Politics?
Or following a medical strand?
Briefly touching on the upcoming NZ general election, to be held in November, where a lot of pampered MP's will be rushing around licking babies and grabbing every photo opportunity possible so that we can be engaged in the time honoured political process. Mind you, they are not a very photogenic bunch, for example, just to identify a few; (and I defy you not to think of the word “slug”)
Parekura Horomia = slug
Gerry Brownlee = slug
Don Brash = old smelly slug
Annette King = Mrs slug
But enough of politics, we have another 8 weeks of constant irritating and condescending attention yet to come....
I refer of course to the eyes, (OK spelt homophonically), and my recent trip to the optician and eye clinic. As part of the ongoing care of diabetes we are supposed to visit the optometrist at least twice a year to have our eyes checked for diabetes related damage, such as cataracts and broken blood vessels inside the eye, which bleed into the eye and are known as Floaters.
They obscure the vision and can be seen constantly in your field of vision, which is quite off putting! This phenomenon has been a constant feature of my diabetic life, and has involved annual lasering of the eyes. Whilst it doesn't hurt, it is most uncomfortable and akin to having many puffs of air blown into both eyes simultaneously. Your natural reflex is to recoil, which doesn't help as the eye quack has to try again and again, and so this endless circle of triggering and recoiling, which usually involves some sort of "tut" from the Dr, continues for about an hour, at the end of which you feel exhausted from all the tension and recoils.
“Do you expect me to talk?”
“No Mr Bond, I expect you to have corrected eyesight"
I tootled along yesterday to visit the eye quack and was ushered in reverentially almost like a valuable antique, to have some rather painful dilating drops dribbled in both eyes. These have the marvellous effect of enlarging your eyes for the doctor to scan better, but have the downside of making everything much brighter and blurred, so not really good for driving in the sun.
After a while to allow the eyes to completely dilate, you are then taken through to the consulting room, where the eye quack checks your vision using what appears to be a jewellers magnifying eyeglass, but no doubt cost 10 times as much. He then shines a small optical probe in each eye, taking care to examine the whole retina and vitreous area. This of course rather smarts thanks to the dilation drops, and it makes you empathise with Frodo as he was sought by the Eye of Sauron, for that is all you see, an intense long searing bright light which moves from one corner of your eye to the other, searching out either hobbits or burst blood vessels.
To date I have had no hobbits, but plenty of retinal damage.
Expecting yet more expensive laser work, I was astounded when he told me that my eyes were fine and had not deteriorated any further, and had in fact an improved look about them. This, he said, was an additional benefit brought about by the improved circulation and sugar control by the new pancreas. Whoopee! No more uncomfortable laser treatments, time consuming appointments or making claims on my health insurance.
After I paid, my vision soon returned to normal, thus allowing me to drive home and I reflected on this additional benefit as a result of the transplant. After suffering for more than 20 years with the dreaded ethereal floaters, I felt reassured that the only floater I was likely to see in the future was the voting kind, come the election as the undecided swing their allegiance between the parties.
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