I am among the growing tribe of the worried well. No no, it's nothing to do with the sort of well stared at by the young and the mis-guided, silently mouthing wishes and scattering hard cash in the water.
The worried well are, rather unkindly, known in medical circles as paranoid hypochondriacs. This is all well and good when you're sitting that side of the desk in the consulting room, looking at the laptop and giving scant regard to the talking head sitting opposite. But when you think you know, or maybe know you think, that something's up, and you don't have the benefit of a formal medical education, then you want the reassurance of a warm hand to hold yours and tell you it's all going to be alright. Not too much to ask in my opinion. In the ten years I've been living here the staff ratio in my local surgery has changed, from zero percent female doctors, to eighty percent. And let me go further and say that the age profile has changed at the same time. Ten years ago the average age of the doctors was well north of sixty and I hardly ever went there. Today it's closer to thirty, and I could swear that the latest addition to the medical staff is no more than seventeen. The hands are no warmer than the old days but I'm a monthly visitor now.
Like most of the worried well I take my own personal health seriously. It might be a question of me, me, me, but who else is going to start the whole investigation process, which, you never know, could be serious. Let's hope they're all false alarms eh?
Anyway - generally speaking I think of myself as 'well' - that is 'not ill'. But when I wake to feel a twinge in a knee, or a griping pain in the gut, or maybe even when I get a wax-blocked ear, I'm round the doctors like I've got the plague. Hey - I wonder if that strange tired feeling I get every night could be the pla…… oh no that really is paranoid.
For the really big things, like a PSA test, I have been known to back down and say "It's no use bothering the doctor every time I think something needs checking out." I put it down to that horrible slapping sound of the rubber glove being pulled on. It brings back vivid memories of childhood, reminding me of the sound of the cane being unsheathed in the headmaster's study and the horrible thought that I am about to be violated. Can't help it I'm afraid, it's just one of those crazy things. It happened once, and it won't happen again. Well, not until I get really, really worried.
Anyway, back to the present problem. Just lately, well for the last year, I've been suffering what's known in the optical profession as 'long arm syndrome'. That's when you have to hold the paper further and further away just to focus on the print. So I need more than the warm hand and the reassuring word, I think I want a new pair of prescription glasses. At least I know I think I do. Now the good thing about opticians, unlike doctors, is they welcome you with open arms. Not for them the vacant look and the attention deficit. Oh no - walk in their door and they see an expensive pair of bifocals walking out, leaving behind a decent wedge. Make an appointment with the optician, and she sees next week's grocery bill paid.
My optician is Russian. When the test's over she says,
"You vant photo back your eyeballs?" She's only small, but comes equipped with the voice of a street vendor.
"Hmmm…well…"
"Only fifteen pounds," she yells, "vell vorth it. You see all little veins. Ve can pick up all problem your general health same time…yes all."
Hook line and sinker…she'd hit the sweet spot. A couple of sharp flashes later and I was looking at something that appeared to be a picture of the sun with a bit of something trailing off the bottom. She said that bit was the optic nerve. To me it looked like my eyeball had sprung a leak.
"You OK. No major dark spots. Pressure OK. All that stuff OK." I felt her warm hand on mine.
"I'll be going then."
"Hah - you buy new prescription glasses on way out, or maybe you buy glasses online. You know get glasses direct." I thought she'd finished. "Pay test and picture eyeball at desk." She closed the door as the next long arm syndrome walked in
I took the card and sidled past the desk to the street.
She knows I buy glasses online nowadays. No need to be paranoid about things is there?
Author Resource:
Anna is a keen cyclist and tea drinker who writes articles about eyesight for Best4glasses an online supplier where you can buy prescription glasses online.
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