You Need to Get Here Quick to Dispose of the Body

Last Thursday night I went to bed. Granted, I had prepared, in my usual routine for sleep, that which consists of wash face, take out contact lens', sterilize contact lens', moisturize face, feet and hands as well as brush teeth. I'm fanatical about this routine. It was not an un-normal night, insofar that this is what I do every single night. Except for the fact that my eyes hurt. A lot. They hurt so much they were perfectly bloodshot - the exact shade of America's stop sign. Both of them. There was something additionally a bit unusual about this as well, but I'm going to spare you the [gross] details of what was found in my right eye aside from my contact lens. The husband found it when I decided to show him my wholly and utterly red eyes. This made me want to vomit. The husband laughed and said, "these things happen." Contrary to what you might be thinking, he wasn't being mean. The husband, on occasion, thinks I'm a bit of a drama queen (What? Me? Never). Anyhow, once he got me past the I'm-gonna-puke-drama I rinsed and dried my eyes once more. Not giving too much thought to them, I managed a deep sleep without interruption until the next morning when the husband called me at 8 AM . . . .

The phone was ringing. I couldn't open my eyes. Try as I might, I could not pry them open and this finally wasn't a time that it was due to my eyeballs being tired. Through the power of touch I managed to find and pick up the phone. Feebly, I managed, "my eyes are crusty." At that, the husband deemed this was an important enough issue that he had me seek medicinal treatment. I wasn't even bleeding!

You must understand that in order for the husband to treat any of my major medical problems that I just know will lead me to certain death, I have to have a bone sticking out of my body. As most everything can be treated with Tylenol or Ibuprofen. Seriously. Even blood doesn't always get me the treatment I know I deserve.

***Take for instance, the time I found myself figuring out that I was bleeding to death by Saran-Wrap. A jagged-edge cut to the thumb. It was a big cut. One that could not be ignored. Blood was flowing down my hand and arm, to which resulted in the husband saying, "You're fine. Get over it." And he proceeded to continue to dry the dishes. I'm sorry . . . . WHAT? ! The days of my mom's, "poor baby - let me help you" flashed and then suddenly disappeared before my very own eyes. Did the husband not understand my predicament for medical care? "Um. What if I bleed to death?" "You won't bleed to death." "What if I die from loss of blood?" "You won't die from loss of blood." "What if I do?" "Baby, you won't . . . ." Interrupting, "well then, envision my death resulting in lack of medical care!" "Baby! Go sit down on the couch!" And that was the end of that. ***

My point is, is that it takes more than my blood to get the husband moving. Friday morning I found myself with a new prescription and goopy eyes that stung like a bee. I felt like Shallow Hal with conjunctivitis of the eyes. As I walk down the street children run and hide behind their mothers. People look at me and their eyes start to water. It is bad enough I have to wear my glasses with my eyes melting out of their sockets, but the added evil of no makeup. I am a mess for sure.

In the end, it is now Tuesday and I feel as a fire ant has punched me fifty-times in my left eye. It's still swollen and red. The medicine still stings both of my eyes (the husband assures me that once my eyes are cured, the stinging from the medication will stop. This is how; apparently, I will know I've been cured of this affliction) and I am still regulated to my glasses sans makeup. I've attended three public functions in this manner - meeting those of whom I've never previously met. I wonder what they think? Does she not wash? Does she not know her eyeballs are dripping down her cheeks? What is with the no makeup? Scary gal this one is. Note to self: stay away from her.

I've never had an eye infection before. Never have I had pink-eye and I do not have that now. The husband said it's most likely caused from my contacts. This is strange. I am meticulous when it comes to my contact lens's. I only wear them for one month though the eye doctor assures me I can wear them for two. I only started wearing contacts at the age of 34 - I'm a late bloomer, I know. I sterilize them every. single. night. What went wrong? And more importantly, why isn't this goop clearing up? I have to fly to South Beach Miami on Thursday - the land of the skinny beautiful people - with my face dripping off. It's bad enough I have to wear swimwear, but now I've got diseased eyes. Stick a spork in me now.

Vain? Yes. But I think it's justified. My eyeballs are melting. I have the right to be upset.


*** Apologies to the readers who have read this story in a past Christmas letter. Also, the husband is not a cold hearted beast. He does, on occasion, help me. He did bring me some paper towels with instructions to press hard and keep my arm above my heart. The bleeding did eventually stop. I knew I needed stitches; the husband said "no. you. don't." And, I didn't. ***