A Parisian Pity Party

The other night, before I went to bed, my eye felt bruised. That's weird. Like I got punched in the eyeball. Did I run into something and forget about it? Wouldn't be unheard of. So, being me, I went to bed and forgot about it. The next morning I woke up and my whole eyelid had swollen. Great.

I assumed that I had just gotten Le Petit's eye infection. I seem to have a special propensity for disgusting ailments. Remind me to tell you about the time I got a fungal infection in my ear on a family vacation one year. That's right, fungus in my ear.

So I dropped by the pharmacy for some eye drops or cream or something to de-deform me, and got to practice my French. I think it helped that I had something big and puffy to point to for emphasis. 

But though I used the eye drops exactly as directed, when I woke up the next morning the eyelid in question had doubled in size and raised me red, painful, and leaky. Dear V called her doctor to get me a script for something (on her way to the hospital for her surgery by the way), which turned out to be antibiotic eye drops. Well these eye drops didn't turn out to be any more effective than the original eye drops, and my eyelid was still inflated with God only knows what, and so heavy it started to drag the entire right side of my face down. Blinking hurt.

That night V called to ask how Tom was doing, and then asked if my eye was any better. It should be much better, she said. Having decided I was probably going to spend the rest of my life looking like I'd been socked in the face, I was choking back frustrated tears when I told her it wasn't any better. 

"Come over," she said. "I'm calling the doctor."

I went over to her apartment where her sister and niece were helping her recover from her foot surgery, grabbed a seat, and waited for the doctor to come over. Apparently here in the City that Goes to Bed Promptly at Ten, you can get a doctor to make a house call at 10:30. He forced the eyelid up and pointed his evil little flashlight at me. V's sister gasped slightly at whatever it was they saw up there. 

"It's a stye," V translated. I got a new script for an antibiotic ointment, which I smear on my eyelid three times a day. 

And when I woke up this morning, while still swollen, my eye doesn't hurt anymore. And unless it's just wishful thinking, I think it looks a little smaller. Maybe I'll go out tonight after all. Although I don't expect anyone to ask for my number. 

Because I'm always looking for silver linings and learning opportunities, here is a disgusting eye infection French lesson for the day:

1. swollen: gonflé

2. eyelid: paupière

3. stye: orgelet