An oversight
Here we go again.
I have to head off in an hour or so for another hospital visit.
This time it’s an eye thing where they will take great delight in blinding me with bright lights, dilating my pupils so everything is too bright and the ultimate – poking things into my eyeballs. If the nuisance of this trip isn’t enough, they’re going to make another appointment for another trip in the next few days to see the specialist who will tell me that all the tests show I’m fine.
Actually I’m not fine. My sight has changed a bit over time and I need new spectacle lenses but I have put off making an appointment with that lot until the current madness subsides somewhat. This afternoon’s mob are only interested in one thing and that’s whether my eyeballs are going to explode. They couldn’t give a shit about whether I can see clearly through said eyeballs, just so long as they can charge me for their time. Maybe I should charge them for my time?
To be honest it wouldn’t surprise me if things aren’t fine today. I am supposed to put drops into my eyes every night [and they can suddenly sting sometimes which isn’t funny] and for a while I forgot. When I have to take eight tablets and capsules every morning, another eight [or sometimes ten] tablets and capsules at night and then spray stuff up my nostrils morning and night followed by ramming q-tips covered in ointment up each nostril morning and night, it’s very easy to overlook sticking eyedrops into each eye every night.
Oh the joys of growing old…
Oh the joys of growing old…
That's what my missus often says to me, (but she expresses it a little more basically) – and I invariably point out that getting old is better than the alternative.
Agreed
Hearing aids, bifocals, and an upper partial all stuck on or in my head. Bad back, bad gut however, I'm still upright and I can still run a lawn tractor, weed whacker and snowblower. I can even go for walks with my wife and drive a car.
Good luck with your eye appointment though. I know the sensation.
The only one of the above that I can't do is drive a snowblower. But that may be down to not having one…..
Over here in Scotchland a visit to the optician, opthalmologist, optomatrist or whatever they are called this week also involves photographs of the inside of the back of your eyeballs, which look like artists impressions of the planet Mars in 1950s sf magazine covers. Very red, with a canal system.
Then there is the mini blow-job, a sudden puff of air against the front of the eyeball which tells the internal pressure of the eye by the resulting distortion. An indication that your eye may explode.
You can get excellent specs on the Interweb once you have your prescription.
The mini blow-job is the one I hate. The mob I went to today use a different method which invoves poking the eyeball with what looks like a metal rod. I don't know which is worse.
Incidentally, my results today were perfect. Normal pressure in all my eyes.
How many eyes do you have? I only ask because you sound like you have more than two.
Two in front and the mythical one in the back of my head where I watch what the Grandkids are up to behind my back.
Hi Grandad
I've been reading your site for a few years now. As an 'older person' I find your views refreshing in the current state of the world. (For a while I thought it was just me)
Turning sixty tomorrow, I find getting older a real drag. I have massive vascular problems with my legs, but more importantly as someone who works with computers all day my eyes are going too.
Having read your stories, I can only wish you and Mrs GD all the very best for the future, however long that might be.
Eric
Welcome Eric and happy birthday! Sixty is nothing. Enjoy the next ten years because after that the troubles really start – worn piston rings, leaky valves, dodgy bearings, rust, corrosion and general metal fatigue.
It sounds like a 1960s psychedelic experience!
Far out Man !