I've been diagnosed with another ailment. Old age.
Already handicapped by a fractured left arm and poisoned right arm, holding a book has proven to be something of a challenge in recent times. And the task has not been made easier by a fairly sudden difficulty in actually reading the words.
I was due in for a contact lens check yesterday (I've worn them since I was 18) and thought I'd mention it to the eye lady before she found out for herself.
She had a poke at my eyes whilst I attempted to recite a selection of letters projected onto the wall.
The exercise enabled her to reach two conclusions.
The first was that, although there had a been a slight weakening of the sight in my right eye, my contact lens prescription would not have to change this time around. Good, because I've got three boxfuls of unused lenses stashed in the bathroom cupboard.
And the second?
"You've got early presbyopia."
"What does that mean?"
"You're getting old."
According to Wikipedia, presbyopia is "a condition associated with ageing of the eye that results in progressively worsening ability to focus clearly on close objects."
"Presbyopia is a natural part of the ageing process."
Back to the eye lady. She further explained that the latest physical disaster to befall me tends to hit people from the age of 45.
"I'm not 45 until March," I announced with youthful glee.
"And you'll be 46 next March."
I was really going off her.
The conclusion of our joust was that, despite wearing contact lenses, I will also most likely require reading glasses within two years. Oh joy.
Goodness knows what other nightmares will visit me before then.
With my run of luck, both my ears will probably fall off and I won't be able to wear glasses anyway.