The eyes have it, plus a woman from Orkney stretches the truth

Every four to six weeks for the past three years I have traveled (British, travelled) to a nearby town to receive an injection in my right eye for treatment of the wet version of age-related macular degeneration. There is also a dry version, which I have in my left eye, and it is treated by taking a pill orally every morning and every night. There is currently no real cure for either type of macular degeneration, but I can report that my left eye is definitely a happier camper than my right eye.

The doctor who does the injections has now tried four different medications. The first was Avastin (bevucizumab), the second was Lucentis (ranibizumab), the third was Eylea (aflibercept), and the fourth one is Beovu (brolucizumab).

Isn't reading other people's blogs educational?

A lot of patients receive treatments there, which involve a lot of preliminary sitting around in not one but two waiting rooms (the second one is called the dilation room) and sometimes people talk to one another. Sometimes they don't, but that wouldn't make for an interesting post.

Last month an old man in the dilation room was talking with an old woman who spoke with an accent I couldn't place. After he was called in for his turn I asked the woman where she was from originally. She said "Scotland" and I was surprised that I hadn't recognized it. She explained that she had married an American and moved here more than 50 years ago.

Ever the chatty one, I said that I had two friends from Scotland, one from the town of Auchtermuchty and one from near Stornaway on the Isle of Lewis in the Outer Hebrides. (Note to readers: You know who you are.)

She said she had never heard of Auchtermuchty.

I mentioned that my dad's mother always said our family was descended from the Hydes of Scotland. The woman said "Who?"

It turns out she wasn't a phony Scot, she was only a bit deaf. She did finally recognize the name after I said it again, louder.

Not willing to give up without a fight, I also mentioned that my dad used to say "It's a bra brit moonlit nit to-nit" and the woman, who was growing more semi-sour by the moment, said, "We didn't talk like that in the part of Scotland where I lived." Then she said, "Actually I am not from the mainland of Scotland, I'm from the Orkney Islands." In other words, to use a phrase from poker, I'll see your Outer Hebrides and raise you an Orkney.

I, not being familiar with the Orkney Islands -- yes, Virginia, there are a few things rhymeswithplague doesn't know -- asked where they were located. She said, and this astounded me when I got home later and looked at a map, "between Norway and Iceland."

It seemed to me that she was intent on disavowing any connection to Scotland at all. I could be wrong of course. Maybe she was just the anti-social type. My map check revealed that the island in the Orkney archipelago that is closest to mainland Scotland is only 10 miles off the coast. Norway is several hundred miles to the east and Iceland is several hundred miles to the northwest.

There are other island groups about which it can more truly be said that they are between Norway and Iceland. One set is the Shetland Islands and one set is the Faroe Islands. But the Orkneys? That's a stretch.

Maybe the woman from the Orkney Islands was just bad at georgraphy.