Raging Dad

Stare into my Raging Goopy Eyeball

Somehow, I have managed to get pink eye. Again. This is at least the fourth time that I have fallen victim to its creeping nastiness. Right now, my left eye is a hot mess. I fucking hate pink eye.

Here is the real kicker: none of my punk kids even had it this time. Which means, I caught pink eye all on my own. I don’t know about you, but this violates a number of things that I believed to be facts with unwavering certainty.

Let’s examine.

The weekend before last, Raging Mom and I were watching Changling. A damn fine movie, if I may say so. Anyhoo, about half way through the picture, my right eyeball—which I had believed to be fully content oogling at Angelina Jolie’s millinery—began to itch like a rash in the sun. After a rub or two, I began to realize that things were not well in my ocular regions. I got up and stole a peak at my peepers; it only took one look to realize what was going on.

But, as I looked more closely, I could see that the white part of my eye was swollen and appeared to actually be pushing over top of the colored part. And that, my raging readers, seemed like a nonstandard reaction to pink eye. Maybe I’d punctured my eyeball, I thought. Worried that I would wake up with a glassy, dead eye we decided to grab the neighbors to house sit and take a jaunt to the ER for a professional opinion.

Which they did, although the professionalism seemed a tad dubious. The first doctor assured me that pink eye was not as contagious as everyone makes it out to be. He said, “Just wash your hands and use a seperate towel from the rest of the family.” After making sure that I had no lascerations to the surface of my glazzies, he left me to someone lower on the foodchain to hook me up with the obligatory eye meds. This fellow went on to say, in a British accent no less, “Now this stuff is really contagious, so you’ll want to be very careful around other people ’cause soon everyone you know will be having it.”

Uh huh. So much for internal consistency in the medical field.

According to Raging Mom, the best part of the ER visit was the snarky fellow at the front desk. I arrived all squinty—like I was giving him the stink eye—and stated, “Something is going on with my eye.” He looked up at me and said, flatly and with much sarcasm, “I have a theory, but let’s hear what you have to say about it.” Humph. Someone forgot to take off their crabby pants this morning.

That was the weekend before last. It cleared up by Tuesday, and all seemed well in the world. Neither the kids nor my wife caught it. No sir, the only sap in this house succeptable to this fucking itchy, goopy eye plague is me, because I came down with it in my left eye on Sunday.

Sigh. Ah well. Now I just have to find out who bare-ass farted on my pillow.

Song of the day: “Playing With Pink Noise,” by Kaki King:

Filed under: raging thoughts Tagged: | conjunctivitis, pink eye