Saturday 1 September 2012

Eye Openers



As always, the wait in the eye clinic to be seen by the staff is a long one. The mostly elderly and infirm patients sit and sigh, greeting every new neighbour in the row of seats in the corridor as a long lost  friend, leaning towards each other confidingly and sharing snippets of wisdom. People are called, disappear and return, swapping seats. First comes the eye test to establish how much the patient can currently see ;  then another nurse in an another room administers eye drops, which gradually enlarge the pupils to the extent that the world of the corridor becomes a blur. When this blur has reached the maximum stage, the eye is photographed. Finally, it's time for the big man himself, the consultant, to pronounce judgment, diagnosis and a course of treatment.  It all takes time. Time is what the old people have in abundance.

"Some of these drops can be real torture". An old lady is being dragged past the row of stretched out feet by her daughter.

"We all have to put up with them", the lady next to me says behind her hand. Having thus broken the ice she feels entitled to continue the conversation.

"Look at that chap", she says, pointing to a man who limps badly, painfully lifting his left leg with every step. "Poor man, walking so slowly. He will have seen better days in his life."
Her compassionate words get through to my unwilling ears. I am not good at joining in with chance-met strangers in hospital corridors.  I look at her more closely. She is an old lady herself.

"It must be so frustrating for him", she adds warmly. I nod in agreement. "At least I can still move", she says, just before she is called by a nurse and I notice that she has to feel her way along the wall to follow the call.

Another  lady, also pulled along by her daughter, stumbles into a door jamb. "Oops", she says, "drunk again". She picks herself off the door frame and grins conspiratorially. "It's the drink, and being so cheerful, as keeps me going". Her daughter's smile is slightly strained. "Mum", she says, "don't".

The chap with the limp is back and makes for the chair next to me. I move over to give him room to manoeuvre and he says, "Don't move, don't move, I am not going to sit on your lap". Within minutes he has told me that he is 81, has been a widower for ten years and used to be a train driver. "That was in the days when trains was trains, with 10, 15 carriages and maybe a thousand people. Up the mountain, down the mountain, through the tunnel and over the viaduct", he says. "Now I look at the hills and I think 'how did I manage to do that and never thought about it' ". His Welsh lilt is music, swooping up and down like the mountains. He tells me about his son, who is a treasure, looks after his old dad a treat, even bought him a mobility scooter. "The scooter is great", he says, "I went to the end of the road where I hadn't been for a long time, all the way up the hill and back again." His son is selling his house and has had some bad experiences. "When I was young, you took people's word. You didn't do all this business with solititors. They're the worst, they are".

The old people don't really want me to add anything to their ramblings. A friendly ear is enough. A lady on my other side, who can be no older than sixty five, watches the chap leaving. "I used to know him, when he was on the trains", she said. "Used to do the North Wales from Shrewsbury route."

I put the book on my lap into my bag. It would probably not be very kind to sit here reading anyway. Most of these people can't see the printed word. Somehow we got to talking about cleaning and dusting. "I don't know how much longer I can do it", she says, "the Hoover has been sitting at the top of the stairs for days".

In spite of her very poor sight she still lives on her small-holding, has 400 sheep, two horses and a donkey and eight or nine dogs. She has a lovely smile, warm and friendly. Dark glasses cover her eyes. Then she starts talking about her son who lives and works in Germany. She visits him a lot and loves Germany. This is not something I hear very often in the UK, so I am surprised. When I tell her that I am German she opens up further and tells me about the many happy holidays she has spent in the country and the friendly welcome she has met. "I find it all depends on you", she says, "if you treat people with respect and friendliness, that's what you get in return. All you have to do is show willing."

One in the eye for me! My willingness to 'show willing' is too often invisible, hidden by impatience or lack of interest.

Beloved is finished with the consultant and he waves to me. We are done for today. As he weaves his way through the corridor, I catch up with him and ask "Can you see?" offering my arm. "Enough", he says over his shoulder, as he strides towards the sliding doors and out of the clinic.

We have a lot to learn.




It so happens that I came across a site called Theme Thursday where other bloggers happen to be discussing what eyes mean to them. I've added this story to theirs.

48 comments:

  1. i am glad you are willing...they need an ear to hear them...i imagine many do not get it otherwise...and they make rather fun characters at times...as i am sure i will be when my day comes....smiles.

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  2. Such waiting rooms are just one more of the many places where the real life is happening... I must admit I am not always in the mood for such conversations, but I find I am getting "milder" and more tolerant each year.
    Don't know if you read this post on my blog, but it ties in quite nicely with yours:
    http://librarianwithsecrets.blogspot.de/2012/02/another-premiere-something-about-being.html

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  3. Sitting with old people can be amusing, interesting or depressing. My eye doctor has a digital camera that photographs the inner eye. No drops and no waiting and no discomfort. She gets a lovely digital photo which we discuss. My insurance will not pay for it but I get it done every two years and it costs about $30.00 so it is worth it to me. My brain is going...not my eyes.

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  4. I see your eyes (and ears) are acute as ever, Friko.

    Always learning.

