Fight club

For the last week I've had this little bump on my eyelid that I can't seem to get rid of. I thought it was a sty because I occasionally get them from not throwing out my contacts every two weeks like I'm supposed to. I'm cheap in that way and will basically wear them until a) they tear, b) I lose them, or c) my eyes turn the color of Buffalo Wild Wings' Mango Habanero sauce. When I get a sty I usually do my old standby routine: I throw away the infected contact, where just the one contact for the next two days, and put warm tea bags on my eye. You laugh but it always works. Except it didn't this time. I've sat through countless movies, church services, birthday dinners, and a DMB concert being only able to see out of one eye. Plus I've gone through enough tea bags to keep the Lipton company thriving through these difficult economic times.

I'm leaving on Sunday to go to a conference for a school in Little Rock so I knew that I wanted to take care of it before I left town. I made an appointment with the eye doctor and went in this afternoon. The nurse escorted me back to an exam room where she asked me some basic questions. I made the mistake of telling her that for the last week I hadn't been wearing my contacts. Contacts plural, not singular. She said "That's really smart of you because some people just still keep wearing their contacts and that doesn't allow for the eye to heal. I've even had some people come in ignorantly wearing only one contact. That's not only unsafe, it's also very stupid." That would be me. Ignorant, unsafe, and stupid. Table for one please.

Sitting there in the oversized exam chair she then handed me one of those paddles that you use to cover one eye and read off the chart. I covered my good left eye and obviously couldn't make out anything but the large letters at the top. She then told me to now cover up the other eye to see if I could see any better out of it. Busted. Rather than coming clean I faked my way through it. I pretended that I couldn't make out what the letters were. "I think it's a B, although it might be a P," I lied. It was a C. Seeing how blind I was she rather condescendingly asked why I didn't wear my glasses in. I said that Ella had stepped on them just this morning. She shook her head and finally said "Please tell me you didn't drive here." I shook my head and told her that my brother had brought me over and was waiting in the car. This is the perfect example of how one lie leads to another lie which leads to another lie. The moral of the story kids is to always tell the truth.

When the doctor finally came in he took a look and immediately told me that it was a blocked tear duct. He said he'd need to do a procedure called a chalazion and unblock the gland. I was ushered to another room without being given the opportunity to ask any questions. The next thing I knew I was getting a shot in my eyelid and trying hard not to urinate in my pants. After getting the shot I had to wait twenty minutes for it to completely numb. Nobody mentioned that it was going to make my eye swell up like Violet Beauregard. Right on cue the doctor came back in, reclined the chair, and went to work. Having metal instruments darting into your eyes is something creepily reminiscent of A Clockwork Orange. As he leaned over me it didn't help my nerves that I could see everything he was doing reflected off the lenses of his eyeglasses. I've watched Hannibal Lecter bite out a man's tongue but nothing is quite so eerie as seeing a scalpel slicing away millimeters from your eyeball.

Another woman poked her head in I guess to check on the progress or perhaps just to be nosy. "Aren't you Mr. Ritchason?" she said shortly after arriving. She was a former Willow parent and began talking about her daughter's gymnastics meet coming up this weekend. I don't mean to be rude, but I could really give a crap about that right now. "Oh great" is all I could get out. She excused herself just before the doctor finished up the procedure. "You're as good as new," he said as he shook my hand and left. The assistant sat me and I could immediately see my reflection in the mirror on the other side of the room. I looked like I had been in a bar room brawl with Woody Harrelson. My eye was puffy with a big shiner below. For once I looked (somewhat) like a tough guy. Don't mess with me.