Ophthalmologist

Another visit to the eye specialist. The easy two-word option; much easier than laboriously working my way through the spelling of ophthalmologist - spell checker or no spell checker.

This is a medical appointment that I’m never entirely relaxed about. 

The first part is the easy bit.  The technician sits me in front the eye chart and starting at the top I work my way down the lines. The top lines are easy; it’s a different story on the last line with it’s tiny, tiny print.  There’s much squinting and grimacing and hesitation and wild guesswork on my part as I work my way across this last line.

The fieldwork test takes place in what might pass for a broom cupboard with double doors, at the end of a short corridor.

 The fieldwork test is not so fearsome, it requires concentration. Watching the little red dot and pressing the button when you see a brief flashing light elsewhere on the screen. My concentration and reflexes flag and I’m damned if I know whether I’ve imagined the flashing light or total paralysis has set in and there will be huge blanks on the screen and the verdict will be that I am as blind as a bat.

It’s the third stage which I really detest. The pressure test which makes me want to pull away from the eye contact and which does not impress the ophthalmologist one little bit. I opted for concentrating on my breathing and at last it was all over.

And some good news. The suspected glaucoma from the previous consultation did not appear this time.  I now have the cataract surgery to look forward to and that is some way into the future.

I walked out the surgery door, skipped along the street and into the nearest café for a restorative coffee.