Don't pay them anything!

         Once, early in our friendship, Nellie took it into her head that she needed glasses. Her eyesight wasn't very good and seemed to be getting worse, and she complained fretfully that soon she might be blind. So, since she insisted that it had to be done, we arranged for her to visit an optometrist. Medride could take her, but there was a problem; Nellie cannot speak English and it's nearly impossible to get accurate prescription eyeglasses if one cannot communicate with the doctor. I would have to go along. Accordingly, I arrived around nine-thirty on the morning of her appointment to find her awake but not at all happy about it--she had barely finished breakfast and was having trouble getting her clothes on. Apparently, Nellie's mornings do not usually begin so early. Attendants scurried to escape her frustrated wrath as I entered and declared hopefully that it was a beautiful morning. She growled at me in reply, but managed to scrape together a bit of civility by the time the van was ready to pick us up.

             The optometrist, whom I'd never met before that day, was a gentle man who did his best to accommodate my adopted babushka once he understood the situation. We waded through the eye exam, hoping that Nellie understood the questions, and finally arrived at a prescription and chose a pair of frames. The trouble hit when the sweet receptionist asked for her co-payment; since Nellie did not have any money, I proceeded to pay for her--and Nellie nearly came unglued. "Why should you have to pay anything? I have insurance, right? Why do you need to pay any more than that? You shouldn't pay! They shoudn't make you pay! Don't pay them anything."

            I tried to calm her. "That's the way it works, Nellie. Almost any doctor you visit will ask for a little bit of money, because the insurance won't pay for your visit right away. It's alright, it's not very much. Don't worry. It's just the way it works." Nellie couldn't believe that we weren't being cheated, swindled, and downright hoodwinked; she shouted and cried and stormed, but finally let me pay the small amount. The glasses would be ready in a few days, so I took my exhausted friend home and planned to go back with her to pick them up on my next day off.

            Our next visit to the optometrist (not quite so early in the morning, this time) passed practically painlessly. The doctor adjusted her frames and sent us on our way, probably glad to be finished with the unreasonable Russian lady. Back at the nursing home, I expected Nellie to put her glasses on at once, but she shut the case in her drawer and told me she was too tired.

            You may imagine my feelings. Not cowed in the slightest, however, Nellie refused to wear her new glasses—not that day, not once since. At least, not once that I know of. There are some things no girl can understand.