Aching of the whole eye, perhaps both, that builds up during the day and slightly offsets one's focus might be a recurring spasm of the extraocular muscles. If it's very consistent you might try to relax these powerful muscles with Diazepam. Ask the doctor for say, half a dozen for diagnostic purposes. 5mg and 30 minutes could be the difference between a very tedious burden and restored focus and comfort.
In my case it was the tendency to fine-tune my eyesight making use of these muscles. That will start major arguments with the professionals, but there's a lot about it on Wiki. It came back to bite me 40 years later while on a visit back to the UK. Two things took me to the answer. One was that I'd always had a tendency to tighten muscles up if they weren't happy. The other was a critter running out and the Rivetess standing on the brakes. When the latter happened my eyes relaxed totally and I knew the answer. I'd been prescribed Valium (Diazepam) years before for a judo injury that was a misery by the end of each day. One tablet relaxed it, but Valium was new, and nice, and I wasn't flying then. Valium with wine makes one the life and soul of any party. It is preciously the kind of drug that will creep up behind you and @$@$$^ up your life.
PVD. Years after my first one my right eye was getting a bit tricky. Some floaters but also now some horizontal fingers across my vision when I blinked. My brain was filtering out the effect most of the time. I opted for a PVD and SCRAPE. Sounds horrible, doesn't it?
Different world now. Conveyor belt. Strange chair to be wheeled in on which collapses into one's operating chair/table. The option of Local Anaesthetic. No no no no no . . . I'd never brave up to that. Straight home after a cup of tea. Oh, okay. A sheet thrown over my face with a hole for the surgeon to look in. I'm told I can amuse myself by looking around under it since my right eye, and all its strings, will be disconnected from my brain. The sheet was flapped down and an extraordinarily cheerful chappy poked a needle in my eye. I kept still instinctively. The conversation went - "My eye doesn't work". "I know, I've just de-worked it. It's the same stuff that Dentists use". The surgeon peeked around a load of tools and set about me.
Puggle, puggle . . . "It is coming off, but in little pieces." This was the scar tissue I'd been promised would not grow back if I braved the operation. Pick, pick, puggle, puggle. "Three." psssssssssst. 'Three point eight'. pssssssssssst. My eye was up to pressure and the flap flapped for the last time. I was off.
I was taken home for a long weekend. WHAT THEY HADN'T TOLD ME was that I would not be able to see out of the eye due to the air bubble in the eye. They didn't do that last time. However, by the grace of God I'd overheard a Yacht Cub member talking about his surgery, and just being able to see over the bubble. The next morning I peeked gingerly at this ball in my eye and could just see my bedside light in perfect focus over the top edge. At one stage the eye seemed all wet and I phoned the emergency number. I told the lady that I thought all the water that they'd put in, was coming out of one of the holes the surgeon had made. She was laughing so much that she couldn't answer. I took that to be a good sign.
NB If they work on the retina, there's a good chance they will put gas in the eye. They intend the bubble to float and hold the retina up which means being face down on a ring for several days. I got the impression that nookie was banned during this period.
My ball was black chrome. Perfectly spherical and quite beautiful. It got a tad smaller every day. Half way, about day five, it was okay to do some cooking. I got a huge knife and the carrots, however every time I looked down, the ball would float up and obscure the cutting board. I erred on the side of fingers.
Any shaking of the eye might cause the ball to divide up like mercury, but still in spheres. Kool! I could make little men with big bodies and tiny heads. Try really hard and I could give it little round arms. I resisted all temptation to create the other three things.
Day eight. I sat in my car and realised that I could see out of the wind-shield and the tops of the dials. Hooray! Hmmmm . . . Physics 101. What's that about the direction balloons go when you brake? Backwards? I'll leave it another couple of days. Day ten. The tiny ball that was there yesterday had gone. Nothing. Perfect. A good job because it was the check-up day and a 60 mile round trip.
A few weeks later my eyesight was astonishingly good. ~ 20/15. I was on a high. I'd got me BMW 6 Twin turbo and swung by the Ipswich agents on my way to hospital. 5M. Seems sensible. Twin clutch. Just what I need. I can also thank my maker for restraining me from that fascinating toy.
The cataract came on schedule. It was a bit tricky - being a perfectionist is a burden sometimes. I think the edge of the lens was folded, but I'm not sure. I was offered laser treatment.
After a few minutes with this lovely lady I felt totally confident. She had many years experience and could see some targets. Zap, zap, zap-zap. I lost count. I went outside and immediately realised the vision had improved enormously. It was never quite what it was with the natural lens, but pretty darn good. I felt 30, and clearly in need of a younger wife. Then my hearing exploded. Also, I don't make enough tears. Perhaps just little holes in my eyes might leak enough to lubricate them.