Curmudgeon returns to the eye doctor

I was back at the eye doctor this morning for a follow-up visual field test. That's an example of what the test printouts looks like -- not my results, you understand, just one grabbed for illustrative purposes from the swirling vortex of the Internet.

The last time I took my visual field test, I flunked.

I wrote about it here in late August in "The eyes have [had] it -- Or -- Sleeping through a test is a bad idea even long after graduation."

Yes, I've watched a lot of Rocky and Bullwinkle in my time. Although the alternate title of that post is a little long for the high velocity William Conrad narration. (Yes, that William Conrad, from "Jake and the Fat Man." Seriously. You could look it up.)

I was determined to improve my test results this time. I was motivated by the glint in my doctor's eye last time as he started talking about the different surgical options. There sure were a lot of them.

We were supposed to do the test in late September or early October, but my schedule and the technician's and the doctor's did not coincide until this morning.

I was worried about something other than just passing the test, too: I've had this stubborn virus for about 10 days now. It's finally begun to subside -- but that means all sorts of things are coming out of my nose on a random basis and I'm hacking and wheezing like an end-stage consumptive. Nearly all of yesterday I sounded like I was trying out for the part of an invalid in the dramatization of a Dickens novel. And have I gone through tissues. I pity the fool who tries to pick my pocket.

I didn't want to ooze and leak all over the good eye doctor's equipment this morning. Fortunately I was able, by means of disgusting everyone in my house this morning by my imitation of an off-key elephant frightened by mice, to divest myself of a pound or two of various secretions. That gave me a window of reasonably appropriate social behavior.

Gosh -- it just occurred to me -- I sure hope you're not reading this on your lunch hour. Perhaps I should dial back on the vivid descriptions.

Summarize it then, thus: I stayed awake. I passed. My results today are not significantly worse than they were when I started treating, 15 years ago.

My glaucoma is stable. The doctor was devastated.