This morning I had a brief operation to remove a small growth on my upper left eyelid. (For some reason, the picture above is reversed; the shiner is definitely above my left eye.) The growth had been detected during my annual eye test. I hadn’t really noticed this; it was blocked by the upper frame of my glasses, and I couldn’t see it when I wasn’t wearing my specs! Anyway, the optometrist recommended that the growth be removed by an opthalmologist.

I saw the specialist to whom the optometrist had referred me, Dr L, last week. He said it probably wasn’t cancerous, but that pathology tests would confirm this. If it turned out to be, he would need to take out a bit more. (The plus side is, in that instance, my health fund would pay a rebate for the first operation!)

My original appointment at the eye clinic was for 10.45 this morning, but they rang about 9.15 and asked if I could come in earlier (they had had a cancellation). This suited me and my beloved, who was to drop me off there and pick me up afterwards. (This was necessary because I was to have a local anaesthetic and eye drops.) Anyway, we beetled off there about 9.30. After an extensive induction and history-taking (all of which had taken place at the earlier consult), an anaesthetist gave me a local and some other shot to reduce any anxiety I might have, and Dr L speedily removed the growth in the clinic’s theatre.

I had had to fast this morning, so was glad to have a couple of cups of tea afterwards — they didn’t run to real coffee — and a sandwich. The only real holdup came when exiting the practice.

The building is situated on sloping land, with a small concreted area of outside the front door, clearly intended for short-term pickups and dropoffs. There is a narrow driveway running downhill to the right of the building, which leads to the practice car park. Because of the slope of the land, however, patients entering the practice from the car park need to climb quite a steep metal staircase, which has a right angle bend in it. The nurse therefore directed me to tell my beloved to park on the concreted area outside the front door, so I could exit without going down the staircase to the car park. (I had a patch over the left eye at this stage, and was still feeling the effects of the anaesthetic. These things would have affected my depth perception and so on.)

The problem with this sound advice was that there was already a car parked on the concreted area outside the front entrance. My beloved therefore went down the driveway, heading for the car park. She couldn’t even park there, however, because she was blocked by a truck making a delivery! Regardless, the nurse was adamant I couldn’t walk down the staircase, even with assistance. Of course they couldn’t have prevented me if I’d insisted, as I was on the verge of doing. (I just wanted to get out of there at this stage.) Anyway, my beloved drove around the block and parked behind the illegally parked car. I resisted the urge to let down its tyres as I made my exit. (Had I had my wits about me, I would have keyed one of its doors — I was pretty cross that its owner was being so selfish.)

Anyway, all is done now. My beloved reckons I look as if I’ve been in a fight, I’ve resisted giving way to my anti-social urges, and am being waited on like Lord Muck. For a while I even looked like the Whitmont Man!