My Evil Eye

The following is an actual text conversation between myself and Tony, the man who once went for a run to “clear his lungs” during allergy season and ended up with a trip to the hospital for allergy-induced asthma.  He scared the shit out of his roommate at the time, who told me when I got home from work that he “thought Tony was dying.”

 

Me (1:30 in the afternoon): I’m at the eye doc. Left eye so swollen and itchy and red I can’t wear my contacts.  The white of my eye is swollen, it’s so gross.  And painful.

 

Me (post-appointment): No major issues, just severely inflamed.  I’m supposed to take Benadryl before bed.

 

Tony: Yuck… you even do allergies better than I do.

 

Me: Not a contest I wanted to win

 

Tony: Fair enough

 

I assure you, I was fine yesterday morning.  I went to Rotary, I came home to walk Charles to school.  I was FINE.  And then somewhere along our walk, I (eye) got so overwhelmed with allergies that my eye started to swell and tear up.  I rubbed all the mascara off and had to completely re-do my eye makeup when I got back to the house with a sleeping Freddie strapped to my chest (I almost NEVER wear eye shadow.  Yesterday I did, so I had to re-do that, too).  By the time I got to work, it was all so much worse.  My under-eye area was swollen and red.  I was tearing up and wiping away all that makeup I’d just redone. 

 

Then my contact started to pop off.  My eyeball started to hurt, rather than just my eyelids itching.  I couldn’t see.  I couldn’t get my contact to stay centered.  I lost my contact under my eyelid.  I started to look like someone had beaten the left side of my face.  I went home, fished the contact out, and called my eye doctor.

 

After an exam, he said it was nothing more than allergies, thank God (you don’t mess around with eyes, you know?).  He put some steroids in and cautioned me to keep up on the allergy meds and the ibuprofen to reduce the swelling and to maybe pop a Benadryl before bed.

 

My eye was so swollen, you guys.  So swollen.  I could see fluid puffing out the membrane of my eyeball, moving and gooshing around every time I blinked.  It was gross and scary and painful.

 

Perhaps scarier, though, is the thought that I might endure this every spring for the rest of my life.  I didn’t have seasonal allergies until I hit 30.  Now, I go through a box of tissues a day.  I don’t want my allergies to be more acute than Tony’s.  Allergies are his thing.  My thing is consuming mass quantities of chocolate.  If we switch roles in this, what next?  Tony takes over the ironing while I superglue kid toys (my fingers) back together?  Tony makes dinner while I study for a master’s degree in (gulp) taxation?  Tony obsesses over sunscreen while I lose my hair?  This could go downhill in a hurry.

 

I’m better today.  Still wearing my glasses in the hopes that the inflammation subsides enough for me to wear my contacts and go to my exercise class this evening.  Still looking a bit like a prizefighter.  My eye doctor, bless him and his Dr Oz hating ways (yes, my eye doc is a blogger), also prescribed wine and relaxation, so, you know, I got that going for me.