Better Than a Poke in the Eye with a Sharp Stick

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The title of this post refers to something my husband always says when there's a choice to make. If we decide on the first alternative instead of the second, he might say this. If things don't go as planned, he might say this.

And today I say it.

At 5:45 a.m. I was lying on my daughter's bed; sometimes she requests that I lie with her, and of course, I fall asleep. She was pulling the covers and kicking them off at the same time and I turned around to look at her and see what was going on. And then I got it: THWAP! Poked in the eye. The pain was instantaneous and my hand went to cover the eye. I ran out of the bed and ran into the master bedroom, crying from the pain and unable to catch a breath to speak. My husband who woke up kept asking, "What's wrong? What happened?" And I couldn't get the words out. Finally between large gulps and sniffles I told him and he immediately made a compress to put on my eye.

I have, thank G-d, a high threshold of pain I believe (natural childbirth 3x; no painkillers after root canals and other minor surgeries), but this pain and the pressure behind the eyeball was almost intolerable. What was worse was that exactly two weeks ago, my co-worker somehow managed to scratch her cornea with a paper towel, and I had a feeling I had done the same to myself.

For an hour I couldn't open my eye, my nose was running like what, my eyes were tearing like what. It was like I had a severe cold, sinus infection and allergies rolled into one. But I knew I had to get to work and then see what to do: try to get an appointment with my eye doctor or go to a walk-in medical clinic. I chose the former and later in the morning, managed to book an appointment for this evening.

At first the discomfort and pain were tolerable, but then throughout the day at various intervals, the nose and eyes started running again, and I was blinking incessantly. Imagine when you wake up with that gritty, sandy feeling in your eyes; now imagine an entire sandbag has been dumped in your eyes, and someone is pushing your eyeball from behind, to boot! That's the pain I was having.

Driving home was murder; the sun was glaring in the west, in the direction I had to travel. Even with my sunglasses and the sun visor down, any time the sun hit my eyes, my vision blurred up with tears and pain.

Well, I just came home from the opthomologist. And I am a Moshe Dayan wannabe with an eye patch -- flesh tone, not black, thank G-d. Yes, that THWAP! in my eye managed to cause an abrasion. The doctor put an ointment in the eye, patched it up so it wouldn't get infected with bacteria, and tomorrow will check it out.

To drive with an eye patch (at least in my eyes-- yes the pun was intended!) is rather difficult; to keep the eye closed under the eye patch is rather difficult. To type this post is somewhat difficult.

My daughter kept apologizing profusely for what she'd unknowingly and unintentionally done, and even called me on the cell this a.m. as I drove to work, giving the first apologies. (when she woke, my husband told her what happened; she'd slept through all the medical drama) When I came home from work, she gave me more apologies and countless kisses. When I got back from the eye doctor, there were more of the same. And my youngest wondered aloud if with the patch I now qualify to be "a pirate."

Yes, this was a mishap, and thank G-d it wasn't worse. Because a poke in the eye with a finger or fingernail is ... as I said when I started this post: "Better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick!"