Self-diagnosis of exotic afflictions
18th January, 2008
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The new year is not yet three weeks old but already the paranoias of 2007 have emerged from the euphoria of the holiday celebrations. The first tremors of panic began when I flicked through my diary and saw that I had an appointment with an eye specialist in late January. This discovery would have allowed me plenty of time to keep the appointment - if it hadn't been for 2007. Damn. I knew I'd forgotten something last year.
Over the days that followed it became increasingly apparent to me that my eyesight was not as sharp as it had been. The more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that I was blinking more frequently than usual. Objects in the far distance seemed to be getting lost in a blur. My reading glasses, not six months old, also seemed to be less effective, with the letters on the page beginning to blur like smudged ink - and I was starting to experience headaches. Perhaps I'd have to get bifocals, which would be to court disaster. I'd fall down steps and stumble under buses. I wouldn't last a week. Bifocals were out of the question, as were contact lenses. I self-diagnosed an exotic tropical eye disease which was steadily eating away at my optic nerves. If only I'd gone to the eye doctor last January, my sight could have been saved. So I made a new appointment and shuffled into his surgery when my name was called. For 30 minutes he peered into my eyes through a variety of magnifying lenses and then pushed back his chair and said, "You're fine."
"I can't be," I said. "My vision is fading. The room is growing dark."
So I went back to work and could not read a single character on the computer screen. It was a complete blur. "I'll have to learn Braille," I cried. "The doctor's a charlatan." Then I recalled that he had told me the drops he had put in my eyes would blur my vision temporarily. The Braille lessons could be put on hold for another day. In bed that night I read for a while, realising as I turned out the light that my vision seemed clearer. I drove to work the next morning and could see objects in the far distance perfectly. I'd been cured. It was a miracle! Inwardly, I knew that my febrile, paranoid brain had imagined I was losing my sight. Outwardly, I was sticking with the miracle theory. This was the same brain that in the middle of last year had convinced me I needed knee replacement surgery. I limped around for a month before making an appointment to see a specialist. On the day I was to see him, the pain disappeared and has not returned. Another miracle. I've just noticed a red spot on my face. Could this be a flesh-eating virus? Probably. I need to see a specialist quickly. |
