On August 20, I had my first real outing in almost six months. I was going to leave the safety of my apartment, get into my car and drive a few miles to attend an arranged meeting with actual live people.

This was truly an occasion! I even washed the back window of my car. I showered, put on a dress, carefully applied make-up  and strapped sandals, rather than my reliable sneakers, onto my feet. My outfit was complete when I put on a colorful mask. This is the mask that always prompts delightful compliments such as, “Oh, what a beautiful mask!”

I arrived at my destination on time, and the doors opened automatically.  I was greeted by a woman wearing a mask (not as fashionable as mine) and she blocked my way until she took my temperature. Then she presented me with some blue rubber gloves that were a perfect match with my dress. Then she pointed the way to a desk where I was asked to present my photo I.D. and health insurance cards.

Looking around the room, I noticed a few other guests sitting in chairs far-far away from me. I picked a chair that did not have a sign on it reading, “Do Not Sit Here!” I assumed  those signs meant,  “If you sit in one of these chairs, we will drag your butt out of it.” Some party! We were sitting so far away from each other that we weren’t even in shouting distance.

In a few minutes, a masked young man—don’t know how old he was, but his voice had already changed—called my name and asked me to follow him. We entered a small cubicle. He didn’t offer me a cocktail, but he did spray my chair with alcohol before I sat down. He then asked me,”How’s your vision?” I said, “That’s for me to know and you to find out.” Then he wiped off a hand-held vision doo-dad, and said, “Keep your glasses on and we will check it out one eye at a time. That didn’t go so well, because, since I was still breathing under my mask, my glasses fogged up. However, I did pretty well under the circumstances.

After he got the information he needed, he escorted me into the room where I would be greeted by he host of this soiree, Dr. Wong, who is such a good Retina doctor that his dance card is full. I was hoping that Chinese food would be on the menu, but I got three different kinds of drops into my eyes instead.

Dr. Wong looked deeply into my eyes and told me that he didn’t want to see me for another year. I took the rejection well, since his good report was the best party favor I could ever receive. Since the festivities were over, I threw away my blue rubber gloves, and drove home partially blinded by the drops. I washed my dress, wiped off the bottom of my shoes and took a shower.

Can’t wait to see what my next outing will be like.  Hope the Dermatologist will also throw a good party. After all, I’ve got some skin in that game.

Esther Blumenfeld