“You’re a candidate for glaucoma,” the optometrist told me the other day. ‘Candidate’ sounds rather grand, as if I’m in the running for a PhD. I wondered if, like a university degree, I could abandon my candidacy, but, alas, glaucoma apparently runs its own race.
“Don’t worry,” said the optometrist.
“It’s not that you have glaucoma, just that we need to keep an eye on it.”
I’d like to report that he chuckled at his sight-related pun. Instead, the young optometrist flashed the concerned but understanding look you become used to receiving once you are over 60.
The medical profession has taken a collective look at me and decided I am about to fall apart. Every doctor and specialist I see is convinced that the author of my demise will be the disease in…
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Reader’s Digest New Zealand (Digital) - 1 Issue, June / July 2024