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Slowly but surely, the gears of the government machinery grind we, the grist. Two months after beginning the process, I've moved on to the next step -- or, to switch metaphors, I've jumped through my first hoop since falling into that proverbial safety-net.

This week, I had to go to Stevens Point, to get my vision tested for Social Security Disability Insurance (SSDI). Given the lengths to which people will go to cheat the system, I can understand the need for an unbiased opinion by a doctor of their choosing, in fact I think it's necessary, but I don't see the need to take it out of town. There are other ophthalmologists in Wausau, but for some reason they chose one which required transportation. This was not a serious problem, it was only about 35 miles and Julie was available to take me, but the last time I had to jump through their hoops, at least they (the hoops) were here, in Wausau.

"When he asks you to read the chart, say 'What chart?' When he says 'The one on the wall,' say 'What wall?' Then, when you're walking out of the office, walk face-first into the door," said my friend, Joe, the last time I went through this battery of tests, in the early '80's -- although the visual-field measurement was waived this time around due to insufficient acuity. In both cases, though, despite that friendly advice, I submitted to all of the tests in earnest.

Of course I had to be subjected to those eye-drops that make my eyes dilate so that the ophthalmologist can get a better look at my retinas through a larger aperture. This really sucks, because it makes everything look ten times brighter than normal for the rest of the day. But, being experienced in these matters, I was prepared with my dark glasses, so it wasn't too bad this time. I hate eye-drops. Even Visine(tm), which isn't really unpleasant in itself, but an anticipatory response makes me blink just in time for the drop to splash on my eyelid. It's a good thing that the doctor's assistant administered the three different types of drops, or I'd still be there --asking for another box of tissues.

The drops -- I don't remember what they're called -- have to be given some time to work, so it's back to the waiting room for half an hour, during which time, the assistant came by to administer another drop in each eye -- she gave me some fresh tissues too. None of this is new to me, I've got childhood memories of playing with squeaky-toys while waiting for the drops to take full effect, after which I am taken back to the big chair in the dark room where the man with the light in his eye looks closely into my eyes. First one eye then the other, all I can see is the light in his eye shining directly into my eye, so close I can hear his every breath. Not much has changed since then, but they now use an apparatus wherein I rest my chin and forehead so that the doctor doesn't have to keep saying "hold still," and there were no squeaky-toys in the waiting room.

All in all, the inspection was not disagreeably rigorous nor unexpectedly bothersome. Perhaps the grinding of grain is too strong a metaphor, maybe sands through an hourglass would better serve my meaning, but this time through the mill -- or the bottleneck -- there is no question as to my eligibility.

Though style doesn't count, I'm just trying to run, walk, or stumble the course and get through the hoops as gracefully as possible. So far, so good.