Bad Luck

There are words I never want to hear really. 

Vascular mass



These are not very nice words at all and even less nice (I know, my grammar is terrible today) when they are said in relation to your right eye. The right eye which has really given you no trouble at all, other than being a little weaker than your left eye. Your right eye whose only fault to your knowledge is to be a bit short-sighted.

Apparently you were wrong. Because the aforementioned right eye has something in it – a mass, a lesion, another word for a Thing at the back of my eye which has possibly created the scarring my optometrist saw almost a year ago.

My mother is busy remembering every concussion I’ve suffered (I remember about 3) and any injury that could have been close to my eye, even though the doctor yesterday said that I could have been born with it or it could just be bad luck. Isn’t that awesome-sauce? Bad luck.

I’m panicking slightly a lot – over the idea of surgery. But of course I won’t know anything until next Thursday. Ten whole days away. Because the ophthalmologist I saw yesterday is not a surgeon and referred me (fairly urgently according to the receptionist) to a surgeon. He started the appointment talking about how my eye looked like something he sees in 60 year olds (which makes me feel awesome, so mature beyond my years) but probably nothing to worry about for at least 20 years and then very quickly, once he’d spotted the Thing at the back of my eye, progressed to how I should see a surgeon and probably get that taken care off, quick smart. Awesome.

After hearing this, I had no desire to cook a healthy dinner. I had no desire to be healthy at all really. Why be healthy when I have a Thing and it’s probably due to Bad Luck? So we ordered pizza for dinner (which was actually pretty healthy considering) and I snacked on chocolate for dessert. I did not eat the chocolate cake in the fridge but I wanted to. I did not exercise. I did not write. I played with the dog we’re dogsitting and I watched MasterChef and I read.

And today I feel panicked and annoyed at the futility of doing everything right. I hate waiting and not knowing and feeling terrified of having my worst case scenario play out. I probably should have made my worst case scenario well, worse. Well, actually it was worse in my head – I imagined being sent straight to hospital with the doctor going “I’ve never seen it THIS BAD before” so this isn’t as bad. They wouldn’t make me wait 10 days if it was terrible, would they?

So now I wait and try to turn on my healthy impulse again and ignore the voice inside that says it’s pointless and life is about Bad Luck. Bah


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