The piercing pain in my right eyeball told me immediately I was about to drop $50 at Urgent Care.
I thought maybe the pain would subside as I got ready for the day. I had the same kind of pain in my left eye days before; taking out my contact relieved that issue. Perhaps it was an eyelash or I accidentally slept in my contacts, again. Walking from room to room, it was obvious as my pupil did what pupils do as light changes, I had a problem that wasn’t going away anytime soon.
The first time I had pinkeye, the second I flipped on the bathroom light I was on my knees in pain. My pupil slamming shut after hours in the dark asleep was incredible. My doctor then shook my hand, congratulated me for having conjunctivitis and sent me home with eye drops.
Getting Weez out of the shower early, I drove us to the Urgent Care. It was painful, but I could see thanks to my sunglasses she thinks are weird. I can’t win with glasses. In junior high I had a sweet pair or sea-green frames I was bullied for until my mom offered to get new clear frames. I loved the green glasses.
“You can keep that pen,” said the receptionist after asking why I was there.
The doctor routinely shined his light right into my eye, “Geez, Doc!” “Sorry. Does that hurt?” “Uh, yeah.” He turned off the light and asked me to lie down. Firing up a bigger, brighter light, he asked me if I was ready. Muttering words only Lucifer could understand, I did my best to keep my eye open. The pain was overwhelming.
He dropped numbing fluid in my eye, which burned like hell and I swore like that chick in “The Exorcist” when she gets doused with Holy Water, but quieter and less violently, “Usually people don’t feel that much pain.” “Everyone’s eyes are different,” said my daughter. I gave her a thumbs up because I was still muttering swear words.
Turns out I scratched my eyeball; I wasn’t contagious.
I kept the pen.