears always took over entirely. Panic rather. His last eye appointment had been a full-blown disaster.

"Todd?" The nurse called his name finally. He took my hand and we followed her down the hall and around the corner. We'd been in this room before. It reverberated with ghosts of visits past. She left and we settled in once more. Waiting is so routine at this place, you expect nothing else.

"Todd," I said, "I think you're big enough to sit in the chair by yourself this time. You just sit there and answer their questions. You can do it."
"I want you to hold me."
"If I hold you, will you cooperate?" I said.
(Don't you hate those negotiating parents?)
"Yes." he said.
Dr. Goei was already at the door.

Dr. Goei and Todd go way back. She has learned to expect the worst and prepare for the worst. So has he.
I steeled myself.
"How are you, Todd!!" She acted genuinely thrilled to see him.
"Fine!" he replied.
This was the first miracle in a series of miracles.
Another doctor came in.
He let them shine lights in his eyes.
He read the letters on the chart quickly and confidently.
He leaned his head back and looked at the ceiling while they put drops in; three in one, one in the other.
He sat there stoically while they checked his eye pressure.
Once, while their backs were turned, I whispered in his ear "Way to go, buddy. You're doing great!"
He slipped me an aww shucks grin.

We made plans to do surgery on his wandering eye in the summer. She wrote out a new prescription for his glasses. And we were done.
Chart in hand, we descended from the chair, and away we went. He hopped blithely from dark tile to dark tile as we made our way back out the maze of halls that is MCG.

"You wanta eat at McDonald's here, or at Burger King on the way home?" I asked.

"I don't know, I guess Burger King." he said, still hopping.