So yesterday Kevin and I had our yearly optometrist appointments. Our eye doctor is great; always has a smile on his face, is very patient, and is brilliant at what he does. Kevin and I were the only patients early yesterday morning, so we didn’t have to wait. The doctor took me in first, with Kevin being examined shortly thereafter.
The doc dilated our eyes, and had us come in after a few minutes. The doctor examined my dilated eyes, checked his chart, and made a “Hmm” sound. A few years ago, I had some pressure in my right eye, and I usually take an extra test to make sure things are okay. When the doctor looked at my eye again, he stopped, and said, “You have some pressure in the right eye. Having looked at it, I want you to come back in a month for more tests.”
Before I could ask what the problem was, he replied, “I think this may be glaucoma.”
So I’m looking at glaucoma in my early fifties. Awesome.
I obviously trust my doctor, and my mother-in-law had something similar, stating the surgeon who worked on her eyes was terrific. That said, I have always been manic about my eyes, and I always imagine the worst when it comes to my health. I really don’t want to lose my sight, and I certainly don’t want to lose it in my fifties. Not that it will come to that, but from what I’ve been reading, it seems like glaucoma and blindness are often hand in hand.
So, I’ll likely stress myself out until next month, and hope the glaucoma scare is just that: a scare.