EYE EYE AGAIN

As if setting off for the North Pole, I donned hat, scarf and warmly-lined wellington boots. Obviously there was appropriate clothing in between. Mr A donned jaunty fur hat, scarf and strong walking boots. Obviously he too wore appropriate clothing in between. Our intrepid daughter drove through the lumpy icy snow and took us to the mainline station where we caught the train to London and trudged through puddles, slush, foreign tourists, Christmas market stalls and freezing-cold entertainers to St Thomas's Hospital.

The reason for the hasty trip was that my eye, operated on seven weeks ago, had developed a worrying scratchy pain, as if something was in it. I had thought I was out of the woods, but now a blooming great tree had loomed up. Well, more like a bit of grit actually, but I'm keeping the metaphor going. 

After the initial assessment in the Eye Drop-in Clinic - no I'm not going to make any obvious jokes - I was examined by a female doctor and this is how the conversation went:-

She: You have a yellow cyst under the top eyelid and that is what is causing the discomfort. It should disperse by itself but bathe it with hot water.

Me: Oh, I've been doing it with cold water but I'll ...

She (cutting in): Okay, do it with cold water.

As she spoke, the gritty pain was intensifying and I spoke my thoughts out loud.

Me: I feel as if an oily antibiotic would make it feel ...

She (cutting in again): Okay, if that's how you feel, that's what you need.

Me: But, but ... it's what you say ...

She (taking up a pen): I'll write out a prescription for an antibiotic ointment.

By then, my other eye was feeling scratchy.

Me: Can I put it in the other eye too.

She: If that's what you need, yes, put it in both eyes.

If I'd had my wits about me, I'd have said my navel was feeling scratchy so could I put it in there too. Also my ears and other orifices, some of them quite rude. There was no end to the fun I could have had. But, of course, I said nothing, being very grateful that the eye problem was nothing to do with the surgery and that my retina and other eye components had remained firmly in place.

Mr A and I bounced off to the Pharmacy Department with a spring in our booted feet and relief in our hearts. At least I'm assuming that Mr A's springy steps weren't merely to rush to a table to gobble our packed lunch and to battle with six across in the cryptic crossword that had so far eluded us.



   

It occurs to me that there should be different words for different sorts of lenses, and I'm not talking concave or convex here. I mean words that explain whether you are talking about the lens that is actually embedded in your eyeball or one that is in your spectacle frame.

I know they both do the same job, but at the eye clinic in St Thomas's Hospital, confusion reigned when, pointing to the left half of my spectacles, I told a nurse that a new lens had been fitted about two months ago. She, of course, saw me pointing to my left eye. Frowning, she riffled through my notes. Are you sure? she demanded. Yes, I said, slightly miffed that she could imagine I didn't know when I'd had the, frankly, expensive new varifocal photochromatic lens installed. I might be old, but I'm not doolally, I thought, rather morosely and, in hindsight, rather unfairly. 

However, under cross-examination, it gradually became clear that I was talking about my specs and she tutted in obvious exasperation. Which is why, now that I reflect on it, I think it would save confusion and irritation to use the term 'inside-eye-lens' for the one in your eyeball and 'spec-lens' for the other one. 

The 'inside-eye-lens' could be abbreviated to 'i-lens' (like i-phone and i-pod) and then the one that you have been born with could be your 'nat-i-lens' (nat = natural, if you haven't worked that out) and one that is a replacement lens made of silicone could be 'sil-i-lens'  for a laugh. (And following on from that, for women who have enormous solid silicone boobs jutting out, sili-breasts would seem an appropriate description and also another laugh!)



Whilst on the subject of appropriate and inappropriate nomenclature, for many years I have thought that professional sport is not actually sport, in as much as it is mostly not sporty. Whereas amateur sport, generally is - sporty that is. Therefore, the word for professional sport should be spelt backwards and become TROPS and then everyone would know what to expect. TROPS for games played for money. SPORT for games played for fun, exercise and the taking part. That's quite a relief to get that off my chest because it's been there for years, like undigested cheese.

Perm and eye op

 Since writing my last blog I have had a major eye operation and a perm. Both, so far, successful. The perm has given life and body to my still-brown-though-slightly-silvering locks in a modern kinky kind of way. The eye operation has given me a new lens and an eye-ball filled with salt water instead of the more traditional vitreous jelly which has been removed. When I asked if I could have the vitreous jelly to take home with me, a look of horror, if not revulsion crossed the consultant's face (and, in fact, the faces of everyone to whom I've revealed my jelly request) and he told me that the jelly was like transparent egg white and, as it is sucked out, the replacement salt water is squirted in. He used a differnt word from 'squirted' but you know what I mean. Could have fooled me it was like transparent egg white. More like frogspawn tangled up in fishing nets from my perspective. I've had to look through the stuff all my life and would have liked the chance to look AT it.

Never mind. My modified eye sees clearly and the new lens has made me realise how white pure white actually is. Not the rosy cream colour I still see with my other eye. An eye that will have to be dealt with when the trauma of this has subsided. What a brilliantly clever surgeon that Mr Alistair Laidlaw is. And dishy too! Just hope he concentrated on looking solely into my eye and didn't take in the unbecoming back-fastening robe, the tight white socks, and the unflattering mob cap I was obliged to be togged up in.