Top three least favorite medical related activities:
- Eye Doctors
In the span of the last week, I had to deal with the latter two. Luckily, the moons have not aligned against me and thrown a dentist appointment in on top of all of this, because that’s a level of masochism I’m just not prepared to handle right now. I’m honestly surprised you don’t hear of more metal hook related deaths amongst the dentist population.
I did however have to endure an eye doctor appointment. Not just that, but I went in unprepared. I hadn’t mentally psyched myself up for it as much as I should have. Similarly, I usually have to enter a similar meditation state prior to giving blood to keep from freaking out. There are just some things that I really need to gear myself up for.
I don’t mind most of the eye doctor appointments. In fact, the little game of “can you read this line” is almost entertaining. He flips a few lenses and suddenly it looks like I’m underwater. A few more, and I can make out that the little blob on the wall either a B or a D. And so on.
“Ok, now let me just dialate your pupils and you’ll be on your way in 10 minutes.”
“Great, how do we do that?”
“Just two drops and I shine a blue light in your face.”
I never realized it, but I love my eyelids. They are a greatly underappreciated body part. Their sole purpose in life is to keep shit out of my eyes. I’ve never really been good and letting things past this barrier.
Most people probably don’t know this, but it didn’t take long into marriage for me to exercise the “in sickness” clause. We landed in St. Maarten after an uneventful flight, picked up our rental car from the nice gentleman with the pet goat, and found our way to the hotel. Somehow, during the drive something went wrong with my eye. I really don’t want to think about how unsanitary the car might have been, but for whatever reason my eye became red, puffy, itchy, and all those other things you hear of in eye drops commercials before the guy sprays the volleyball painted to resemble an eye and all is better. We got to the room and decided to try to use Meg’s eye drops to clean out my troubled eye.
I don’t do eye drops. I don’t even think I could bring myself to look upwards at the open end of an empty eye dropper. So I found myself with my head in Meg’s lap, kicking and thrashing about, as Meg tried to pry open my eye and administer the eye drops. I’m sure most people are picturing a mother trying to put eye drops in a small, stubborn child. You’d be right, except realize I out weigh Meg and am significantly stronger. Needless to say, it wasn’t my shining moment, but joke’s on her, we’re married now and she’s stuck with me.
Getting back to the eye doctor. He comes at me like the scene from the movie Psycho. Except instead of a foot long knife he had a bottle of eye drops. And instead of running he walked. And instead of screaming, he was talking quite calmly about how easy this will be. And he wasn’t dressed as a woman. But otherwise, a spitting image of the scene.
After a good deal of struggle and him muttering something about me being “one of those types”, I found myself with eye drops in my eyes. And on my face. And a bit on my shirt. The doctor is also somehow wearing some of the drops.
He then goes to “shine a blue light in my face”, which was such a bullshit way of saying what he was going to do. I have to lean forward and put my face into a contraption that looks like it’s straight out of the movie Saw. He wheels around what looks to be a railroad spike on the end of a mechanical arm. The spike has a blue glowing tip. He starts inching this spike closer and closer to my eye. It took him three tries, but he finally got the thing close enough to my eye without me calling him an asshole.
As if this wasn’t bad enough, he prescribed me eye drops to use when my eyes get dry from using the computer. He gave me two bottles. One is gone already. My shirt is soaked, and I think more of the drops trickled down the side of my face into my ear than made it into my eye. The saving grace is that, because of the issues with my eyes, I pretty much can’t get contacts. Not that I’d be able to actually wear them, but it’s good to know that I don’t even have the option.
Thankfully, the bloodwork went smoother. Perhaps it was because it was first thing in the morning (read: pre-coffee) and I didn’t really know what was going on. Though apparently I didn’t come off as strong, or at least as comatose, as I felt I did, because she still found the need to tell me I looked nervous. That takes balls for a person with a giant needle in their hand to comment on the guy sitting in the chair looking nervous.
While I won’t deny the fact that I’m a wus, I can handle most things. Blood itself doesn’t bother me, rather it’s the act of jamming a needle directly into a vein to suck it out that bothers me. If the preferred approach to bloodwork was to punch me in the face and take it from my nose, I’d be fine.
Even looking back at my surgery last year, the worst part was the damn IV, which in an awful turn of events was administered to my hand. I don’t do needles, but they are better in a meaty portion of my body, like a shoulder or my ass. After that, I could care less about being cut open for the surgery. I had no problems with plastic mesh tube that was installed into me to keep the muscle in place. The tube was inserted near the point where your leg bends into your hip, so that soon after the surgery when I sat up straight I could feel the tube jab into me as if I had a pencil in my pants pocket. That didn’t bother me either. But when it comes to needles and eye issues, I’m useless.