Travel Blog

I never look forward to my visits to Bascom Palmer. Yes, it is consistently voted the best eye clinic in the United States. And my ophthalmologist, Dr. Lori Ventura, is a white-coated saint who combines an Italian motherliness with a Midwestern warmth.

But the waits are long - I arrived yesterday at 10:30 and was finished at 3:30 - and once my pupils are dilated I can no longer read. And the tests are unpleasant, particularly the visual field and the electroretinogram, in which I don a pair of glasses that make my ancient pair of tortoiseshells look fashionable. And there is all the stress of potential bad news - my ocular pressure has soared, I didn't see enough lights during the visual field - when I finally meet with Dr. Ventura.

Yesterday she had a student in tow who said he was visiting from New Haven. "Yale?" I asked, and he said yes. A few visits back some Harvard students had said that they were from Boston (not even Cambridge!). Along with everything else, Ivy League schools apparently also teach modesty.

This young man seemed very interested in my eyes - not many students have seen histoplasmosis - and I didn't mind being looked over, especially since Dr. Ventura had told me that everything looked stable and I was relieved. He politely asked my permission before conducting his exam, and repeatedly said "please" and "thank you." I told him he could take all the time he needed since my dinner appointment wasn't till 7:30.

It was with a friend back from Europe, over at Azul in the Mandarin Oriental. We got the chef's six-course tasting menu and as beautiful dish after beautiful dish appeared - my pupils had now returned to their normal size and the world was no longer a blur - it occurred to me that this was the perfect way to end a stressful day. Perhaps if I made it a tradition I wouldn't mind so much going to see the ophthalmologist.