My vision has worsened. I can no longer see the same distance, in front and it’s even worse peripherally. I try not to dwell on it too much, but my interaction at the doctor’s today really brought it home.
“Okay,” my doctor says once he’s finished going through my information. “Climb on up and we’ll take a look.”
I get up, but don’t see the bed. Granted, almost everything in there was white, but I still, usually, have a better grasp of the room’s layout.
“Okay, where am I going?” I ask lightly. Because I don’t want to walk into a cabinet or something.
He takes my arm (the opposite of the proper guiding technique, by the way) and shows me. Then, as he probes my tummy he asks:
“Have you lost some vision?”
“Yeah.” My voice is more sullen than I intended.
“I can tell. You were more functioning before.”
I was too busy lamenting the confirmation of vision loss to think about his phrasing. But now that I am, I wonder. I’m still functioning just the same. My vision is worse, yes but not much about how I go about my daily life has changed. In the past I would still sometimes double check that I was at the right end of the bed. Or in a new hospital (or in any setting really) where I don’t know anything about the set-up, I would ask questions.Perhaps I’m just nitpicking but still… I used to be more functioning? Just my eyes, doc. Not me.