fictionsmith

Having survived to the age of 27, I have somehow managed to avoid a trip to the emergency room.  I used to say that with pride, listing it among my other “have nots,” such has having never gotten a speeding ticket, been in a car accident (whilst driving), or having broken a bone (unfortunately, not having a cavity slipped off that list a couple years back…).

But many good things come to an end.

Two days before my first showing of Greyscale (and 3 before my trip to Israel), my right eye had become so pained that I could barely keep it open for more than 2 seconds at a time, which is not conducive for driving to work or even editing a film… It is conducive for sitting alone in the dark like the stereotypical mother waiting for her grown son to call (“He never calls…”).

I never got it checked out and it cleared up just in time for the showing.

Then again, I was still new enough at my job that I didn’t have health insurance.  I chalked it up to having worn my contacts too long and bit the bullet and bought new ones.  I had only been employed for 1 month after 10 months off and Sarah hadn’t found a new job yet so I was trying to be frugal in ways that one should not be frugal.

This time I went to the MinuteClinic at CVS and the nurse that looked at me almost recoiled after looking at my eyes, fearing it was Iritis.  She said I should go to the ER, and soon.

Sarah drove me there and after a slightly comical mixup of going to the Veteran’s hospital (right next door) where the lady at the front desk gave me a once-over and as politely as possible asked “You are a veteran, right?” to the long-haired, cord and fingerless-glove wearing man in front of her.

I get the feeling that happens often enough.

So, long story short, I sit in the ER for 5 hours, have 5 different people look me over, two of them doing the exact same tests that involve eyedrops and poking my eyes with the same eye-pressure reader that didn’t work well for both people, and two rounds of dialation eyedrops and at least 5-6 times of a blaring light being shown in my light-sensitive eye for almost a minute at a time… It was guessed that I had irritation from my contact and smeared some ointment that made my sight hazy and sent me home.

2 days later it still hurts a little and my left eye is till a little red, but not enough to scare small children or make people think that I’m self-medicating for glaucoma…

I’m grateful yet sheepish that my malady was probably self inflicted (I do adhere to the length of time one should wear disposable contacts) and not sight threatening.

Then I began to think about what would happen to my career (and life) if I were to go blind… but that’s another blog post entirely.

vcD,

-R