When they said, “See the world in rose-tinted lenses,” this is not what they meant.
I had plans today. Today, I planned to go to my knitting group, then go to work in the Russian bookstore at noon, and then attend a class after work.
But things started going wrong last night right before going to bed. My eyes were very itchy and irritated. After I came home from a late dinner with a friend, my son asked, “Mom, have you been crying?”
I replied “No,” that my eyes have been itchy and maybe just a little watery. I am fond of saying that I come from a long line of leaky-eyed people, because it is not unusual for me to yawn, and sometimes have my eyes water a bit after that satisfying yawn.
I thought maybe my contact lens had a speck of dust or something, so I took out my extended-wear contacts right before going to bed. Throughout the night, every time I would turn over, I found my right eye was leaking and aching. I got up to use the bathroom and discovered it was almost impossible for me to open my right eye — not because of grogginess, but because of the pain. So, I put some eye drops in my eyes and went back to bed.
Then, this morning, when my husband was getting dressed for work, I said, “I don’t think I can open my eye.”
I had a searing, stabbing pain, and again my eye was leaking profusely. My husband brought me some eye drops, administered them in my right eye, and left for work saying, “Hey, if you have eyeball crusties, call the doctor. You might have pink eye.” I think he washed his hands and quickly got out the door to avoid possible infection.
After he left, I called the doctor’s office and scheduled an appointment for the afternoon. Next, I called texted my KnitWits — my knitting group — getting a couple of replies back thanking me for not “sharing” and telling me “feel better.” Then, I called my coworker at the bookstore. When you mention “pink eye” and “highly-contagious” and “I can’t see,” and that you will not be coming near them, it seems that people are sympathetic and grateful that you are not passing on conjunctivitis-y eye-ball crud to them.
My son, upon seeing me with one eye closed, empathetically cracked up and said, “Mom. Ok, make a muscle. Now, here, hold this can of spinach in your hand.” He quickly left the house before I had time to throw any cans in his general direction.
Luckily, my husband had no work appointments in the afternoon, and said he could drive me to the doctor’s office, as it would be difficult for me to drive with one eye shut, and the other at partial capacity.
Upon arriving at the doctor’s office, I saw the receptionist behind the counter had on a soft blue surgical mask covering her nose and mouth. I knew this was a standard when the employees have an active virus or cold as not to spread germs. In my pained and somewhat “out of it” mindset, I also grabbed one of the masks after checking in. I sat down and put the blue mask over my eyes to keep from spreading my eyeball germs. My husband said I looked like a napping supervillain. We laughed, and I moved the mask to its proper place.
Long story short, after a not-too-close examination, I was prescribed some antibiotic eyedrops. Now, I am sitting at home, drinking hot tea and resting my eyes. “How am I writing this blog?,” you may ask. In fact, I am not writing this blog. I am dictating this blog to my long-suffering, generous, sweet, virile, handsome, and brilliant husband.
After a second round of eyedrops, I can now open both my eyes, and the pain in my right eye is subsiding a bit. I will do one more round of eyedrops, then I am heading off to bed.
So, I had plans today. But as the old Yiddish saying goes, “Man plans and God laughs.”