Aargh!

this may be evaporative, as it is cathartic.
My scooter battery died when I was in rush hour downtown. Thankfully I could easily push it onto the sidewalk, and into a parking lot.
I had my appointment with my optometrist. I have glaucoma. My left eye is doing okay, my right eye is not. I am tiffed about the bill, as my husband's idiot insurance provider (oh be thankful you Canadians and Brits) won't cover my service. I pay it anyway, and tell my optometrist I'm moving back to Canada (as soon as I can find someone who's willing to buy a duplex with me, that we can rent out. He asks me if I have many relatives left in Canada. I don't. He asks me where my parents are. There's a long pause.
"They are cremated," I said.
He looked at me. "You're not at all old. How did they die?"
I couldn't believe he'd ask me this. Although now in retrospect it makes sense -- he probably wanted/needed to know if they had something like diabetes that I might have inherited to get the glaucoma. So I tell him: cancer, 1999, mom; heart attack, 2002, dad. Then he wants to know if they ate the way I do.
"No. Different education levels, different income levels. I eat much better." I talk about their vices. He tells me stress is a big killer. He tells me to watch the stress. Yeah. Exercise. Some support around the house would be good. Does housework count as exercise?
I'm irritated though, because I gave up coffee and have only a wee bit of alcohol, for the sake of glaucoma, and my right eye is getting worse. I walk frequently. Maybe not enough. It chafes me that there doesn't seem to be enough diet or exercise or anything personally I can do. At least in Canada I could take medical marijuana, but that would harm my body in other ways so it's not worth it.