At the Eye Hospital

Saw an optician this morning about my eye. She rang the local hospital who said I should go straight to the Western Eye Hospital in Marylebone. It was just my luck to arrive on one of their busiest days when, according to the nurse, 'Half of London has turned up today, I don't know why'.

Amongst that half was a family from just up the road to me and we all travelled home together, but that's by the by. The important thing is that, after a 3 1/2 hour wait, I was seen by a lovely young eye doctor who confided that he was a new dad, with two month old baby girl, and that the doc I'd seen last time had just become a father, too. Must be something in the water...

Which brings me to what's in my eye. A very large piece of detached, dried up vitreous fluid from the back of the eye, aka a 'floater', though a particular sort, shaped like a sphere. He could see it quite plainly. 'Will I be stuck with it in front of my vision forever?' I asked plaintively, because at the moment it's as if there is a dirty grey lace curtain in front of my eye. He assured me that one's brain adapted and one got used to it. I hope so. Apart from that, my eyes are very healthy and, surprise surprise, 'don't even look as if they are short-sighted', i.e the eyeball hasn't changed shape the way it usually does in myopic people.

I was glad to travel back on the coach with the Hillingdon ladies, one of whom had had a similar event to mine, but when I staggered blindly off the coach, I discovered I would have to travel on alone as they were going to Ruislip. So I managed to catch the bus, which looked like a hazy red blob, and sat down, whereupon a scruffy young bloke plonked himself next to me and sat, knees wide apart to that his left one kept touching my right one. This hadn't happened to me since I was a teenager and I didn't know whether to be insulted or chuffed that I'd attracted a pervert at my advanced age. Disgust won and I draped the strap of my bag over my knee as a deterrent. Then he got off the same stop as me and I feared he'd turn into a stalker, but he went the other way, thank heavens.

Pleased with my progress, I got onto the computer as soon as the eye drops began to wear off and rang the dentist. My plan was to protest loud and long at being left with tooth trouble over Easter, especially as my pal Gill is treating me to a Chinese buffet. At present, I can only eat by cutting food up small and poking it into the left hand corner of my mouth, making sure nothing is transferred anywhere near the dodgy tooth during chewing. The surgery's answering machine told me that the surgery was already closed (4pm) and I know they don't check their messages, as I got accused of missing an appointment last Monday when I had left a message explaining that the dentist had seen me the previous day and had told me to cancel that appointment.

I decided that that particular surgery had had their chips, or their implants, as far as I was concerned, and rang another with the wonderful name of the Feelgood Clinic, which happens to me be on the floor above my chiropractor who I see every six weeks. Their website says it also boats a relaxation spa. The phone was answered immediately by a very nice sounding man who turned out to be the senior dentist and, joy of joys, his colleague can see me at 9.15 tomorrow morning. Now that's more like it! I told him I wanted to be pain-free by Easter. Let's hope Dr Feelgood can do the trick.