Suddenly I find myself doing time in Conjunctivitis Junction. Or maybe there’s a rare flesh-eating bacteria gnawing on my optic nerve, waiting to get into my brain. I couldn’t really say. All I know is that my eye hurts like a mofo, and it’s spewing stuff. I am waiting for the “primary care physician” to call me back. I would like to get some ointment and maybe a poultice as well. Oh, and an eyepatch. A white one would be way more fetishy.
I’m also trying to figure out which kindergartener I should string up for giving this to me. Or is this some vile cross-contamination from the instruments at Kindermusik? As if trying to pretend Littles is interested in overly arranged childrens’ ditties isn’t bad enough.
Near blinded with pain, I find myself reflecting on karma. The last time I got conjunctivitis, it was my sixteenth birthday, and I called in to school sick. Only to actually find myself blighted by disease. Oh, the unfairness of it all. I still went to driver’s ed, because damned if I was going to be stopped from getting my license. The driver’s ed instructor liked to make students drive him around, periodically stopping for errands. Mail Boxes Etc., Subway, the dry cleaner, what have you. I made sure to wipe my hands all over the instructor’s wheel when he wasn’t looking.
If I don’t get a call back soon, I’m going to have to treat this the Little House on the Prairie way – a squirt of breastmilk (shaddup, it’s antibacterial) and some expired Vicodin.
Your blogads are showing me promotional materials for “gripe water”.
You can gripe without water, I trust!
I would go with the breastmilk. It works better than ointment!
The milk didn’t work. I think I started too late. Had I started the night before, maybe. But the real problem turned out to be a sinus thing anyway, and it was putting extreme pressure on the eye. Gross.