The Fortunes of Pinkeye Pissette
A True Story

So I woke up yesterday morning around 5 AM (I'm an early riser) to my left eye feeling gummed shut.

I didn't think much of it -- I mean, it didn't itch or hurt or anything. I waddled to the bathroom, washed my face, gave a little extra scrubbing to the eye, and began my day. I've been dancing on the edge of what feels like it might be a cold of and on all week, in the wake of Tuco's illness (which, as of this morning, our other cat Lizzie now has a bit of); no big deal.

By the time Marj was up for work a little over an hour later, my eye was looking sort of bloodshot, but it still felt fine. Marj fretted a bit and urged me to call the doctor, which I'm usually loathe to do unless there's either major fall-down agony/tragedy happening or an obvious compound fracture or spurting jugular at hand. Or stump.

Still, "OK, if it gets worse..."

Well, by lunchtime, it was. I don't usually have any sort of 'gunk' in the corner of my eye -- well, I did now. Every 40 minutes. My left eye was narrowing a bit, and looking redder by the hour, too.

I called off my plans for the day. It took some phone tag (that least entertaining or rewarding of all indoor sports) -- with the local medical center, our insurance company, and Marj -- but by 2:45 PM I was at the clinic, meeting my new doctor.

By this time, my eye was really bloodshot, looking positively Fulci-like under the lids. Let me back up a bit: as I drove myself to the center (a mere ten minutes away), something filmy began to assert itself en route. My left eye blurred between every other blink, as if some sort of obstruction was occluding it; once I was safely in the parking lot, a glance into the rear view mirror confirmed a creamy yellowish sludge was drifting piecemeal over the orb of my left eye.

Like I said, Fulci time. Low-gore Fulci, mind you. More like The Curse, which he only produced -- sort of mild pus slushage without the maggots or major spew (for you Fulci fans out there).

It turns out I somehow contracted

conjunctivitis, most likely its viral form,

aka "pink eye." Not to be confused with 'red eye,' the condition or the Wes Craven movie.

Anyhoot, by 4 PM I was in the pharmacy, enjoying the Bush-era joys of fucking about with pharmaceutical cards and such, finally electing to just pay for the inexpensive prescription (eyedrops) out of pocket so I could make my pathetic way back home while my eye was still semi-functional.

By now, it was oozing and puffed up. I looked like an old, runny-eyed dog; you know the look. A pus-dribbling winky-eyed old canine with a hat.

I got home about fifteen minutes before Marj, time enough to apply the first dose of the prescribed drops.

Now, I had not been able to find any eye wash at our local pharmacy, which the doctor had required I get, too. Our local pharmacy (I forgot to mention) is also midway through transformation from being a RiteAid to being -- some other damned chain pharmacy (which only added to the fun noted above, since they're also switching computers, customer files, etc.), and eye wash was not in stock.

Marj, bless her, offered to go get some in nearby Lebanon, NH, and to get Chinese takeout while she was at it. Cool.

To make a short story shorter, she got the eyedrops and dinner.

We dined with chopsticks and it was delish, and Marj somehow was able to eat despite my eye no doubt looking like a Graham Ingels panel.

"You want your fortune cookie?" she asked as we sat back from our plates.

"Sure."

My fortune (no shit):

"You will enjoy razor-sharp spiritual vision today."

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Have a great Wednesday...