Wednesday, November 07, 2007

Definitely not hot

The last two and a half months have proven to be the most absurdly illness-and-injury-prone period of my life. I started with an ignominiously-sustained sprained ankle. While that was healing, I added an infected mosquito bite. Next was a two-way stomach ailment that I mercifully spared you all any detailed discussion of. More recent has been my bout of bronchitis. And now you may add to the list a scratched cornea.

Like the ankle sprain before it, this injury was sustained in as moronic and unglamorous a fashion as possible. Was I, as Ben suggested, struck in the eye by a stripper's pasties in Macau? Unfortunately, no (I don't even think they have strippers in Macau, party town that it is). Was I masturbating furiously, as Marie postulated, when my hand flew off and poked me in the eye? Thankfully, no. Was I chewing on a straw when I pushed it against my teeth, bent it, and poked myself directly in the eye with the bent point of the straw? Tragically, yes.

My first reaction was a totally reasonable one, I think: a solid 3 minutes of pounding on my cabinet and shouting obscenities into a towel.

Then came a 15-minute phase when I feebly attempted to do something responsible, creating quite a mess while fumbling aimlessly for gauze left over from the mosquito bite surgery, 800-mg ibuprofen (my beloved "man-uprofen"), and single-dose saline solution droppers I conveniently acquired the day before my trip. My effectiveness was hampered severely by the fact that even opening my good eye caused horrendous pain in the injured eye (still better than trying to open the bad eye, which generated stomach-turning volumes of pain).

I re-purposed the blindfold from my overnight Cathay Pacific flight to Hong Kong into an eye-patch, and then moved into phase 3: 30 minutes of slouching in my desk chair in self-pity. This phase included a darkly funny phone call to my parents inquiring as to the availability of eye-patches, consuming an embarrassing volume of not-quite-as-good-as-I-wished-it-was dark chocolate, and contemplating what my sister's wedding pictures would look like with me appearing as a tuxedoed pirate (as Marie noted, "actually sort of awesome, in a not-happening-to-me way").

Realizing that even trying to look at my computer screen with the good eye was making things immeasurably worse, I moved into the fourth and final phase of the evening: an hour and a half of laying in my bed with the lights off and the blindfold covering both eyes, listening to incredibly masculine Coldplay music on my iPod, worrying about packing for my trip to the United States in less than 24 hours, and tossing and turning in pain-and-caffeine-induced insomnia (not to be confused with the regular ol' insomnia that has been haunting me for much of the last 2 weeks). This phase was also dominated by the incredibly strong and completely unfulfillable desire to be hugged.

I awoke this morning to discover that my eye was capable of opening, but only half-way, giving me a decidedly Paris Hilton-like appearance. It occurred to me that this was actually worse than going around as a pirate. At this point, I'm up to about three-quarter eye openage, and it seems that my eye will be okay, although I will probably have gained about 4 pounds from that not-really-worth-it chocolate binge. I leave you with a nice email I received from Marie this morning:

No comments: