Doctor: Do you feel anything now?
rei: I don't know. Try poking my eye. If I kick you, that means I still feel something.
Doctor: Hmm. Maybe another eyedrop ... better?
rei: How about you empty that entire bottle into my eye BEFORE sticking the needle into my eyelid? That sounds perfect.
Doctor: But you'll go blind!
rei: As long as the needle goes in painlessly, I'll be good. Besides, I'll have one good eye left.
Doctor: YOU'RE MYOPIC. That doesn't count as a good eye.
rei: I'll wear a monocle.
Doctor: ... No.
Thereafter he stuck the needle into my eyelid. For the record, it was not painless, but the rest of the surgery was. Have you cut into it yet? I asked, after a long period of fiddling about. My mother, who was watching - like I said before, she likes this sort of thing - said The incision's done! He's working on the infected area now.
My only problem with surgery is the pain; once the pain is gone, I am happy. I lay there, instructing both the doctor and my mother to give me detailed updates on what exactly they were doing with my eye. Is it bleeding? I demanded. Are gross bodily fluids spurting out of my eye? Is there a huge gaping hole in my eyelid? Do you need to stitch it up?
The answer to all my questions was a longsuffering "no" - apparently all the doctor did was make a tiny incision. I got to wear an eyepatch home, but not the dashing black piratey type - just a white patch of gauze that made me look like one of my eyeballs had fallen out. My mother, who had been planning to take me out to dinner after the visit to the doctor's, surveyed my one-eyed form with some concern. Perhaps we should just do takeout, she suggested. You know you look bad when not even your mother thinks you're fit for public viewing.
Aside from the eye problems, I've been under the weather with a cold these past few days. Monday was the worst day ever. I woke up with a vague heaviness in my head and a suspicion that I was about to catch cold - only to find out that both my parents had the flu and a major water pipe in the area had burst, leaving our entire neighborhood without water. My parents were too sick to get up, so I dragged myself out of bed to get them food and water and meds. As the day wore on I got sicker - and crabbier, since it is no fun to have a cold during a hot summer day with no water. At one point I called the neighborhood's security guard to ask for some information, got into a misunderstanding, called back again very upset, and got hung up on. Whereupon I - sniffling, sweaty, and with a wonky eye - marched two blocks down to the guardhouse and proceeded to scream at the guards for hanging up on me. There are four hundred fifty houses in this subdivision, miss, the head guard snapped.
Cry me a river, I snapped back. I have two sick parents and I'm sick too. Do you want to stand around moaning about our problems or do you want to tell me which asshole hung up on me?
I really hate being sick.
In any event, I am not better but I don't care - if I stay cooped up in the house doing nothing any longer, moss will start sprouting on my toes. Tomorrow I'm off to Makati, to meet up with S and make many dastardly FSO-related plans; on Friday I have dinner with V and Solemate, and next week my schedule will return to its usual hectic pace. In between all of that I had better find some sort of cold medicine that doesn't make me sleepy, because enough is enough.
In three months I will probably be grateful that my body chose vacation time to get sick, but right now it is very hard to be grateful for two weeks of downtime.