I've been spending the last couple of days trying to wish it away. Yesterday I actually took a concrete step and headed for the doctor's, hoping he could blast it off (painlessly, of course). You know what he's going to do? my mother asked - my mother, having been a former emergency room nurse, is never quite as happy as when she is asked to describe or observe a particularly gory medical operation. He's going to take a scalpel, make an incision in your eyelid, and then ...
Yes! my opthalmologist chimed in, also quite cheerily - all my doctors are friends with my mother, since they all went to medical school together back in the day. We'll use local anesthesia so you can be awake during the operation and you get to watch blood spurting out of your own eye!
As appealing as they made the procedure sound, in the end there was no surgery. The opthalmologist examined my eye carefully, prodding it gently several times in order to confirm his diagnosis. I guess I won't be operating after all, he concluded, sounding rather glum. Looks like this is the kind that can be treated with ointment and antibiotics.
Since then I've been dosing myself religiously, hoping against hope that this blasted sty will melt away like wax under a blue flame in the next couple of days. I had originally planned this week to the minute, all the way up to next Thursday - unfortunately, this completely throws the schedule off, since I have been unable to go anywhere for the past couple of days. I'm still holding out for the slightest chance that I'll be better by next week, but if Sunday rolls around and I still look like an alien, next week's schedule is going to be affected as well.
It's simultaneously frustrating and funny, how you can meticulously schedule your life to the minute ... and have it all wrecked by one physical malfunction. When things like this happen, my mother always points out Maybe it's your body's way of telling you to take a break. I'm thinking she's right, because this is the one thing that could have kept me home this week - I had so many things to do that if I'd come down with a cold or a slight fever, I'd have kept on going until I could no longer get out of bed. Vanity, I am ashamed to say, is a far more compelling reason than the preservation of my own silly life.
Therefore: I will be at home for the next few days, attempting to speed up my healing process in time to make it for next week's schedule. In the event that my body does not cooperate with my will, I shall have to reluctantly give in and start cancelling things ... but I shall hold out until Sunday.
In the meantime, I shall sit back, relax, and concentrate on freaking out the Freakchild with my swollen eye.
* From The Prince of Tides, by Pat Conroy. The entire quote, if I remember correctly, goes Man ponders but God decides / When to kill the prince of tides.
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Apparently Star Wars is opening tomorrow - obviously I won't be able to go and see it, but whoever's going to see it might want to check out a few points to ponder.
As for me, all I really want to find out is: at what point does Anakin get the bad case of asthma that seems to plague him when he becomes Darth Vader?