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  5. What a wonderful post with an important message -- the value of listening to each other. I've found that I've learned some of my greatest lessons in life in circumstances I least expected. We all have so much to share with each other.

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  6. As being said, 'we all will be old but not all will be wise'
    Your neighbor lady at the clinic said the wise phrase: as you treat people as others will treat you. Great!

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  7. I regularly donate to SEVA eye clinics. They heal & listen. In certain ways you do both too. Writing can, when it is good & insightful like this. ~Mary

    ps some seem to have energy-saving techniques when it comes to the elderly~they ignore them.

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  8. I have always believed that how you treat people
    will come back to you.
    Sometimes
    listening is the best gift we can give another.

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  9. This is the best story I've read in ages.

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  10. Of all the infirmities that await me in old age, it's the loss of eyesight that troubles me the most. Not to be able to drive, to read, to appreciate all the beauty in the world? Ah, well, we can always talk, as long as there's someone to listen.

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  11. I enjoy listening to people so waiting rooms are no bother to me.
    I've learned an amazing amount about life in a new country while accompanying Mr. Fly to his hospital appointments here, just as I did in doctors' waiting rooms in France, because it seems to me that the important things to know are what are classed as trivia....patterns of speech, the accepted phrase to use in order to be considered polite, the things that transgress social norms.....and all this and more comes up when people talk to me, as a background to what is being imparted.

    Your trip to the clinic made me laugh, too, bringing back memories of trailing to the Royal Eye Hospital in London as a child, having those wretched drops put in and then, after the consultant had finished, being taken to the Imperial War Museum by my mother and seeing everything as a blur.

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  12. Oh, I learned while reading this. Listen, be patient, chat to strangers. Just imagine that lady living on her country land with the sheep, horses and dogs, and aging and wondering how much longer she can do it. Everybody has a story and you shared some precious ones with us today.

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  13. Der letzte Satz macht still. Ließ mich schlucken.

    Hier gibt es so gut wie kein soziales Sicherheitsnetz und viele würden ohne familiäre Hilfe es kaum schaffen. Ärzte und Apotheken streiken alles naselang, geben Medikamente nicht auf Rezept, sondern oft nur gegen bar.
    Hoffentlich bleibt der September ruhig.

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  14. Thanks Friko, I needed to read something like this. I will keep learning. I will endeavour to "show willing" more often.
    Beautiful post.

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  15. I am joining in the chorus. This is a beautiful post and listening to people is a gift - sometimes a very big one indeed.

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  16. You're good at opening the reader's eyes. I felt like I was right there.

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  17. I'll echo the other comments. It's a good reminder to me to be thankful for my health and to be compassionate towards others. Your listening ear was a gift to those in that waiting room.

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  18. I can still see, and sometimes when I read something like this I remember to be thankful for that. Sight is one of the most important senses, to me anyway. Thanks for the great read. :-)

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  19. Oh, I loved-loved-loved this!! I could feel my heart opening as I read. Compassion is good for the soul, they say. It can also leak out your eyes a little. :):) Thanks so much for sharing this!!

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  20. Hello:
    How well you recreate the atmosphere of the waiting room in the eye clinic, somewhere which we know from our own experience each year when we attend for the monitoring of diabetes. We are afraid to say that, rather like you, we try to avoid all contact with the other patients, anxious not to become a part of the 'club' atmosphere which they appear so keen to create.

    Our recent trip to Venice has occasioned our missing some of your previous posts; we are happy to be back in touch.

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  21. Blindness is one of my biggest fears - this is a lovely post, thanks for putting it up.

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  22. I enjoy those one-sided conversations with old people. I was in a used book store a week ago and a woman came in and asked, "Is this a regular library?" The owner explained that it was a used book store. The newcomer told us she reads a book a day and "I'm seventy-five! So you figure that out. I bet I've read a million books."

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  23. I actually enjoy talking to people in a waiting room because it makes the time go by faster, especially if I am there alone. I try to never be intrusive and just talk about general things and usually I can tell which people do not want to talk and so I never bother them unless they jump into the conversation. I have discovered that weather is almost always the best conversation opener. It is the one experience that everyone is going through at that time.

    I really do love how you have described everything so well in the waiting room. Just a perfect description of what is going inside the office. Your eye doctor's waiting room is a lot more interesting than mine is.

    Thanks so much for sharing this story with this weeks Eyes Theme Thursday, a real eye opening story.

    God bless.

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  24. Come to the US. Americans love Germany. German-American is the largest ancestry group in the US.

    Wonderful story Friko. You have such a keen eye. Reminds me of P.D. James for capturing the moment.

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  25. There is much wisdom in this post, Friko.

    Every day we are given opportunities to connect with people in so many ways. Listening can bring joy, pain, irritation, surprise, information, and so much more.

    My work requires me to be a good listener. I find that this requirement has improved my patience in listening to others during my "off duty" hours.

    I am sure that your listening talent combines very, very well with your writing talent!

    Our enthusiasm for blogging also incorporates "listening" to what others have read.

    xo

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  26. Dear Friko, at the eye doctor to whom I go, we all sit in the waiting room also. But there is a television screwed to the wall and everyone is staring at it. So little, if any, talking. So more and more there's less and less actual speaking one to one in our country what with tweeting and e-mailing and Facebook and televisions mounted on the wall. Peace.

