On Thursday morning I had a visit to see my doctor to see if I could sort out a couple of outstanding issues, the primary one being to find out if any progress had been made on the recent eye endevour, the others were about making the most of the standard 15 minute allotted time slot. I'm what would be described in the property market as a "unique fixer upper", a synonym for "has seen better days". The answer to the eye progress question was that of a blank expression. The passing of time that I had hoped might be enough to just about get things moving in the right direction had not proved productive, It was the however the answer that I was expecting, just unique in it's presentation. Other than that It was amazingly non-amazing in it's overall predictability,
Despite the conversation that I had with the specialist I had seen previously, the talk of him writing to my doctor to explain the issues we had conversed upon had not been transcribed or forwarded. The doctor had not received any information to act upon and the result is that nothing is further on now than it had been 6 months ago. In my head I can hear the booming voice of Mike Reid shouting "Run Around" in his uniquely recognisable manner. A reference point that even for me is pushing it somewhat, being about 40 odd years past it' s "best before" date.
So the plan now is for the Doc to contact the Eye Hospital in Bristol to ensure that my annual appointment (now due) doesn't slip too far behind. It might seem a bit anal but this is where I was trying to get an appointment for back in July, before being sent to the opticians to pay too much for glasses I didn't really need and being referred for further checks on pressures that (as luck should have it) turned out to be normal. Hopefully now I will get to see those able to tell me one way or another what my options actually are. But as tick follows tock, it's already been and elongated passage to get to somewhere that I should have been able to reach around 6 months ago, That would have been beneficial for many reasons, not least because I wouldn't be passing my time writing paragraphs permeated with needless butt references for no real reason.
Whatever happens hereon in however, I have reached the point where I definitely want to leave these shores, operation or not. As far as I can tell there has been no further loss in my vision, outside the degradation of the visual acuity and that I can likely attribute to working back in front of a monitor for long periods of thyme. I am finding myself flat and uninspired on many of the days here. A combination of grey vistas and dreary wet streets are hardly nourishing food for the soul. The antisocial behaviour and attitudes by some of those who live in this city are nothing but unwanted croutons on an unsavoury salad. The Tomatoes are cursed with warped skin, the cucumber has lost it's crunch and the potatoes have been contaminated by the colour of the old beetroot and the flavours of watery salad cream that has fused with dill. The whole package in which it is contained is bloated and raised up through it's still fermenting air. If you eat the salad, turn to page 62**.
I have tentatively started researching again into how I can leave these shores and make a go of it elsewhere, drawing a shortlist of countries where maybe my unique set of skills might be taken on board and appreciated a little more than they are here. As with everything diabetes related, there are always extra considerations for doing things to accommodate the condition. Availability and cost of the treatments and tools to manage it against the potential income is perhaps the most prominent one.
Whilst places such as Vietnam and Thailand might be relatively cheap to live in (by Western standards) and undoubtedly still hold a level of appeal, the cost of drugs and equipment I need to get by is bound to take a hefty chunk of any salary I could initially command. It may be a case that I therefor need to look at places such as Hong Kong, South Korea, Taiwan or Japan as ways to settle somewhere more interesting than where am now and where I could attain the treatments that I need more easily. But the question then would have to be whether I would be suitable for those places and would they let me grow into a place I wanted to be. Would the place be suitable for me.
The chances of me finding the perfect solution quickly are perhaps, unlike me, a bit on the slim side, but things worth getting to seem to be never easily attained. Importantly I remember hearing on my travels past, a wise lady once* saying that "you never, ever know if you never ever go..." and think she may have been onto something.
Plus , I really have had enough of grey now.
* perhaps more than once.
**Page 62 doesn't talky exist. I'm not Ian Livingstone. If I was however and it did, you would probably find that you have been struck down with stomach cramps to accompany your well deserved sense of self loathing for eating something well past its prime. You are also surrounded by flamed torch weilding elves with a look of menace in their eyes.