After some prompting from friends and loved ones, I contacted the ophthalmologist I saw a couple of weeks ago to ask some follow-up questions. Uppermost in my mind was whether it might be worth goig to see some renowned expert at the Moorfield's Eye Hospital in London. Surely my eyes were worth it weren't they? After all, I've spent getting on for 10 grand on the gnashers this year- my sight must be worth twice, three times that or more. Right? So, I asked him, if it were him, or his mum, what would he do?
It was then he corrected something of a misapprehension regarding my general prognosis that I had gathered through not listening properly before. Fuch's dystrophy is a slowly progressive condition. However, any interference in the cornea runs a significant risk of making it worse. A 15-20% risk, in fact. So it is a waiting game, he explained.
"So you wouldn't even be thinking about surgery until you can't pass the driving test for vision".
As it happened, I had pulled off the road to take his call, and at that moment,
explaining what I was doing, I jumped out of my car and took 20 long strides away from the car parked next to mine. I looked back: I could read the number plate easily.
And there we are. With any luck I am years away from failing that test, and at that point the stakes would have risen sufficiently to warrant the risk of operation. Easy! Plus it won't cost a cent. Even better!
I feel greatly relieved now I know the score, but there is also a grimmer reality waiting for me out there. If my lifetime of smoking doesn't kill me, and it doesn't kill everyone, then I stand a significant chance of living out my late Autumn years a freakin blindy. Oh well, they the say the other senses become more acute when one is lost. I look forward to seeing how that works out...
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