29 Sep 2009

Post 158: An appointment with a Dalek (maybe pictures later)

After yesterday, I have renewed my dislike for/hatred of even - Hospital appointments, so much dislike in fact that this is my equivalent of 'writing a letter' and I wasn't going to include a mixed metaphor but my old mucker Ian has just sent me (literally just this second) a real beauty "And to teams like Bashley, the prospect of playing in the second round of the FA cup is like the carrot at the end of the tunnel."
BBC Solent commentator during the Bournemouth match, briefly updating the FA cup score at Bashley. e and
There was an additional little detail that made yesterday about as much fun as an injection in the eye, which was ironic because... Anyway, I have spouted forth about why I hate hospital appointments before in this blog largely because there's a lot of sitting around and that to me is fundamentally exhausting. Firstly, we had elected to use NHS transport, never again, but before I go on, I just want to say how grateful and lucky I am to have a father willing to give up a whole day to keep me company, doing these things by myself wouldn't be possible and they're probably as much fun for him as they are for me.
So yesterday was already a Monday (never a great start) but at least the NHS transport ambulance arrived on time at 11, I have known them to be up to 2 hours late. The appointment at Moorfields eye hospital in Old street was for 1pmwith a consultant who I had seen before (post 2) who I had described back then as having 'a worse bedside manner than a Dalek' (post 2) because back in 2006 he had told me that my 'eyesight would never improve' which directly contradicted what the neurologists at Kings had said, because this man was 'the authority' on eyes this thoroughly depressed me, this was the first indication that the stroke had done irreparable damage and that I am condemned to go through the rest of life dealing with bodily functions that will never work properly again. It is particularly hard having my sight so badly impaired because glasses/lenses will never help, instead my sight is just weird and wrong and I have learnt that I must have derived a lot of my co-ordination from my eyesight (which was pretty much 20/20 before), now I can't even catch a soft ball thrown gently in my general direction and I would never trust myself behind the wheel of a car ever again. This was the first of a series of devastating disclosures about my future. All I could see was my future getting harder and harder. Rather melodramatically, yesterdays appointment brought some of this back, practically the only good thing was having my eyes examined before I saw the Dalek by a gorgeous orthoptist who made me feel a little better by telling me my sight has improved a little since they last saw me in mid 2006. When I went to see the Dalek (half an hour late obviously) it was not all that surprising to find him just as unpleasant as I remembered him, Much more interested in making sure his proclamations were being heard by the many underlings that were around. I had been led to believe by the same Neurologist who helpfully prescribed me Ritalin (what a disaster that was) that my eyesight would benefit by immobilising one eye by means of a Retro Bulbar Botox injection and this chap was the expert. The Neurologist had also told me that the procedure was done under general anasthetic, so imagine my shock when he told me he could do it right there and then and that as a procedure it's 'sometimes helpful' and that it was really 'up to me' about whether I went ahead with it. An injection in my eye, not under anasthetic, now let me think... Now one of the things that has been growing in me since my stroke is a lack of respect for medical science. People get ill, they get better or people get ill, and they die. Now medical science appears to have put me in the latter camp by virtue of the fact that for as long as I can remember since this stroke no amount of hospital appointments, procedures or medications has ever made me feel better or made life easier. So, whenever I've had appointments, I dread them, because I'm convinced they're going to be able to do nothing or if they do suggest something it'll be ineffective or painful and this was bloody painful. Botox may take two and a half days to work but I'm finding it even harder than usual to open my right eye. Yet another blind alley (pun intended) methinks.


Simon said...

Well we are almost at the two and a half day period. How is the eye now?

We really need to get you looking and moving forward so i will chase up the rest of the Trust to see where we are with that.

Simon said...

Oh, and your blog is now displaying a million posts on the main page again...



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