“Which is better? Option 1 or 2? 1 or 2?”
I lean forward in the optometrist’s chair, trying to focus on the letters on the screen, trying to decide which option appears clearer. I brush the awareness of trace smells of disinfectant away as I try to concentrate. Which option *was* better?
Peering through multiple lenses of a bulky apparatus, my brain struggles to make sense of what I’m seeing. I want to say they look about the same, but I’ve only been given two options and “same” is not one of them. What if I choose the wrong one and I’m stuck with glasses that aren’t best suited to me? Glasses are expensive. Especially when you’re self-employed without benefits and your prescription requires the thinnest lenses – which, of course, cost the most. Oh dear, the doctor is waiting for my answer. Why am I so slow??
I notice my heart starting to beat faster and my palms getting sweaty. Why is this so stressful? It’s just a routine eye checkup! Keep it together, Olive.
My brain is spiraling and I don’t know how to stop it. I know what’s coming next and I’m filled with dread.
Tears.
I start to cry. Great. Just what I need. Now I really can’t see!
I’m too mortified and embarrassed to show that I’m crying. But the doctor notices and offers me a tissue.
Awkward silence.
“Can we… Can we go slower?” I manage to sputter.
“Sure,” he says. But the damage has already been done. My brain feels unraveled and I cannot fully trust my answers. I go home with a prescription and buy a new pair of glasses, only to return them after two days. I tell myself I’ll try again next year.
—
That was last year, when I was aware of my autism but hadn’t felt comfortable disclosing it yet. I went home feeling utterly defeated and ashamed that day, wishing I could just keep pace with everyone else.
Because of my extreme myopia (near-sightedness), I’m at risk for certain diseases and conditions and I need to get checked yearly. I also desperately need new glasses because mine are all scratched up. So this year, I resolved to do better.
This year, when they ushered me into the examination room, the first thing I said was, “I learned that I’m autistic and that my brain needs some extra processing time. Can we please take it slower?”
Actually, no. The first thing I blurted out was, “Don’t I need to do the pre-test with the machines and retinal photos first?” Because that’s the way it had always been done and what I was mentally expecting. (Hello autistic love for routines!)
My very kind doctor simply chuckled and told me we were going to do this part first today. THEN, I told him about my autism and asked that we go slower. He responded that we could definitely go at whatever pace I was comfortable with.
This time, the appointment went much more smoothly. It was still hard for me to stay focused and decide between option 1 and 2, but I felt more relaxed. I also didn’t cry. And to my great relief, I came away with not only a clean bill of health for my eyes, but also a revised prescription I felt confident about.
Learning to advocate for myself hasn’t been easy – especially as a woman who has spent decades people pleasing. But I am proud of how I handled myself this time. And even more, I’m proud of the fact that I can give myself the grace to grow and try again.
Bonus: I got new glasses that actually feel good and help me see better.