Remember that sinus infection that I had? I mean, it’s okay if you don’t remember, because I can barely keep up with my own life, let alone try to remember important details that I read on a blog somewhere. I totally forgive you if you’re staring blankly at the computer right now, asking yourself, “Sinus infection? Nope. I don’t recall her ever mentioning that.”
…I had a sinus infection. Or rather, I STILL have the sinus infection, because it’s a persistent little clinger. Sometime over the course of last night, that beast reared its ugly head, snarled twice or sixteen times, and leaked itself on over into my left eyeball.
It’s called a periorbital infection, and I just typed that term into the Google to see if I was spelling it correctly. I’ll never do that again, because my search called up photos of eye infections I could have lived without seeing.
Excuse me while I go bleach my eyes now.
Apparently the kicker with periorbital infections is that they’re in the eyeball, which is rather close to… you know… THE BRAIN. And if said infection decides to… OH, I DON’T KNOW!… just go on ahead and multiply like a college campus full of rabbits, it spreads.
I guess then it’s just referred to as a BRAIN INFECTION, and we all know that you pretty much have to lie down and press a cool compress to your forehead if you get one of those. I think people also bring you multiple grande, no-water chai lattes from Starbucks if that happens, too.
My left eye is red and bloodshot. It looks like I participated in a night at the gaming tables, surrounded by cigar smoke that someone had the nerve to blow right into my face.
Or perhaps it looks like someone shot me in the eye nineteen times with hairspray.
But that’s not all. My eye is also swollen and bruising. It’s turning purple. It looks like Mike Tyson and I had a prize fight in Vegas, and the winner wasn’t me, because YES. I look like someone just went on ahead and slammed a fist into my face…
For the record? This isn’t my first rodeo with a periorbital eye infection, either. I had a couple several years ago. When I was admitted to the hospital for IV antibiotics for four days, I was sitting on the fancy bed, in a gown that didn’t tie in the back, with Hubs there at my side, while the nurse asked me questions like, “Does anyone in your family have a history of heart disease?” and “How many cigars do you secretly smoke on your deck each week?”
And then the nurse looked at me and said, “Your eye looks awful. When did this start?”
Before I could say a single word, Hubs announced, “I asked her to do the laundry, and I had to ask her twice.”
And, people, that is SO NOT THE THING to say. That nurse was quite unappreciative of Hubs, and later… after he’d gone in search of a cold Coke from the cafeteria… she slipped back into my room and asked if I needed to speak with a counselor, and to remind me that anything I said in the hospital would be kept in strictest confidentiality.
What we learned from this is that Hubs’ sense of humor in tense times just isn’t funny, if you’re a nurse.
I still love that man to pieces.
But today… well… I saw the doctor, and she gave me not one, but FOUR (!!!!!!) shots of antibiotics in my caboose. And then she sent me home, with the understanding that I was to report back to her tomorrow by waltzing myself right back into her office. If my eye looked worse, I would be walking across the street to the hospital, to have an IV shoved up my vein, because BRAIN INFECTION CLOSING IN!!
So that’s what’s going on around here, people. Obviously, I’m not at my beauty pageant best.
And that’s why I’m calling it an early weekend here at Jedi Mama, Incorporated. I’ll report back to y’all on Sunday evening… if anyone cares to stop by.
But… before I go… I have a couple of snapshots for you. My eye and I (that eye that’s roughly the size of a soccer ball at the moment) went out to the deck this afternoon, where the two of us sat in a chair and watched my boy ride his four-wheeler with our cute neighbor boy. (I watched out of my good eye, because my left one keeps watering like a sprinkler on espresso shots, and it isn’t much good to me at the moment.)
I can’t even tell you in words how happy this twelve-year-old makes me. He’s one good egg.
Or at least I thought he was, until he came inside the house after putting his four-wheeler in the garage. That’s when he announced to me, “Mom, I’m twelve, and my parallel parking skills are way better than yours! Go look at the tight little spot I just paralleled my four-wheeler into; you could never have done that, Mom.”
Son, go look at our will, where Mama and Daddy crossed your name off of the inheritance of our kingdom.
Y’all have a very merry weekend, people, and give your healthy eyeballs an extra pat of appreciation this evening.