From couch to campus

Our first students were James and Kenny. After introductions, any misgivings I had about being regarded as a geriatric lab rat were soon dispelled. Following a preliminary chat, J&K got down to business, the intent seemed to be to allow them an opportunity to assess the effect of retinitis pigmentosa (RP) from its relatively early stages to its end user, ie. me. However, having skipped a year through Covid, my records must have become a bit dated and instead of someone with enough sight to put through the routine, they were stuck with a 'total' Blindy well past the basics of the eye chart. After what I'm sure we all felt were disappointing results from the big white board and the moving torch, we reached the conclusion that there is a limit to the variety of stuff you can wave in front of a 'total' before futility sets in. I half expected relegation from 'valid case study' to 'let’s try to keep the old geezer involved'.

That sort of hiccup might have called for a muttered conference away from the punters but if there was a problem with the script, J&K, like all good double acts covered it effortlessly. Whilst James guided Susan through the alphabet journey, Kenny asked me about sight loss.

Testing times

Like most Blindies, I've lost count of the number of Q&A sessions I've sat through discussing my eyesight, or lack of. From memory, most were clinical rather than personal therefore forgettable, but since my early conversations with the late Gordon Sanderson nearly 20 years ago, I can't recall having a more relevant discussion about my condition than I did with Kenny. He avoided wheelbarrow words and medical jargon, focusing instead on the personal impact, coping techniques, visual aids, technology and so on, as if he wanted to understand the effect as much as the mechanics of the condition. I'm not sure how long the chat session lasted, we seemed to cover an awful lot of ground. On coping with devices, I was quite firm that I didn't really need further coaching. The 'old dog, new tricks' caution works fine for me and, where possible, I avoid updates and 'helpful' apps.

As lunch approached, we chatted about guiding, and ended the morning session with Susan and I giving a live demonstration of what I felt most comfortable with.

Pride goeth…

Frequent comfort breaks are part and parcel of the ageing process and with the increase in sight loss, being out an about can pose problems – to the extent that I often feel that the good folk who build such things often plant toilets as far away from me as possible, just for the fun of it! Campus level 3 proved no exception, but ably guided by K (I think), we made the journey before joining the lunch crowd. And a crowd it was too, all seemingly talking at once. I don’t feel comfortable in crowded spaces, for some reason I always feel as if I’m in someone’s way, so I opted for my standard party tactic and perched, a little apprehensively, in a corner. As I removed my mask, the hook pulled my hearing aid out. Left with a choice of tottering round clutching the thing and asking total strangers “Would you mind plugging this in for me?” I opted for the dubious dignity of spending the rest of the day in semi-deafness.

Hearing problems

Back in the safety of the examination room, the remaining aid decided to have battery problems, which made things even tougher for Ki Hong and Ian, our new team, who were now faced with an old codger who beside not being able to see the equipment had trouble hearing about it as well. Surprisingly, to me anyway, this added hurdle didn’t faze them a bit. Like J&K, they worked quietly around the problem.

It couldn’t have been easy, it was a small room and while Ki Hong (or was it Ian?) tip-toed through the eye chart with Susan, Ian bravely attempted to interview me. I tried to help by turning my good ear towards him but then discovered that the one with the dodgy battery was on Susan and K’s side, so Ian’s quiet questions occasionally got drowned by “Now can you read the line under that?” I could have yanked the thing out but stayed with the 50/50 option, which proved tough for him, but he sailed through the experience with professional calm, confirming my impression that Ms O’Hanlon’s charges will leave university very well-schooled. On reflection, however, I do get guilt visions of the poor guy’s sleep patterns being broken by a voice muttering ‘Pardon?’ and ‘I’m sorry, could you say that again?’ over and over.

Campus to couch

Seated safely back at mission control in Ponsonby, I debriefed myself over a small single malt, idly comparing the 'Camelot' days of the ‘70s, when long hair, flared jeans, Laura Ashley tops and denim skirts were practically compulsory for students, together with an anti-establishment attitude. It might be the mellowing of age (God forbid!) but this new breed seems more focused and somehow better equipped than most I teamed up with back then.

I hope James, Kenny, Ian and Ki Hong got something out of our time together other than the ability to re-shuffle the deck at short notice. My assignment completed, I considered the last of the single malt clinging gamely to the bottom of the glass and reached two conclusions: 1) that the future of optometry is in very good hands; and 2) attempting to wear a face mask and hearing aids at the same time can invite a whole host of new problems.

Born in the UK, our ‘white-caner’ columnist, retired Dunedin antiques dealer Trevor Plumbly, was diagnosed with retinitis pigmentosa more than 20 years ago and now lives in Auckland.