Hospital time moves differently. I don't think there is anybody who has been in a hospital and hadn't noticed this. Sometimes you sit there for what seems like days and a glimpse at the watch shows you it has been ten minutes. On the other hand some days you seem to run through all the meetings without waiting at all, and it still takes those same six hours. Exactly like the days when you sit and wait for hours. Everything works differently in the hospital, they are like their own little island of another reality and every time those electronic doors open, you step into the rabbit-hole. I never really knew that before the kids. I've been to hospital a few times over the years, but I was young and young people have a different way of looking at things. But ever since I had the kids and I started seeing too many doctors and spending too many hours in hospitals I know the truth. Visiting a hospital is like getting a dementor's kiss. Hospitals, although they are supposed to be places of healing, are the places that suck away all hope, and I can't help but feel I age ten years every single time I step into one.
It is no wonder that all those TV shows about hospitals only show you the lives of the doctors, because who wants to see the lives of the people in the waiting room?
But not before she gives us the official letter stating he has 40% vision. 40. Not 60 like the last letter. Not 50 like I tested him at home. 40. In what universe is 40% vision "great" or "ok" or "very well"? In the hospital universe. The same universe were the doctor thinks four years old are responsible enough to change between regular and sun glasses so they should have two pairs, the same universe were your file gets lost somewhere in the building and will "probably turn up before your next appointment". The same universe were they send you to family support a year after you get the first blow of "static-genetic-condition".
And this is how they send us away for six more months.
But on Monday we have our school advisor coming over to check how Yon is doing in school. And then (as she always does) she will look at us and all she sees is parents who are not doing enough. Parents who are in denial about the fact that their son can't see. Parents that are not fighting enough for their son. Parents who won't go the extra mile.
Until you really look at him. Until you notice all those little tale-tales signs he hides so well. Until you open the letter and see it in big bold writing - 40% vision.