Routine maintenance
In my future, I hope to look back on this period in my life and simply shake my head. That is, I hope to be able to look back. Part of the downside of deteriorating eyesight is that blur is more than a band name.
But, I now find parallels between my body and an older car. Both wear out, both need repairs, both will never look quite as shiny as that day in the dealership. And I have no intention of sending the body off to a body shop for a rebuild (is that possible, yet?) However, routine maintenance is an acceptable compromise.
I’m now part of the provincial health system. From time to time, they call me. I get offered choices of dates for my tuneups. And when I get to the human equivalent of the corner garage, I am treated rather well. Simply show my warranty card (issued by the ministry of health and whatever) and within hours I’m on my way.
Today was pressure check time. My eyes are slowly ballooning, and the valves are disfunctional. We’ve tried drops, laser therapy, massage, scalpel sessions. None are conclusive, so right now I’m getting the combo meal. Two sets of drops, regular inspections, etc. Out of the blue (that’s a blur colour), I was invited to cross the hall and sit in the black chair. Then, after application of magic drops that dilate and anaesthesize, the good doctor pressed a lens against my cornea and hit me with fifty careful laser bursts. Take that, Star Wars fan.
An hour later, after a second pressure verification, I sprinted the 700 metres to the nearest bus stop and returned to my cubicle. After all, this is the mundane side of health care.
