My version of the witch’s brew
If you ever wonder whether you are proficient enough in another language, forget the simple tests. Ordering breakfast, or checking the alternate route to the subway don’t count in the real world. Instead, try discussing pharmaceutical interactions, or the alternatives to invasive surgery while referring to your own eyeball. Keeps you on task, believe me. It also proves just how much of a second language world is dependent on synonyms and analogies.
I’m now at Day 10 in the treatment of a severe ocular infection. The doctor used the term “fulminante” which made me think of early explosives, but he simply wanted to refer to the rapid onset of symptoms. All is forgiven, because I’m moving (albeit slowly) from a state of one-sided blindness to one-sided blur. Blur beats blind. There’s been very little pain, but fear is just as much a motivator.
My clinical technique is improving. To appear credible, the doctor or nurse should sit at an angle to the patient, scribbling furiously. It requires asking the patient to repeat exactly what has happened since Day One (this is how they catch people out during murder investigations, and I’m sure there’s a parallel). The professional should reveal as few of the cards as possible (this is also true in poker, and I’m sure there’s also a parallel). Shining really bright lights, or dripping mysterious coloured solutions into the eye orbit are also part of the game. The patient should be willing to look up, down, sideways and combinations thereof, even when there is no vision. Of, and the alphabet is good for testing good eyes, only.
Back three years ago, I had “the treatment” for glaucoma. After various topical treatments, and a series of laser blasts, the doctor opted to cut and paste, (a trabulectomy), leaving me with a “valve” to relieve pressure and a holding area called a bleb. Recently, my bleb broke (again, no pain) and some wee tiny nasty bugs made their way into the sterile comfort of my eye. From where comes this tale of woe. On Day One, things looked pretty bad. You can click here, but don’t if you are afraid of reality.
Then, the drops began. A rotation, at one point at intervals below 30 minutes per intervention. A witch’s brew, devised by the finest chemists in the world (I hope). Here’s my recipe for improved vision:
Hint: my life is a world of synonyms.
- Vancomycin
- Prednisolone (corticosteroid)
- Garamycin (gentamicin)
- Atropine
- Ciloxan (ciprofloxacin hydrochloride)
and then (as of tomorrow morning) a second concoction:
- Zymar (gatifloxacin)
- Prednisolone (corticosteroid)
- Ciloxan (ciprofloxacin hydrochloride)
- Cosopt (dorzolamide hydrochlorate/timolol maleate)
I’ve experienced the Sidel test for aqueous leakage, I’ve had injections of antibiotic and suctions of an abcess; I’ve had enough. I just want to get better now. I’m ready for the job title of convalescent.
