The Price of Perfect Vision
I am back in Queensland, New York, a place of staggering contrasts, with a new mosque, stuck between a bar and a deli, under construction while I am camped out across the street, waiting at the Vision Center for a family member to have cataract surgery.
The surgeon, who is dressed like he just jogged in from Lower Manhattan, waltzes around the waiting room, asking patients which eye is to be worked on, their birth dates, and other questions that determined whether these dear souls knew their left from their right. When all questions were answered correctly, the surgeon marked over the eye of the day an X in magic marker.
The fleet-footed doctor spent most of his time with a man and a woman who seemed to be debating the virtues of short-sighted vs. long-sighted vision. I had learned from my family that most insurance will pay for lenses that will leave a patient either near or far-sighted. If you want perfect vision, it will cost thousands of out-of-pocket dollars.
The man looks about seventy and is holding a book, “Ancient Chinese Civilization.” I think he must be a professor. Perhaps it’s his socks. Perhaps it’s all the time that I have spent in a college classroom. I am sure China will come back into my revelry.
The woman seems to be in her mid-fifties and looks to be from Japan. I’m guessing based on the four years I spent in Asia while in the Navy and on dozens of business trips to Japan, South Korea and China over the last forty years. The woman seemed nervous and confused.
I note a HIPAA sign, an emblem of patients’ rights, reminding Vision Center employees not to talk about patients. I am beginning to feel a little guilty for listening as the eye surgeon seems a little taken aback by the patient’s confusion and reticence. After all, hadn’t they agreed to the type of surgery while in his office? He then suggests that the couple think about the surgery and decide whether or not to go through with it. The doctor would return in ten minutes or so.
After the surgeon left, the conversation between the couple resumed. The man did most of the talking, pantomiming with his book on China, extending his right arm as far as he could, suggesting with his hand motions that, if she had the near-sighted lens, she could see in the distance. I am thinking of the Great Wall of China. I remember a Chinese quote from one part of the wall: “But today, the past is no more than yellow dust.”
The woman seems very nervous and agitated. The man proceeds with his pantomime moving his China book back and forth, showing how her world would look should she choose a near-sighted or far-sighted lens. I had visions of him trotting images of the Chinese Terracotta Army, explaining that she could see these ancient funereal statues if she made the right choice.
Perhaps he did. Fox News was blaring from the large television screen above the couple’s heads while a dozen patients chatted, waiting for their turn. I’m not sure whether or not the woman had surgery. I have continued to think about the woman at the end of the man’s conversation. She barely spoke. I have no idea if she was fluent in English. From his words and antics, I got the sense that he was trying to convince the woman that choosing to be either short or far sighted wouldn’t be much of an inconvenience. She seemed to think it would make a world of difference. Her face showed her confusion and concern. She appeared to be seeing something different on the horizon and in their future.
I wondered whether everything within public earshot was simply grist for the professor’s mill and his theatrics. Was she seeing China more clearly than her interlocutor?
The pedestrian explanation of this Vision Center scene is that acquiring perfect vision in America is very expensive. I wonder whether the woman saw more clearly than I imagine. Did she see through this man’s professorial pantomime and with his far-sightedness, directly into his heart?
