I feel somewhat rude piping up with a post now, having been virtually silent for months, but I couldn’t possibly let my spreadsheet of ‘dilemmas to be shared’ get out of control. After all, a dilemma shared is a dilemma halved-slash-relived-in-front-of-too-many-people, right?
Having previously regaled you with stories of a romantic nature (or not so romantic as it turns out), I’ve decided it’s time to delve into some medical mishaps. (Heaven forbid those two tracks should one day intersect. They’re bound to but let’s not get ahead of ourselves!)
Foolishly resisting the temptation to use the old “a friend of mine had this terrible thing happen to her” trick, I think a safe place for us to start this new chapter of dilemmas is as far away from the bodily zone with the most potential for embarrassment – I’m sure you can figure that out, and no I don’t make a habit of talking about my body in zones, I simply couldn’t think of an appropriate name to capture all of the ins and outs that occur within that area.
Anyway, let’s begin with the eye.
Like many of you readers, I imagine, I am short-sighted. For many a day I made good use of the invention that is contact lenses. That is until one day a very sneaky (side note: sneaky is one of my favourite words), sneaky contact lens suctioned itself onto my eyeball. I don’t mean the usual sitting on my eyeball, I mean really stuck and non-floaty.
In a fairly calm state I stood in front of the mirror and used my fingers to try to remove the lens. Without success I tried this from various angles, using different techniques, for over an hour. Lift it up from one side and peeeeel it as far as possible off the eye. Remember to breathe again and try from the opposite side.
With mild panic setting in and a steady stream of pain borne tears, I called for help but alas – this lens wasn’t budging for anyone.
Next scene: Accident & Emergency
Having explained my issue to the nurse on duty, she set out confidently to remove ol’ sneaky. She flipped my eyelids inside out and armed herself with heavy artillery – cotton buds. Dry balls of cotton wedged onto sticks of plastic. The eye’s favourite visitor. The lens was scraped and shoved from side to side but still no movement.
Perplexed and having exhausted all ideas, the nurse handed me over to the doctor. New cotton buds, same techniques. My eye was traumatised, as was it’s owner. Try as he might, Doc couldn’t understand why this contact lens was not moving.
Exit cotton buds, enter brains
Suddenly activating his brain to challenge this plan of attack, the doctor said “hang on a minute”, dropped his tools and ran away. Thankfully he returned, this time with some eye dye and a contraption to look up close at your eye.
“This will sting, okay?”
“Now, let’s have a look. Oh dear.”
Oh dear? Doctors shouldn’t say that out loud.
He continued, “ummmm, it appears there is actually no contact lens on your eye.”
That’s right folks, there never was a contact lens stuck to my eye. Turns out that for several hours I had tugged at my cornea, ripping it as far as I could, over and over, which unsurprisingly meant that the entire front of my eye was scratched.
Maybe it’s just me, but who knew that contact lenses could roll to the back of your eye?! I thought it was stuck but it was actually just hiding. That’s even more sneaky than first predicted.
As if I wasn’t embarrassed enough as it was, I was adorned with an eye patch that quite obviously wasn’t a pirate costume but rather a badge of bung.
My eye patch brings all the boys to the yard.
Also, the sneaky little thing never did pop out to say hello again so technically I have eyes in the back of my head.