Manuscript comment du jour: I'm always letting my characters say everything that pops into their heads. They're far too fucking honest with each other. Always. Le Sigh. Maybe I'm just not a subtle writer.
The MRI report is in: my brain is officially normal. (Again, we are only investigating the tissue itself. Normality and functionality of thought patterns are left to the reader's judgement.) Normal vascular flow, and no plaques. I could tell the news was good when my ophthalmologist talked in normal and conversational tones; the more worried he gets, the softer he speaks, until sometimes he talks fixedly to the desk. Of course, this does mean we still have no idea what is causing my eyes to misbehave, and does not absolutely rule out the very bad possible diagnoses. But it puts a stay on them for now at least. So we are officially relieved. Tess, you can put a hold on the sandwich services 😉
Just in case the MRI missed something, today I had a dye test. This is a dandy little procedure whereby the ophthalmologist dilates the eyes, puts your dilated eyes in front of a tear-inducingly bright light, pumps you full of a dye which turns your skin not quite yellow and not quite green but a lurid shade somewhere in between, has his nurse hold your head so you can't move and thumb your eyelid back so you can't blink, and then takes photos of the back of your eye. With a very bright flash. Your vision turns black initially, and then it dances through various shades of vermilion, crimson, purple, and lurid mauve. I imagine like the circle of hell which holds all the people who loathe hippies' penchant for eye-twisting colours.
I suspect this little test was actually developed in the middle ages as a form of torture. The medical benefits obviously only came later, once we invented the camera.
Right. Back to work. That is, as soon as my eyes figure out that little trick known as focussing…