At an annual eye appointment, I brought up an annoying eye issue. At the place where my two eyelids meet, there was a raised spot on my skin that would periodically prickle. This itchy issue was not a significant concern for me, but I wanted to mention it just the same. The doctor wanted to get a closer look at it because I rarely bring anything up, meaning this might be important.
The first machine to check out my eye was in the room as they use it generally for various reasons. Perpetually probing the pressure of the eye is this mechanism’s primary purpose. The system of parts also allows the doctor to see excessively close to your eye to see deep into your windows of the soul.
While the doctor was looking at my eye in the proper place, he looked at the entire eyeball as well. He figured that while he had me under the microscope, he might as well view my viewer in its entirety. The medical guy noticed a small blemish on the left side of my right eyeball and wanted to get a close-up photo for a more detailed look. However, he still needed a better portrait of my peepers, meaning a new camera was in need.
Down the corridor, and in the next hallway, there was a small room with a machine that looked similar to the previous device. The tech asked me to set my chin on the metal plate while resting my forehead against a white plastic band. While I was in this position, the photographer tech was viewing my eyeball close-up. This chore allowed him to take photos while looking at everything on a computer screen. These images showed extremely close pictures of this minuscule blemish allowing a better look at this optical occlusion. Sadly, this seemingly infinitesimal imperfection was not evident, and a better set of images were still needed.
The third device was a camera that gave elevation images to see just how raised this mini macula was. I explained several times that I could not feel this raised deformity and that it did not seem to impact my vision. They still required a photo showing the altitude of this insignificant disfigurement.
After all of these photos of my slight sight blight, they still had not concluded. My eye doctor took a few minutes to talk with another eye doctor, and they determined that I needed an ultrasound. My medical professional let me know that one day per month, the Veterans Administration has an eye specialist who visits. They would set an appointment for me on that day, and I would receive an ultrasound. This scan would hopefully discover what this bio blotch indeed was.
I sat in the waiting room cautiously optimistic of my appointment with this visual virtuoso. I was expecting the specialist to arrive in a chef’s hat and not a lab coat to slather this cream like peanut butter on my eye. Between our conversation and my imagination, I was misinformed enough to let the trepidation settle in. Every other thought vanished from my brain box except for the idea of this thick cake icing smeared over my eyeball. The longer that I waited, my heart began racing like the wings of a hummingbird after a triple shot expresso.
I was taken back to the room for the ultrasound and noticed that there was an old style dental chair waiting to meet my seat. The tech assisted me in getting into this chair and set it back and pulled out a microphone sized wand connected to a long cable. The end that was placed against my eye had a plastic looking dome at the end that held a small amount of the belly jelly. After the two doctors and three techs completed the shop talk about what they saw, I was brought into the conversation.
The ultrasound showed an unexpected benign cyst that was not of consequence to me once they used the word benign. The medical crew could not give a definitive answer on what the ocular obtrusion was. However my doctors plan to keep an eye on it, pun intended, with as needed future ultrasounds. It is also the case for the itty bitty on my eyeball. So I can rest assured that I am not losing an eye or going blind anytime soon.
No one ever injured their eyesight by looking on the bright side.