I’m not a hypochondriac. Honestly, I’m not. That’s just a label others put on you because they don’t understand where you’re coming from.
The reality is there are millions of microorganisms in my intestines and on my skin basically eating me alive, and that my soft mucous membranes are hosting an orgy of foreign bodies determined to put me in the ground. So be it. That’s not hypochondria, that’s acceptance.
Look, if I’m in the subway and someone sneezes, I don’t freak out. Not anymore. I just shut my eyes and hold my breath, repeating to myself, you are not getting sick, you are not getting sick, you are not getting sick. At the next stop, I get off. Calmly. Always calmly.
See, acceptance.
So when my eyesight started to go haywire, I didn’t lose it. I very calmly did my research.
Allergies making my eyes water and my vision blurry was dismissed almost immediately. I landed on the natural process of aging where the lenses in your eyes become less flexible. Presbyopia it’s called. Makes it harder to focus on things. I reasoned glasses would do the trick. But that’s when things started to get really weird.
I called an eye doctor in a nearby strip mall and was told they didn’t have any appointments. Not for the next nine months,
