[bregma]

I swear there would be nothing but heaps of smoking machinery and mangled human limbs and entrails in the operating theatre in my wake and they'd find me cowering in some far corner of the building curled up in a foetal position.

I can't even tolerate a glaucoma test and cut the optometrist off mid-sentence when he starts to suggests it.

But that's me. I think my wife would do her own eye surgery with just a mirror and some kitchen knives. Ugh, I wish I hadn't thought of that. Excuse me while I go try to stop the panic.