Earlier this year, I had my annual eye check-up. Not something I was looking forward to as I had the feeling that the slowly growing cataract in my left eye would finally be big enough to warrant being removed.
And it was. My optician said she would send her recommendation to the eye clinic at the Queen Alexander Hospital in Portsmouth. They would then, if they agreed with her, agree to see me to discuss the next stage.
Ever since that day, despite my eyesight fading fast, I have not been able to stop the nightmare of having someone slicing away at my eyeball.
But wait, the nightmare was about to get much worse.
The hospital duly agreed to see me, so it would seem I wouldn’t be escaping the knife after all. The day of my appointment arrived and the eye specialist, after administering drops to my eyes, proceeded to make his own judgement.
You could have pushed me over with a feather when he started going on about my right eye. How bad he thought it was and how he would be glad to sort it out for me. At first, I thought I had made a mistake (it does happen these days) but after a quick think, I realised it was he who had made the mistake. Of course, being a stroppy cow at the best of times, I wasn’t about to smile sweetly and thank him, was I?
Not on your life.
When I mentioned what my optician had said, he listened and then repeated what he was going to do, to my right eye. My turn to listen, and then I asked if he had received her letter. To be fair, he did find it in my file and read it but didn’t change his mind. He did, however, offer to see me again to conduct more tests.
To cut a long story short, I thanked him and left in a dignified manner. Straight round to my optician to see what she thought I should do. Her opinion was unprintable, but she did recommend that I go for the tests just to see what would happen. He is the only eye specialist around here, so it was worth checking out. If I didn’t like what he said, he wouldn’t see me for dust!
Two months later (this was last week) I presented myself for these tests. To say I had misgivings would be putting it mildly, but I needed to check this out, as my eyesight is getting worse by the minute.
Drops were administered and I waited for the tests to begin. But I was shown into the inner sanctum and told to put my chin on this contraption. After the briefest of inspections of both of my eyes, he sat back and I swear he was smirking and said they would be doing nothing to my eyes this year and maybe not next year either.
I stared at him with admirable composure, my mind turning somersaults. So many things could have happened then, and in my mind, I was tearing his hair out with my bare hands. After the briefest of pauses, I stood up, thanked him politely and turned to leave. As I reached the door, he said, “So good to see you again…” and this time he was definitely smirking.
Now, was I imagining all those things he had said about my right eye way back at the original appointment?
It would seem that I must suffer from my diminishing eyesight indefinitely unless I see someone else next year.
I wonder if this is even possible?