My profession is well known for many things: glasses, contact lenses, dilating drops, etc., etc., etc. But it seems that optometrists are most easily recognized by the infamous phrase, ‘which is better: one or two?’ It’s a phrase borne of routine, something repeated at every eye exam; those who wear glasses or contacts are well aware that when they sit in that chair to get an updated prescription, they will hear those familiar words. It is a phrase associated with decision-making; which one truly is better? Sometimes it’s an easy choice: ‘one’ is clear as a bell while ‘two’ resembles what comes out of your computer printer when it’s low on ink. But then, slowly but surely, the decision becomes more and more difficult, and before you know it, one and two are nigh indistinguishable from each other. This is when you separate those people who are truly decisive from those who spend an hour every morning just trying to pick out a shirt. The human brain can think many thoughts within a space of milliseconds; as a person who has been on both sides of the ‘which is better’ coin, I can sympathize with said thought process:
“Which is better they both look the same but I answered two last time and surely he wouldn’t make two the right answer twice in a row so the answer this time must be one but what if he knew I would think that and so he made two the right one again but there’s literally no difference between them and maybe I can ask him to show them to me again but then if he does that and they still look exactly the same and I hesitate he’s going to think I’m trying to give him a hard time but if only he could see what I see and what if I answer wrong and I get my new glasses and they’re the wrong prescription and I won’t be able to see road signs so I’ll get lost whenever I try to drive somewhere new and I’ll have to only go places that I’ve been before so that I don’t get lost.”
It only spirals downward from there. This is the process known as refraction, or the determination of one’s spectacle prescription (It also refers to the bending of light, which always blew my mind in school. I mean, who knew light could be bent? That’s almost as cool as those straws that have the little accordions built into them.). Refraction is a standard component of every eye exam, which is why the whole ‘one or two’ thing is so well known. Here’s a little secret: your eye doctor is not screwing with you during this procedure, I promise; in fact, sometimes I wonder if people are screwing with me while I’m doing my gosh-darndest to get them to see better. It’s like this little dance we do, call it The One or Two-Step.
For many optometrists, the art/science/alchemy of refraction is not sexy (oooo, he used the S-word). Many of us are much more interested in the more medically-oriented facets of the profession, and I’ll admit, eye diseases can be interesting to diagnose and treat (though not as interesting to the person afflicted by said disease). I’ll also admit that there are times when refracting a patient is one of the last things in the world I want to do at a given time, behind folding laundry and ahead of clipping my cat’s toenails (don’t tell him I said that; not that you could tell him, he’s unconscious 25 hours a day).
I can has narcolepsy?
But there are also times when refracting is very rewarding: when a child who has been squinting at the chalkboard (Smartboard? What the heck are teachers using these days? It’s like I graduated high school and suddenly all of the tech from Minority Report became ubiquitous.) realizes that all he/she needs is a pair of glasses and no longer needs to sit right under the teacher’s nose, or when a 40-something looks through those lenses at a reading card and proclaims that the words look so bold and clear, followed subsequently by the depression that sets in when you tell them they need bifocals (see previous post). These are the times when refraction shines.
So when I (or whoever your optometrist is) ask you to tell me which one looks better, don’t fret. I’m not going to say there is no right or wrong answer, because that’s not true. All I want you to do is be honest – with yourself, with me, with the phoropter (yes, that’s what that lens-flippy contraption is called). Don’t dwell on the question too much; if they both look the same, say so. We want to help you to see as well as you possibly can, not to try to trick you into wearing some gaudy Pepsi bottles (not Coke but Pepsi, I hear they pay more in sponsorship deals, hint hint Pepsi) that weigh five pounds and leave those permanent gouges in the bridge of your nose; we don’t secretly have a deal with a plastic surgeon who has promised us kickbacks for every nosejob we refer as a result of tissue/cartilage damage from a pair of titanium-framed window panes. We want you to see clearly and look cool in a pair of snazzy specs. Scout’s honor (Disclaimer: I was never a scout.).
One more question, or more of a public poll: would this phase of the examination be more interesting if the ‘one’ and the ‘two’ were replaced? For instance, ‘which is better: Abbott or Costello’, ‘iPhone or Android’, ‘chocolate or vanilla’, etc. I’d like to mix things up, but only if it makes things more lively without making them more confusing. As they say, variety is the spice of life.
Speaking of spice, which is better: coriander or oregano?
Apertis Oculis 