Today was the day of my annual (or thereabouts) eye check up at the Royal Infirmary. I moseyed on down the hospital for an appointment first thing and went through the usual procedures.
We started off with the standard eye-sight test which involves reading letters off a board. This is done by looking at the board via a mirror, for reasons I’ve never been able to fathom.
As always the top line was ludicrously easy and so it remained until we got down to the bottom of the chart. “Q. A. Blob. Squiggle. Probably a B. Might be a C.” and so on. Anyway, apparently I have the eyes of a hawk or something equally silly.
I was then strapped to the photo machine and systematically blinded in both eyes with the extraordinarily bright flash. At least – thank heavens – the Drops of Doom™ weren’t needed.
Drops of Doom™, which dilate the pupils to the size of dinner plates, are designed purely to torture poor, innocent diabetics. When they’re inflicted on me I invariably spend the next two hours stumbling around and shying away from bright light like Dracula’s diabetic son.
Anyway, we soon had some cool pictures of my eyes up on the screen in front of us. They looked like a cross section of a particularly unpleasant meatball from an unhygienic café. But according to the eye-photo-taking-guy (I’m sure he has a proper title) they showed no signs of retinopathy or anything else that sends metaphoric shivers down the spine, which was nice to hear. The pictures will go off to the Edinburgh Eye Pavilion through a more thorough check and I’ll get the formal results in a week or two.
One thing that has irritated me about the eye screening in Edinburgh is that it is now done separately from the normal clinics. This means two trips instead of one to the hospital, which is a pain given the Royal Infirmary is as easily accessible on public transport as the North Pole. (Well, it is from where I live – and that’s the important thing).
So I was prepared for a good, angry rant about this inconvenience and the madness of separating eye-screening from the general clinic. But before I had a chance to go off on one, the eye-photo-taking-guy (what is his title?) asked if I would like to have my eyes done at my local GP surgery in future. Apparently they’ve done this for ages and it’ll be extremely convenient for me as my surgery is exactly equidistant between work and home and I was changed to the new venue there and then.
A good result, but a great opportunity for a rant was lost. You just can’t win, eh?