War of the Worlds

Don't Blink

I absolutely hate going to the eye doctor. Not only does he poke, probe, and shine the brightest light known to man in my eyes, he never gives me good news. I knew something was wrong when he held up a card with a grid on it.
    "Tell me what you see. Are the lines clear, wavy, or blurry?"
    "Uh, ummm, all of the above and I see shadows coming off them."
That was the wrong answer. Suddenly he had half a dozen more tests to put me through, including three things that actually touched my eyeballs.
    "You might feel a little tickle when it touches, just don't move."
I moved, just a little, but it was enough to make him have to stick whatever it was he was sticking into my eye, into my eye again. Anyway, after a lot of sticking, shining, stabbing, and having to look this way and that, here is the diagnosis. For starters I have a cataract. The doc says that it might be the source of my decreased visual acuity, but there is something a bit more disturbing going on. He says that the scar where an incision was made about ten years ago in my eyeball, seems to be deformed and changing. Sort of like an over ripe grape. So he made appointment for me with another doctor, a specialist's, specialist. I'm not looking forward to seeing this guy. Not because I know he will also put me through a lot of eye poking, but because he's in another county and Mark will have to drive me there. Have I mentioned lately that Mark is the worst driver in the world.