|
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAIRSIDE Find the Artiste Within by Montgomery Vickers, O.D. Dr. Bodie used to speak about the "art and science" of contact lens fitting, and he used to finish his thoughts by declaring that the task was definitely more art than
science. I never really believed that until I turned 43. I am now 46, and many of you completely forgot my birthday. At 43 I became a presbyope. Monday I was not a presbyope. Tuesday I was. Don't
give me any sludge about how it was a gradual onset and I just noticed it on Tuesday. I am here to tell you that the patients were right all along. Monday I was not.
Tuesday I was. So it was time to make adjustments in my glasses and contact lenses. I learned a lot from that first progressive addition lens. For example, I learned that the
two biggest problems in presbyopia are: 1) Presbyopes cannot see their food unless they wear their bifocals; and 2) presbyopes cannot lie in bed and watch TV
unless they don't wear their bifocals. Truly, is there anything in the world more important than the pleasure one gets from stuffing one's face and from watching the
Playboy channel after the wife falls asleep? I've learned that presbyopia is so very devastating. But what about contacts? I wear contacts. Just consider all the options: monovision,
bifocals ... uh ... monovision! Well then, consider all TWO of the options. My in vivo research as to the efficacy of monovision in the early moderately myopic
presbyopic male demonstrated with utter clarity that monovision, in a word, stinks. My head seemed to be the size of a sphygmomanometer bulb. I felt like I had been
doing shots of tequila to wash down Scottish haggis. Who was that guy that left his sock in my mouth? In college I knew guys who would pay good money to feel that way. Hey, come to
think of it, they're my age, so as we speak, these poor souls are already paying good money at your offices for this yucky feeling. Ask the next 46-year-old guy that
comes in if he went to Washington and Lee (but don't mention my name; I probably owe him some beers). What about bifocal contact lenses? Now we are back to my main subject—art. You
probably wondered what happened to art. I actually love bifocal contact lenses. I can't actually wear them, but there are three legitimate reasons for this:
1) My K's are like 50.00D, so they move a bit too much. 2) I rotate the contact lens companies that I'm mad at. This month it's the bifocal contact bunch.
3) Although I respect my dear optometric colleagues, I don't need a doctor to fit the lens. I need an artiste.
Success in bifocal contact lenses requires way more art than science. Dr. Bodie was right (again). Remember the first time you saw a Picasso and thought, "Hell's bells, my 2-year-old
could draw a two-headed horse like that?" No, she can't. The problem with Picasso is not what he draws. It's you. It's what you see. It's what you THINK you SHOULD
see. It's what you saw the last time you looked at a horse. For a presbyope, it's the same. How do you fit bifocal contact lenses? Be Dr. Picasso. Hell's bells ... your 2-year-old
could do that. Scientists beware. With baby boomers, it's art, man. Collect on your beer debt from Dr. Vickers by writing him at Review of Optometry, 201 King of
Prussia Road, Radnor, PA 19089; or send an e-mail to reviewofoptometry@jobson.com.
|
| | | | | | | |
Art is in the eye of the beholder. I know what you're thinking—I should have said beauty and not art, but I mean art. I think Paul Simon said that before he
dumped Garfunkel. Even though there is no real connection, that statement makes me think of contact lenses. These days, presbyopic contact lens addicts are demanding that O.D.s create art, so you have no choice but to get on board.