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  27. well, yes, what you put out there is what you get back.

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  28. I guess I'm a recluse at heart for I rarely strike up conversations with strangers while waiting for anything. I'd rather read.

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  29. What a contrast to the dentist's waiting room where I found myself recently with a dozen other people, all sitting in complete silence. If only I'd had the courage to start up a conversation with someone. I'm sure it would have eased my nervousness, and perhaps theirs, too. I'll remember your post next time I'm in a waiting room.

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  30. Some lovely peeks into other people's lives- I will talk to just about anyone because I love these snippets- it's more than being nosy, it's an interest in the human condition. Thank you for the lovely comments on my blog, and for following me- I really like the mindful feel of your writing so I am following you also :-)

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  31. I read this with great interest, having just visited the eye doctor Thursday PM. I depend on my vision so much and worry as I see it change with the years. But your elderly lady with 9 dogs, a donkey, and 400 sheep gives me hope.

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  32. I always feel like a late entry when I read your blog; there are so many comments ahead of me. But I loved "All you have to do is show willing." Amen.

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  33. Your eye clinics must be much busier than the ones I go to. I only ever see a couple of people and they are in and out in no time.

    I had to laugh when I read your profile where you used to have time to bake and clean etc.... Sounds like I could have written that. Blogging sure takes a lot of time, Doesn't it?

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  34. This, in particular, stopped me in my proverbial tracks: "In spite of her very poor sight she still lives on her small-holding, has 400 sheep, two horses and a donkey and eight or nine dogs." We should all do as well, no? You've once again offered a perfect, true slice of life, and, in a way, Beloved says it best: 'Can you see?' offering my arm. 'Enough', he says over his shoulder, as he strides towards the sliding doors and out of the clinic."

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  35. I'm trying to understand why the daughter with the slightly-strained smile said, "Mum, don't."

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  36. Lovely post Friko, beautifully written.

    I often stumble (poor balance) and blame it on the drink (I wish!) too...

    Anna :o]

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  37. Last time I was at mine an extremely ancient patient , even by eye clinic standards , was being led about by son and grandson , who kept on chatting to each other over his head . I felt rather indignant on his behalf .... till the conversation came round to what to have on their takeaway pizzas that night . Grandpa came to life and wanted salami on his .
    And congratulations to Beloved !

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  38. Such a very nice post Friko! I like her comment you only have to show willing.

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  39. The show willing comment is a gem. I found that, once I became a writer, I became much more interested in paying attention to people. And that once I did that, I found I liked them much more than I expected.

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  40. " The old people don't really want me to add anything to their ramblings. A friendly ear is enough. "

    "I find it all depends on you", she says, "if you treat people with respect and friendliness, that's what you get in return. All you have to do is show willing."

    One in the eye for me! My willingness to 'show willing' is too often invisible, hidden by impatience or lack of interest."


    Dear Friko- I used to be interested in older people. Now I am interested in caring for ourselves as we become them. Such a wise post! I know many will see the first layer of wisdom and think this post well-done, but I am beginning to glimpse the deeper shadings of knowledge deeper in the pool, and you have shown me truly valuable glimmers of understanding and direction.

    Thank you.

    Aloha, Friend
    from Honolulu
    Comfort Spiral
    =^..^=

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  41. 'One in the eye for me!' Very apt in the context of this story.

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  42. I smiled to see Suze's puzzlement over the younger woman who said, "Mum - don't". I can't quite explain it, but I feel it - that combination of tiredness, exasperation, guilt and love that's the lot of the child-turned-parent. And of course there's experience behind those words, too. The daughter knows quite well what her Mum is capable of - we don't!

    When my own eyes began going, I was terrified. It's such a blessing that so many older people can have their lives enriched and be kept independent by the new treatments. I'm not sure I'm up for 400 goats, but I'd surely like to keep my kitty and I going for a while!

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  43. I enjoyed reading this blog, Friko. A good human interest story - Dave

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  44. You have a wonderful ear for speech, Friko. Each of the people in this lovely post was a real personality, each with their own life and circumstances, captured in a few sentences. I once heard an elderly aunt excuse her own collision with a doorjamb in exactly the same turn of phrase, but without having a daughter to be embarrassed.

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  45. My eyes are very precious now.
    This your story goes much deeper.
    Eyes to see are not the same as eyes we feel around with.

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  46. Listening to people is a very significant part of what I do. Now that my spouse is gone I find I welcome people who are willing to listen just a little bit to me.

    As for vision and eyes, my mother became legally blind beginning in mid-life. I was acutely aware all my life of her needs and adaptations -- she was amazing -- living independently almost until 90 yrs, even after a slight stroke a couple years earlier -- with a mind bright and alert her entire life. So, I've been seriously sensitive to what might happen with my vision though her issues weren't any I might inherit. I did require cataract surgery on both eyes while still in my sixties and am grateful every day of my life that procedure was developed in my lifetime. So, I'm still able to drive and continue to work professionally part time -- providing rehab treatments for older adults.

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