As the lights dim, the saga continues
This week, I’m starting a new chapter in my personal saga: me vs the eyeballs.
Consider a condition that has no pain, but the results cannont be reversed. Such is the world of glaucoma. You know how, when you go to the restaurant for supper, and the person tasked with the dimmer switches lowers the intensity of illumiation. At first, barely perceptible. With time, though, the vegetalbes lose color, form. You have to hunt for your butter knife. Thangs are disappearing from view, even though the exture and tast of your food are unchanged.
My own experience is that when you tell people that things are hazy, they assume you mean the fog outside. Not always.
This weel, I called my (new and untested) eye doctor’s office. Gota a callback, and when I mentioned “hazy” the pace kicked up. An appointment for the next day. And so, today, I returned to the murky chambers of eyeball maintenance. They (the medical staff), are able to give you numbers about the internal ocular pressure. Not anything I could do at home, as it requires precise expensive equipment and a certain mix of chemical soup (numbs the eye, while they probe, physically.
Fpr me, the baseline of 16 has soard to 54 (a new personal record, albeit not one that I wanted). This is a no-win contest. Right now, I’m ingesting pills that will makeme pee and adding a round or two of my preferred drops. Once the pressure is “under control”, I’ll be shuttled off to a larger city, with more expensive medical toys. Surgery, perhaps within the week. Not how I wanted to greet the new year.
I am stoic. Nothing gained by shouting out the wondow, or into a tightly clenched handtowel. More to follow.
