Eye drama

So, last week I thought I was dying.

I went for a routine eye test.  I was pretty happy as being the stingy pom that I am I was getting it free on my private health care.  Not really enough to justify the financial output of private health care but that is a political rant for another time.  Oh how I miss the National Health Service.

Anyway, so back to death. The first time I went for the eye test, I realised I had forgotten my Medicare card and so could not get my test done.  This was following a mad dash across the city in rush hour to get my eyes tested. Oh well, it's not like its the first time I have forgotten something.  Anyway, the next week I went back equipped with my Medicare card.  Routine eye test was conducted.  My script hadn't changed much, blah blah blah.  But then the attractive optometrist, whilst gazing into my eyes with a camera thingy lets out a little oh....

On finishing the eye test, she referred back to her little oh, telling me that I had dark shadows in the back of my eyes where it should be pink.  With a casual shake of the head, she tells me I should come back next week so she can examine them further.  she comments she has never seen anything like it before and i feel like Alice when the white rabbit is commenting curiouser and curiouser.  She tells me she is going to have to put drops in my eyes to dilate the pupils so she can see what is going on.  I act relaxed, but inside I am already planning my own funeral.

I pretend to be relaxed as I tell Alana about the course of events whilst putting on a slight show of drama, highlighting that the optometrist has never seen anything like it whilst maintaining my super cool, aren't I brave bravado.  My lovely little wife sees right through this though.

As soon as she leaves me to step into the toilet, I'm on it, googling the cause of pigmentation at the back of the eyes.

I decide I have a bleed of the brain into the eyes.

I live with this worry for the week. Not helped by the headache I have on the weekend - further proof of my brain bleed (rather than the red wine I am drinking).  I make a few jokes at work, where my supportive boss tells me I am probably dying and my wonderful colleague tells me she will get me a guide dog.

I spend the week planning my return to the UK to celebrate my last few months of life.  It is a super plan as Alana is on maternity leave and so easily accompany me.

The day of the pupil dilating comes around.  I leave work in a hurry, only to realise I have left my wallet behind once I get to the opticians (complete with my Medicare card in). Thankfully the dude had recorded my Medicare number before.

Anyway, I have the drops. Alana is with me to drive me home, which is good as it feels like I have taken loads of ecstasy once the drops take effect.  I mean, I'm not hugging everyone and dancing to shit music, but, as my pupils dilate I can't focus on anything and everything looks pretty blurry.  It's fun for a bit as Alana takes pictures of my eyes and shows me the effect.

Anyway, I have another eye test.  I start to question whether it is normal that my eyes are aching.  I can feel my palms getting sweaty as I wait for the verdict.

It's like a bad episode of Home and Away as the optometrist shows me pictures of my eyes, complete with black bits.  The suspense is killing me.....

And then she tells me she's not sure what it is.  She thinks it is just normal for my eyes.

I'm not dying.  Although she does tell me that if I ever have any sudden flashes in my eyes, I'm to go straight to A&E.  I don't ask why.

Alana tells me she thinks it is because I am ginger.  And gay. And everyone knows that gingers don't have souls.