Pertinent Facts for the Vent:
I am a highly allergic person. I’m still sneezing from the pollen of 1977, so I know that I’ll be sneezing in heaven because Jesus did not say we would not be allergic in heaven, only that we would not be married, and really, I feel more closely tied to my stupid allergies than to my husband, so I’m pretty sure that he’ll live in a bungalow next to mine in heaven and it’s the allergies I’ll be living and sleeping (or not sleeping) with.
You could say that Jorge is like a third party hanging around in the background all the time, and the allergies are like a really loud, possessive, jealous nagging friend who hates the third party “threat.”
If my allergies had a face and personality, they would be Amy Winehouse.
In the last couple of years, my fatal-attraction allergies have stepped up their insanity by doing this to me every couple of months or so. And then my lids peel for several days.
That red aura in the pics is what happens when demons get under your eyelids.
I’ve been passed around from doc to doc like a hot potato at a six year old’s birthday party. “I don’t want that thing! Here ya go!” “Hey, no way!” “ACK!” “HAHAHA.”
But Friday I had my limit.
I went to an eye doc to tell him that
1. I need a new prescription because I can’t see as far anymore and can’t drive at night.
2. My eyes are monsters.
My first mistake: an appointment at 3:50 pm. Doc is ready to get home and watch Oprah, apparently, because he won’t let me finish a sentence.
Then he tells me, “No more contacts.” Which made me want to tell him, “No more respect for you” a la the Soup Nazi.
Then he tries to put me in bifocals.
I AM NOT THERE YET, MR.
Notice how I demoted him from doctor to mister.
So they give me the dilation numbing drops and do that exam.
I go out to order new glasses, which I hate, hate, HATE to wear, and they are closing because it’s after 5:00. Plus, I cannot SEE desks and chairs clearly due to the drops, let alone frames that I'll be wearing on my face and prominent proboscis for who knows how long.
There is a mix-up about insurance. I cannot remember Jorge’s soc. sec. number. I am almost crying at this point.
I leave without ordering glasses, and realize as I’m driving home, my pupils are still dilated enough to suck in all the light from around the earth, and I’m trying to get home with my eyes shut as much as possible, which is a interesting way to drive. Photoshop a steering wheel in front of French Stewart, here, and that's me.
So I’m crying from stinging eyes and sheer frustration.
I pull into the dark garage, lay aside my glasses, put my head on the wheel and cry for like two minutes.
I go inside and start to Google “Giant Papillary Conjunctivitis” and realize I left the glasses in the car. My head just about explodes cartoon style.
I hate the glasses!
Jorge calls, and I can’t find the phone, so I grab the “bad” phone, the one with a perpetual buzz in the background, but not before the machine picks up. I hit a button that, I think, turns off the machine, and I begin to spill my guts to Jorge.
About five minutes into the vent, the phone buzzes really loudly. I realize I have inadvertently taped the whole sordid, convoluted conversation with Jorge, which, yes, I did indeed play back for myself just to hear what it’s like to be Jorge listening to me.
It's like this; that's what it's like.
Can I just say: I am lucky to still be married after all these years of conversations like that. No, more accurately, I’m lucky to still be alive. If he killed me, he could use the self-defense, “She was killing me first.” No jury would convict him if they heard these conversations.
So today, I go to get my prescriptions filled for two bottles of drops. The total came to $70.00.
I read the side effects: “blurred vision, irritation, inflammation, stinging, burning, swelling of the cornea and iris, discomfort, foreign body sensation, increased pressure.”
It’s like they opened the thesaurus and looked for different ways to say, “every symptom you're trying to avoid by actually using these drops.” But they forgot to add, "Oh, and you might feel like Samson under attack from the Philistines when using these drops."
I put the drops in at work, not realizing one was thick like milk and the other came out in tablespoon-fuls. But no worries; it’s only $35 per tiny bottle.
Plus, you’re not supposed to let the dropper touch your eye.
So, I’m trying to be positive now.
I hope this works. I would love to have pain-free eyes again. I’d love to have eyelids that feel like skin and not crepe paper. Eyelids with normal eyelashes. I’d like to wear makeup again someday (Oh, the sorrow and hideousness of no eye makeup) … I’d like to run over my glasses and then put them in the blender … wait a minute; that’s not positive.
Let’s see … I’d like to break my glasses into little pieces and make a mosaic of the doc’s face. Yes, that’s a definite improvement in attitude!