I had an appointment at the eye hospital today, which is ironic as I hate going to the doctor unless I’m so ill, I’m nagged and dragged there, metaphorically kicking and screaming.
Foolishly, at my last optician’s appointment, I mentioned a couple of episodes of blurred vision and strange zigzagging light in my right eye, which eased after resting with eyes closed for half an hour.
Google is my good friend, so naturally that’s where I went after the first experience and deduced that what I was experiencing was ocular migraine. My optician, however decided to refer me to Moorfields.
This morning, clutching the letter I was told to bring with me as well as a full bag of anxiety – I hate people peering into my eyes, poking proding and most of all I hate the glaucoma test where evil torturers blast cold jets of air at my eyeballs – I headed to my appointment.
Many tests later, drops that blurred my vision and a stress headache, the eye doctor made his diagnosis. My eyes are healthy, all tests were clear. What I have is ocular migraine. Biting back the “I knew that already” comment, I smiled, thanked him and left, glad to be discharged from the hospital.
Migraines have been a part of my life since the age of six. I think I spent more time in the medical room than I did in the classroom between the ages of six and nine. Usually I tried to deny the pain until it got so bad I threw up and my mum would have to come to collect me from school. She must have cursed me as she didn’t drive and had to find someone to look after my younger sisters who hadn’t started school yet.
Thankfully as I grew older the migraines lessened, though the memory still lingers.
Four in the morning
in the basement of sleep
someone is hammering nails in my left temple
spreading crimson pain through my head.
I want to cry
but it hurts to feel
hurts to breathe
though I’m lying down
still as death.
Staggering to the bathroom
I swallow pill after pill
killing something inside
but pain still claws holes in my mind
and nausea burns acid in my throat.
Pleas for oblivion
Prisms of light,
flashes of lightning
trying to peer round edges
of jagged lines.
dizzy, motion sick
failing to focus
on words spoken.
sinking into cushions
on leather settee
more solid, safe