i don't know what is up with this winter, but it has been the weirdest and most continuous bout of sickness that we've ever had at 1918. we've all had our turn of pretty much everything you can think of (save for anthrax or the plague) and let me tell you what happened to me last night around 11pm. but first, we must back up to the year 2005.
in 2005, i sojourned on a girls night out with some friends. we descended upon a department store in some suburban and unmemorable mall and had makeovers at the MAC counter. this is a significant event in my memory because this is so not totally something i do. now don't get me wrong, i'm not a complete heathen: i never leave my house without mascara. but that's pretty much it for makeup (so really, i don't know who or what to blame for the onslaught of adult acne that i can never seem to free myself from...) and actually, to prove that i hardly ever wear makeup, i still have and use that one small and exorbitantly overpriced pot of MAC eye shadow from 2005 that is now 10 years old. that's how long it has lasted me because i so rarely use it. is there a shelf life on makeup? maybe i'm supposed to throw that shit away at some point? like buttermilk, or olives?
so i never wear makeup. which also means i'm not real up-to-date on other facets of female grooming. oh, don't you worry; i have the basics down. but when it comes to getting "detailed", like plucking and waxing and fill-in-the-blank-ing, i am completely inept. but this weekend i decided to pluck some eyebrow hairs that had become just unsightly enough to make my coworkers really believe that i don't give a shit about how i look. and i kind of want to leave them guessing - like, sometimes i wear heels and lipstick, just to keep them on their toes. but most of the time i'm wearing jeans, my tattered boots that i cannot part with for a variety of emotional reasons, and whatever black or grey shirt and/or sweater is not in a crumpled heap on the floor of my closet. my friend becky would be horrified to see my closet and/or wardrobe choices on a daily basis. hor.ri.fied. but again, occasionally it's heels and lipstick. so occasionally, i must pluck.
i feel like i did an okay job when you consider that female "detailing" is not in my "wheelhouse", but i must've done something wrong because by monday, my eyebrow had a red bump that looked kind of like a pimple but also kind of like a nuclear bomb. and by tuesday morning, my eyelid was nearly completely swollen. and by tuesday night? this:
|dead. fucking. sexy. and my eyebrows still look like shit.|
i would call that a win-win, but really it's a lose-lose.
so at 11pm i called my clinics' nurse line and started off by saying "listen, i really don't think this is an emergency but i just want someone else to tell me that it's not." she listened to me tell her about the igor-eye, and said "you really should go to the hospital."
i hate hospitals, i hate emergency rooms, and i especially hate exciting emergency rooms at any time of the night. an exciting emergency room means you are going to be here all night, maybe into tomorrow, and you are going to hate every second of it. however, this particular hospital was as quiet and boring as licking beige wallpaper. i was triaged and in a room within 10 minutes of walking in the door. to me this is incredible swiftness.
|which way to triage?!|
the nurse tried to scare the shit out of me by telling me about something called peri-orbital cellulitus where you get an infection around and behind your eye socket and then you have to be admitted to the hospital on iv antibiotics and even then they may cut out your eye because your eye is so close to your brain, and "it's a good thing that you came in", blah blah blah.
next came the female doctor. before examining me we had some nice chit-chat about how and when this loveliness started, and she mentioned oral antibiotics to treat the infection. then after examining me and touching the igor-eye way too much for how badly it hurt, she kind of tentatively offered to drain it. i say tentatively because she immediately followed her offer of drainage with "but it may not be worth it. it doesn't seem like i'd get too much out of it at this point..." so you're telling me you want to stab my infected and "hot" eyelid/eyebrow just to see if something gooey comes out, but you aren't sure and it may not be worth it?
i took a pass on the experimental drainage endeavor and simply asked for the antibiotics (and also a prescription for diflucan, thank you very much. i've been on this antibiotic/probiotic/lady-parts-unhappy train since mid-november and know exactly what stop is coming up next). i got the antibiotic on board at the hospital, and finally got back home around 2:30am after having been given very firm instructions to watch for signs that the infection may be spreading. so i crawled into bed but of course couldn't sleep because now i'm watching and waiting for the warning signs of this peri-orbital cellulitus thing - eye muscle pain, blurred vision, more pain or swelling under the eye or in my sinuses. the doctor told me if the igor-eye got any worse that i'd need to come back into the hospital and have it drained.
|but doc! aren't my eyebrows so pretty?|
so after not sleeping because i was trying to imagine living my life with one eye, this is what i woke up to this morning:
|if laughter is the best medicine, then i'm literally cured.|
i'm nearly peeing myself looking at sloth from goonies and this picture of me.
we could be twins.
i have spent the day icing my eye in hopes that i'll start looking like a human being again sometime soon. i also made myself a smoothie with spinach, oranges, ginger root, pineapple and coconut water. because while all the other things in life may fail me, my vitamix has never failed me. and i can't think of anything else to do.
post-icing and superfood smoothie, we've progressed to this:
|am i pretty yet?|
so i'm not sure what comes after this. hopefully not peri-orbital cellulitus or a glass eye. but i do know that telling your boss you can't come to work because your eyebrow is infected is very akin to the whole "the dog ate my homework" excuse. i feel like i should share this blog with him just so he understands that there is no dog, nor is there homework. there is just an embarrassing failure at plucking and subsequent abscess.
until next time,
ashley "i warned you" rebekah