You know how it is when you’re high and dry for something to write about, then you stumble across something somebody else wrote, which jogs your memory about something you’d been trying like hell to forget?
Well, that happened to me today when I was reading a future bride’s blog about the need to get contact lenses because she doesn’t want to wear glasses at her engagement party. Apparently, glasses don’t go well with a sari, and never having worn a sari myself, I have to take her word for it.
But one thing I could identify with was hating to put stuff in my eyes, and it was her post about all the flinching and twitching she did while trying to insert contact lenses that had me thinking back to 2005 and a surgical procedure I had on my eyelid.
Fortunately, I jotted down the details about that incident shortly after it happened. The story became part of our family Christmas letter that year (yes, my family Christmas letters are nothing like your family Christmas letters), so I was able to track down the old file and relive the horror.
I had something called a chalazion in my eyelid, which felt like a grain of sand scratching the surface of my eye every time I blinked. From my old Christmas letter, here’s what happened next:
You won’t find pictures like these in just any Christmas newsletter, folks, and let me tell you, it feels worse than it looks, and you’re wide awake with a ringside seat for the whole thing. Let me describe the procedure for you.
First comes the needle full of Novocain in the eyelid. The doctor told me not to move or he’d put the needle right through my eyeball, so I just sort of gripped the edges of the table and screamed silently to myself.
Next, the doctor brought out a medieval torture device that was inserted under my eyelid, which was then rolled up — like peeling a grape — exposing the juicy pink underside that was never meant to be seen. At this point there is no escape, and I was left staring at a light 10 times brighter than the sun, with no way to blink.
Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, we moved to the next phase. Tears and blood ran down my face as the doctor took cold steel and cut out the offending tissue. When that was done, he whistled for the hot irons, and the nurse wheeled over a little cart so the doctor could cauterize the wound. It was neat to watch the smoke curling up from my own eyelid, and there was that smell of burning flesh, and a sputtering sound like bacon frying on Sunday morning.
Once I was branded to his satisfaction, the doctor released the clamp, and my eyelid rolled up with that thwack-thwack-thwack noise like a window shade that’s been let go. He bandaged my eye and told me not to remove the gauze for 24 hours. I wanted to cry, but decided that would probably hurt, make my bandages wet, and I’d probably get gangrene, so I bucked up, bit my lip and tried to make do with several shuddering intakes of breath.
After about five minutes, the nurse came back and asked one of the all-time stupidest questions I’ve ever heard. “Well, how do you feel?” she chirped. “Just swell,” I replied, and she sent me home to suffer.
Fortunately, I haven’t had a recurrence of any chalazions. I certainly don’t recommend ’em, and this is one case where the cure just might be worse than the disease. That needle of Novocaine in the eyelid is a real come-to-Jesus moment, let me tell you, one that I hope you will never have to endure!
That right there is proof you are made of steel. I just couldn’t. Nope, nope and more nope.
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If I had it to do over again, I wouldn’t, wouldn’t, wouldn’t!
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I flinched right through the post.
The picture, the thwack thwack of the eyelid. Gosh I’m still all cold. You are one brave man.. 👍
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Thanks, but it’s not bravery when you don’t have a choice!
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No no no no. That picture is disturbing. Then, your story was even more disturbing. Any way I can sign up for your Christmas newsletter next year? It seems a lot better than the crap I usually get.
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The Christmas newsletter was before the blog, so I quit writing the newsletter. I think my relatives are pretty happy about that. But thanks!
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impressive – you are right about the fact that my Xmas letters are nothing like yours – love the nurse – and great answer too – OH and thanks for posting the picture so impressive – great share
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Thank you! It’s nice to have the ugly bits appreciated!
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it’s all life isn’t it the good the bad and the ugly, and let’s face it, there are generally not quite so many beautiful bits – and the photo is AMAZING (but I’m a doctor, so I may be slightly biased..)
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Well, just to be clear, it isn’t MY picture, and is only used as a disgusting illustration!
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🙂 – but such a great shot! Well illustrated indeed – figured if your xmas letters are unlike any others then that would have to include illustrative images🌰
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Oh certainly it did, but it wasn’t this particular shot, as I recall. Hmmm, maybe I should resurrect the Christmas newsletter!
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Eek! I will never be able to raise the window shades again without thinking of this story. Thwack-thwack-thwack!
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I might have exaggerated just a little bit with the sound effects, but it was kinda like that!
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Novocaine in the eye sounds… like a party!
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It hurt bad. Made me wonder how much worse the scalpel could have been with no painkiller.
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I think I speak for the family, well part of it anyway. We miss the Christmas newsletters. They were the best!
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Glad you liked them! But my thinking is that everybody’s already getting more than they want with the blog, so who needs a newsletter anymore?
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