I recently became sight impaired (a politically correct term for partially blind) due to a drug that was prescribed to me through a serious illness.  Here I am suddenly a young strapping lass with the eyesight of an eighty three year-old woman. At first I did not realise that I was going blind.  I thought I was overworking and suffering from eye-strain but I had to concede that something was happening when I held an entire conversation with pot plant thinking it was a member of my staff.  In truth this particular staff member doesn' t move around much and the pot plant was more responsive in any case.  Be that as it may, this incident did cause me to evaluate my up until then perfect eyesight and come to the startling conclusion that perhaps I was not seeing as well I ought to.  This evidence of my genius aside, my next step was to make an appointment with an optometrist.  This lady was really clever and after an hour of tests told me that I couldn't see.  Tell me something I don't know!

The optometrist referred me to an eye specialist.  After two hours of testing he told me that I could not see.  At least HE could give me a reason.  He told me that I could not see because I have cataracts in my eyes.  I nearly fell out of my chair...ummm his chair. 
"Cataracts, me? You're kidding right?  hahaha That is funny!  Ok what is the real problem?"
He confirmed his diagnosis and told me that I would need an operation to remove the damaged lenses.
"Those eye drops you gave me have made my eyes water," I croaked and he handed me a tissue and gave me a sympathetic pat on the arm.

My grandmother is a real English lady with a potato in her mouth.  Not a real potato but a tongue that behaves like one and gives her this terribly pompous sound.  I have at times been in danger of falling asleep while waiting for her to finish a sentence.  When my grandmother found out that I was going blind she called on the big guns. She insisted that her eye specialist had to give a second opinion before I went in for an operation.  I was ready for a second opinion if it meant that it was a better one than the one I had just received and so this morning I found myself being driven to her eye specialist.  I didn't have to see the road to know that the drive was harrowing.  I wore out the carpet on the passenger side of her car using the imaginary brakes.  We did, however, arrive in one piece and she parked right in front of the clinic in the paraplegic parking.

Moments later I was walking through the clinic or more precisely I was being led by my very old frail granny who insisted on holding my arm and walking very slo-o-owly.  Every now and again she would stop and say loudly, "Stay here dear and DON'T MOVE!"  I felt like a two-year-old but I did as I was told.  At one point I had to use the bathroom and sheepishly asked her if we could go to the ladies.  She steered me toward the bathroom and I had to convince her that I was quite capable of entering the stall all by myself.  I cringed when she said in a loud voice  "IF YOU NEED ANY HELP DEAR, KNOCK!"  (Sheesh gran I'm blind not deaf)

I almost didn't make it to the loo I was giggling so much.