fogie
A Fixture
We are on our way to the Eye Unit at Treliske Hospital
for my next round of treatment. Although I don't blunder
into the furniture or anything, the retinal occlusion in my
right eye has prevented me from painting for months
and I'm also unsafe to drive so Cheryl is at the wheel.
I press the dedicated link on my phone to tell them I've
arrived and within moments they spring the doors and
I head for a vacant chair, but no sooner has my bum hit
the seat and I've nodded to a couple of fellow patients I
remember from last time, than I'm in a preliminary exam
room and asked to read the eye chart. I manage the
giant 'A' at the top but the rest is just gibberish, and I'm
given some drops to dilate the pupils.
I enter another room in which a 'gee-whizz' piece of kit
produces astonishingly high res 3D images of my eye.
At the controls is someone clearly further up the chain
for she does not wear scrubs but rather elegant and
stylish 'civvies'. She is a registrar and looks about twelve.
I place my forehead and chin on the appropriate padded
rests and stare into the canon sized lens. I'm told to look
for a green cross but I can't see one anywhere green or
otherwise...Ah... there it is. The instant I focus on it I'm
blinded by a bolt of light and she is already staring at the
workings of my eye. She explains a few things but her
voice is soft and gentle, English is not her first language,
and as well as duff eyes I must be bloody deaf because
I can't follow a word. This doesn't seem to matter much for
will an artistic flourish she puts a mark over my right eye
with a felt tip pen.
More eye drops - anaesthetic ones this time - and I'm on
the couch in the treatment room trying to muster all my
'sang-froid' for this bit is scary. Treatment for my condition
means a series of injections directly into the eyeball. It
calls for great delicacy, ultra precision, and enormous
skill. The practioners work in pairs - checking, and cross
checking absolutely everything until they're both satisfied.
Then it's gentle banter to make me relax, more drops and
antiseptic swabs with special attention around the eyebrows
and lashes for all sorts of nasties lurk there apparently. They
tell me to look upwards and to the left and to keep still. One
of them positions her head so I can stare into her left eye It's
perfectly oval, the iris is brown with copper flecks, and is very
beautiful. She wears no make up but has twice as many
eyelashes as anyone else - surely nothing nasty could
possibly live there. I am totally unaware of the needle and
only feel a slight pressure in the back of my eye before
seeing a series of concentric ripples as it's withdrawn
and all at once we're done. More swabs, a few do's and
dont's when I get home and a cheerful 'see you next time'
and I'm heading to reception. I spot Cheryl - she's gossiping
with a couple of former colleagues. She retired a while ago
but I think she still misses it -she only has to hear the word
'hospital' and she responds like an old warhorse at the
sound of a bugle.
for my next round of treatment. Although I don't blunder
into the furniture or anything, the retinal occlusion in my
right eye has prevented me from painting for months
and I'm also unsafe to drive so Cheryl is at the wheel.
I press the dedicated link on my phone to tell them I've
arrived and within moments they spring the doors and
I head for a vacant chair, but no sooner has my bum hit
the seat and I've nodded to a couple of fellow patients I
remember from last time, than I'm in a preliminary exam
room and asked to read the eye chart. I manage the
giant 'A' at the top but the rest is just gibberish, and I'm
given some drops to dilate the pupils.
I enter another room in which a 'gee-whizz' piece of kit
produces astonishingly high res 3D images of my eye.
At the controls is someone clearly further up the chain
for she does not wear scrubs but rather elegant and
stylish 'civvies'. She is a registrar and looks about twelve.
I place my forehead and chin on the appropriate padded
rests and stare into the canon sized lens. I'm told to look
for a green cross but I can't see one anywhere green or
otherwise...Ah... there it is. The instant I focus on it I'm
blinded by a bolt of light and she is already staring at the
workings of my eye. She explains a few things but her
voice is soft and gentle, English is not her first language,
and as well as duff eyes I must be bloody deaf because
I can't follow a word. This doesn't seem to matter much for
will an artistic flourish she puts a mark over my right eye
with a felt tip pen.
More eye drops - anaesthetic ones this time - and I'm on
the couch in the treatment room trying to muster all my
'sang-froid' for this bit is scary. Treatment for my condition
means a series of injections directly into the eyeball. It
calls for great delicacy, ultra precision, and enormous
skill. The practioners work in pairs - checking, and cross
checking absolutely everything until they're both satisfied.
Then it's gentle banter to make me relax, more drops and
antiseptic swabs with special attention around the eyebrows
and lashes for all sorts of nasties lurk there apparently. They
tell me to look upwards and to the left and to keep still. One
of them positions her head so I can stare into her left eye It's
perfectly oval, the iris is brown with copper flecks, and is very
beautiful. She wears no make up but has twice as many
eyelashes as anyone else - surely nothing nasty could
possibly live there. I am totally unaware of the needle and
only feel a slight pressure in the back of my eye before
seeing a series of concentric ripples as it's withdrawn
and all at once we're done. More swabs, a few do's and
dont's when I get home and a cheerful 'see you next time'
and I'm heading to reception. I spot Cheryl - she's gossiping
with a couple of former colleagues. She retired a while ago
but I think she still misses it -she only has to hear the word
'hospital' and she responds like an old warhorse at the
sound of a bugle.
...
Good to hear from you...all is well with you and yours I hope.
