A Brave Soldier Goes Back To Worthing Hospital Eye Clinic With Reinforcements.

I was quite at a loss as to how I would get to Worthing Hospital Eye Clinic for 09:30 in the morning until Mystic Rog volunteered to collect and deliver me in his luxury motor car.

I keep making all these bold statements about how I'll ride my bicycle the 14 odd miles over to Worthing then ride back home again, but I have to admit that my eyesight has become so compromised I'd be a danger not only to myself but other road users as well.
That consideration apart it's also raining cats and dogs this morning.

We arrive at the eye clinic in good time, 10 minutes early in fact, and I stride into the waiting room only to be called back to the reception desk.
On giving my name to the receptionist she says "Ah, yes" picks up what seems to be a very large folder with my name on it, and tells me to take a seat:

I practice my "I don't want your bloody steroids" mantra until I'm called to have my vision tested.

Although I still have some residual vision in my left eye I can only make out the biggest letter on the test chart.  (It was 'H').

Once again my eyes are dilated ready for examination:

This time I'm prepared and have my sunglasses at the ready.

The waiting room fills with the more typical demographic:

Mystic Rog and I discuss last nights 'Shock of the New' programme, number 8 in the series, about Expressionism.

I really enjoyed the programme right until, on discussing Francis Bacon's Study after Velazquez's Portrait of Pope Innocent X, the Velazquez original was shown which I find a truly disturbing painting.

I am called in for examination.

This time the procedure was quite quick.

A good deal of disappointment is expressed about the tardiness of the MRI dept at Chichester and it seems that the scan is by far the most important next step to be taken as far as deciding what treatment I should be receiving.

I'm shown a book filled with the kind of images I think are used to test for colour-blindness, but it's a hopeless task when it comes to my left eye as I can't even see the book let alone the images.

One more test.

Peripheral vision.

I'm fitted with a very fetching eyepatch, my head it inserted into a machine, and I'm given a 'clicker' to tap every time I see a flash of light.

Even in my good eye it seemed a difficult task.

The verdict is that my eyesight hasn't deteriorated any further (phew).

I get the creeping feeling that every one of the medical staff I come into contact with actually seems to be quite concerned about my welfare.

It's a strange feeling.

Mystic Rog and I make our way out of the hospital.

The corridors of Worthing Hospital are hung with some really nice paintings by local artists one of whom Mystic Rog knows quite well (and whose bloody name I've forgotten).

We stand in front of a highly coloured still life done in water colours:

Mystic Rog explains the technique which, to be fair, is a little lost on me because my pupils are still dilated and everything's still a bit of a blur.

However, I can see the rusty penguins out in the quad:

Must say, Worthing Hospital is probably the best art gallery I've been to for some time.

Mystic Rog drives me home and we watch the BeHeld vids which he's very pleased with.

I like them as well but can't quite manage to get the word 'epitaph' out of my mind.