Apparently, though, I should have known better than to choose this nickname, because thanks to karmic justice, I became one-eyed for a brief couple of days. Sadly, this did not come with the incredible wisdom that the Norse god I’m named after gained with the loss of an eye: all I got was excruciating pain, the loss of a chance to see a musical, and the fashionability of a failed pirate.
I originally wanted to blog about a great number of other things: more movie experiences; a rather interesting discovery in my room (which will get its own entry, you can be sure of that) and a REALLY REALLY interesting night I had, but due to pressing urgency, and to enlighten the world about how it felt to be in near-darkness for the few days, all of the other posts shall be put aside. So here I am, doing my bit for charity.
(Me, putting Nick Fury to shame. Thank you to my friend Alvin for making my ‘prosthetic’ SERIOUS eye, so people can take me seriously.)So, how did this saga start? I have no idea.
Doctor told me it was probably due to a foreign body entering the eye, which I eventually rubbed too hard to the point that I ended up ‘tearing my cornea.’ If you think that sounds painful, that’s because dear God, yes it was. My left eye felt like there were a hundred needles, made of barbed wire, lodged deeply within my pupil: opening it made me feel that someone was jabbing a scimitar inside for good measure. I may be a masochist, but damn, even I have my limits!
And bright lights..oh my sweet monkey ankles. You could have kicked me in the crotch while wearing blade-embroidered stilettos and I would have felt less pain. Seriously. Agony. Ended up tearing like mad: the last time I cried this much was at the last episode of Skins. Poor Tony. I think he secretly likes Sid, but Michelle would kill him if he tried anything funny.
(On an unrelated note, Skins is a pretty awesome British TV series. Yes, the storylines and characters make as much sense as a five-legged purple rhinoceros in a tutu and top hat. Yes, its as realistic as V.K. Lingam’s phone-call defence. Yes, the amount of profanity and sex would give my priest a heart attack. But its addictive, somehow, the people are nice to watch (I love Cassie, and Effy is just smoking!), and any show that features a theft of a coffin leading to a high-adrenaline car chase through the streets of Bristol, all set to Britney music, is good in my book.)
Anyways, I digress.
Point was, my eye was hurting to the point of scream-inducing excruciation, and my friend Joel was so nice to accompany me to the clinic. Was very nice of him, and am very grateful, because I would probably have been run over within minutes without help, due to my condition.
See, my right eye was fine, but opening it all the time put a lot of strain on it, and with the pain from the left eye being so intense, it was easier to close both. Which meant I was effectively blind.
Me, if I were a Night Elf, and a million times more awesome.Was relieved after getting to the clinic, eager for treatment. First time I had become sick in this country, and so was looking forward to receiving first-class, efficient medical treatment.
..only to find that the doctor could not see me now because I did not have an appointment. Was like WTF???
Medical service here, while free, seems extremely bureaucratic: no appointment, no treatment, try not to bleed too much while you wait, it ruins the carpet. Wanted to cry, but eye was tearing so much it wouldn’t make any difference. Lucky, a patient cancelled, and so I could see the doctor at 1.10 pm..
About half an hour to go.
Which proceeded to be the longest, most ridiculous thirty minutes of my life: what could I do, but stay in the hospital waiting room, hand clutching tortured eye, resisting urges to curse. Not like I could even read a freaking magazine.
At that point, was just left to my imagination, which is horrible due to how hyperactive it is. Seriously, I have the most morbid imagination ever: it comes in useful when thinking up stories involving intestine-ripping murderers and soul-sucking gypsies, but when it comes into conflict with my other side of my personality, my hypochondriac side, it becomes a tragicomedy of epic proportions.
Became extremely paranoid about my condition. How serious was this? Did it need surgery? Was something growing in there? How badly was it infected? Did they need to remove it? Was I in danger of becoming blind? Would I never be able to see
I blame House. Every episode, its somebody with some freakish disease or another: no one ever has the flu or a cold or too much gas; its always flesh eating bacteria or psittacosis or Jamaican monkey syphilis or some horrific ailment. Does horrors to my imagination.
Lucky, doctor was not as sarcastic as Gregory House, although I was not the most cooperative patient..she couldn’t really examine my eye very well because I found it very difficult to open it, due to mind-shattering agony.
Not much she could do about the eye, so she referred me to a specialist at the Royal Berkshire Hospital nearby. “Get thee to Eye Casualty, stack,” she did say, and I left.
While we’re at it, who the HELL put the ‘casual’ into ‘casualty’? As if life-threatening illnesses are things to be laughed off. Whose sick joke was this????
Anyway, after a LONG walk to the hospital, and finding the ward through the labyrinthine passages of the medical institution, FINALLY found the damn place, where the nice doctor treated my ailment, giving me some nice anaesthesia which numbed the pain. Ahh, that’s the stuff.
She also wrapped my eye up in a patch, which I couldn’t remove for a day. Patch was made of white cotton, sadly not black leather: no chance of being manly through my illness.
So for the past few days, have been mostly resting poor tired Mr Eye..quite dull. The worst part of your body to injure is your eye: anywhere else, you can still pass the time by reading or watching TV or something. But your eye goes, all you can do is sleep..which you can only do so much of. Spent most of recovery time in room with the lights all turned off, feeling very much like those tortured emo geniuses you see on TV. All throughout the UK, girls are going about in little skirts and tops, and here you are unable to see them. Curses. CURSE THEM ALL!
Was equally pissed because was supposed to go down to London on that day, to watch the musical Wicked, now have to postpone, sigh. Watching Elphaba and singing munchkins wouldn’t have the same effect with a single eye. It could have been worse: I’m just glad I wasn’t planning to see the London Eye. That way, if the pain in my cornea didn’t kill me, the tragic irony definitely would have.
Just glad this didn’t happen DURING my exams, thank God for His grace. How horrible that would have been.
Friends and housemates very nice and helpful all through my injury, helping me cook and such. All the same, hard to carry out conversations when you can’t look at people: the worst part is if they unexpectedly leave or change position: this usually ends up in me delivering long soliloquies to the air and discussing Neil Gaiman with the walls. Am glad no one took advantage of me this way, hahaha.
Only good part about this was that it apparently improved my sadly-lacking fashion sense: housemate found it "very sexy'. Yay fashion accessory!
The eyepatch is off now,though, as the pain is gone, and I am glad for it. No side effects: no X-ray vision or optic blasts of doom, unfortunately. Oh well, maybe next time?
Seriously though, the saying is true: you never appreciate what you have till its gone. Thank God for my sight. The world is a beautiful place, and I should be thankful that everyday I can able to take in so many wonders all around me.
Heh, I’m off to ogle sunbathers. Ciao!
