I feared I was going blind.

5 min read.

It is not long since this interesting occurrence took place, however it was before the outbreak of the pandemic Covid-19. I received a letter on behalf of my doctor (GP) to see the phlebotomist (a specialist in taking blood samples) for the annual blood tests and other checks. Accordingly, I made an appointment for 11 am on a Wednesday two weeks later. I reached the Health Centre five minutes early. The room was the first one on the left near the waiting area. I could see the name of the nurse on the door. I have known her for many years, a very compassionate and competent senior nurse, but she had not done my annual blood testing before. I waited quite close to the room, and after a few minutes she called me in.

She sat on the comfortable black desk chair in front of her computer. I took a seat by the corner of the desk. Without being asked, I removed my jacket and light pullover and put them on the table along with my mobile and bunch of keys. I rolled over my sleeves, baring my arm.  She asked me how was I feeling. I replied I could not be better. I enquired whether she had any holidays planned in the near future. She informed me that she with her husband had booked the one-week holiday break in Wales.

She took my blood pressure and entered the reading into the computer. Before she inserted the needle into the vessel, she customarily cooed:

“You may feel a slight scratching sensation”.

She filled up a few tiny bottles with my blood.

 In consonance with my usual habit of trying to please others, I murmured:

“I did not feel a thing”. (The fact was quite the contrary. How is it possible that a sharp needle is thrust into your blood vessel and you don’t feel a thing? It was sheer hypocrisy on my part.)

She said:

“Thank you”.

Final task was to check my weight.

She advised me to remove my shoes, which I did compliantly.

Then she pointed out to me the weighing scale lying next to the wall.

I stood on the scale, and she watched while standing a bit away on my left. After looking at the needle, she returned to her seat, and before entering the figure into the computer announced:

“70 kg.” 

It left me scratching my head because I had just seen the needle landing at 72 kg precisely.

I could not resist to convey my disagreement with her. I clarified with due deference:

“It was 72 kg”.

She responded brusquely:

“No, it was 70.”

Before she could proceed further, I got up, moved to the scale without my shoes and stood on it again.

She joined me, looked at the scale, ostensibly carefully and returned to her chair. She confirmed without equivocation that it was 70 kg.

I was struck dumb. The figures were seen twice by her, and each time she asserted in a blink of an eye that it read 70.

 At this stage different ideas sent my mind reeling, which I narrate hereinunder:

“She was pellucid when she mentioned 70. She could be right, and I might be wrong. I think I’m going blind. Thus far, I always thought that of all the organs which I’ve in my body, my eyes were the best. I don’t wear glasses for driving. I use reading glasses, but I can for the most part read the newspapers and books without  their need. Probably, I developed the habit of using them in courts to look more impressive. In the NHS Organ Donor Register I’ve stated my eyes at the top of the list. Borrowing the favourite word often used by the Prime Minister, I could never envision that my fantastic eyesight would come to an end all of a sudden.    

“Right now, it must be very bad- I could not distinguish between 70 and 72. I had heard about the cases where eyesight can be adversely affected asymptomatically. I should not have driven the car to the Health Centre. I could have called 999 and would’ve been in the eye hospital by now.

“Should I ask her to call the emergency services? If I drove home in this situation, I might cause an accident.”

 I like to pause here to mention that I always believed that I was not a health worrier. Some people feel anxious or troubled about their health all the time. One TV presenter’s husband has written a book about him being a hypochondriac. I believe that now and then most of us do embrace worries about health, real or imaginary.

But the issue in the nurse’s room was different. From less than 6 feet, I could not see the difference between 70 and 72.

Albeit, different misgivings were emerging in my mind, I decided to give it a last throw of the dice by going to the scale for the third and final time.

I explained to the nurse:

“I think you were standing at a different angle and therefore could not see accurately. The figure was 72 and not 70. Let me try again if you don’t mind.”

She agreed speaking barely more than a whisper and stood abreast of me. I could see clearly and announced spontaneously:

“Can’t you see 72 kg?”

She seemed unfazed, and clarified:

“No. It’s 70 after lopping off 2 kg to account for your clothing.”

I heaved a sigh of relief and with a mild reproof said:

“My goodness, why you did not tell me before? I feared I was going blind.”