It was the day before the winter Christmas party - a formal event that I normally didn't have the privilege of attending due to the fact that I normally worked weekends on the night shift.
This year, however, one of my managers offered to work for me - just so I could attend.
I had a dress. I had a date.
I was excited.
It was 1 day away!
I woke up that morning after hitting the bars, which was a normal after work venture, and when I looked in the mirror, my right eye looked puffy.
That's funny, I thought to myself as I leaned into the mirror to examine further. I don't remember getting punched or falling on my face.
Weird.
Well, the moment I walked outside on that sunny, wintery day, my eye started to water heavily. And seep. Grossssss. So I hopped into the car and stopped at Walgreens on my way to work, driving with one eye (which for the record is kind of hard to do.)
I flooded my eye with eyedrops all day at work, but it felt like it was growing and I was starting to get funny looks from co-workers.
A good night's rest. That's what I need. So I went home after work in an effort to sleep it off.
The next morning, I woke up and attempted to open my eyes... plural. Today was the big day! However, only one eye opened, and when I felt my orbital bone, I felt flesh where there normally wasn't flesh.
RUT ROH. It didn't go away. It grew.
I sprinted to the bathroom to assess the damage. I flipped on the light, and immediately it started seeping. I didn't have to lean into the mirror this time.
I looked like Igor.
From 100 yards away.
OMG. I'm dying.
My brain has finally pushed my right eye out of my head.
Or I have a tumor.
Or... something.
Something bad.
Very bad.
Either way, I knew a trip to the ER was in order if I had any hope of making it to the Christmas party. Perhaps I knew that was highly unlikely at the time, but I am an eternal optimist and was really hoping for a Christmas miracle.
I called my boyfriend, and told him I had to run to the ER and that our hot date was in jeopardy. He had been excited to see me dolled up (i don't do it often!) and in that cute new dress. He immediately offered to take me to the ER.
"Nooooooooooooooooooooooooo way Jose! I can't let you see me like this."
"How bad can it be?" he asked.
"It's bad. Realllllly bad. It is something that you won't be able to unsee when you look at me in the future and I don't want to scar you like that" I promptly advised him.
"I don't care how you look, dummy. There is nothing so bad as to freak me out enough to scare me away," he insisted.
Bullshit. I thought to myself. You haven't seen this yet. Easier said than done. I look like I've been punched by Mike Tyson. For that reason, I refused to tell him which hospital I was going to, just to avoid the sheer embarrassment of him seeing me.
I ended up not being able to drive, so I walked to the hospital, which - thankfully - was only a few blocks away. Several doctors and specialists came into the room and stared at me like I was a freak and no one seemed to have any clue how to fix it. After a CAT scan and an MRI, they assured me my brain was still in place and that I wasn't dying. They did not know, however, what was causing this so they prescribed some random antibiotics and sent me home.
I had to miss the party. Boooooo.
I don't know who was more disappointed, me or him. I'm still not sure if there were actual tears falling from my eyes or if it was mostly the one eye uncontrollably seeping.
So that night I sat at home popping antibiotics like Pez candy in the hopes it would miraculously clear up in time for the party so I could make a midnight entrance like Cinderella.
It did not.
Even so, if I stopped looking like Igor's ugly cousin by daybreak, I would be relieved.
But that was not in the cards.
Sunday morning I woke up, and - yet again - it had grown. I was worried I was running out of skin and at some point it would pop open and my eyeball, trapped within the confines of a completely swollen shut eye, would come flying out.
He called to check on me, and insisted on coming over. There was no way I could delay this. I needed to go back to the hospital, and I needed him to drive me as if I walked I would have to go thru a playground and frighten a myriad of innocent children just trying to have a playful afternoon. Either way, this would not be good.
When he arrived, I greeted him wearing an old pillowcase which I had decided had seen its day and cut one eyehole out so I could see.
He clearly thought this was kind of funny.
I did not.
He begged me to show him, and at that point, I swallowed every ounce of pride and showed him. He gave me a hug and said "Let's go figure this shit out!"
At no point did he make me feel weird about it. He was a handsome guy who was older than I, and me - being in my early 20's - was apparently still under the assumption that all men are shallow and vapid.
Okay, he'll take me to the hospital, this will get fixed, and then he'll never call me again is what went through my head. Won't matter if he dumps me if I'm dead. And my prospects for respectable suitors will drop when I lose my eye anyway, I convinced myself.
The hospital decided I needed to see an actual specialist, none of which were available on a Sunday. So back home I went, with my fleshy protuberance, my humility, and a guy I would never see again after today.
The next morning it hadn't grown, but it hadn't receded, and I awoke to a phone call from him. "I got you in with the best in the city, I'll pick you up in 45 minutes."
Wait - WHAT? He took off work to make sure his weirdo fright of a girlfriend got to the specialist? AFTER seeing said deformity?
Mind blown.
He came and picked me up. The specialist took one horrified look at me and said he was pretty certain it was a clogged tear duct. After a little bit of poking and prodding, he conceded it was one of the worse cases he had ever seen, but was confident that was the answer. He wrote a prescription, and sent me off on my merry way. I must admit, I was dubious. He made it all sound so simple.
The next morning, the swelling had decreased exponentially. The day after? Gone.
And the best part? We dated for quite awhile after that. I asked him how he could look at me without seeing that every time. His answer? "You're awesome no matter what you look like. Sure I was initially attracted to you because you're cute, but I didn't fall in love with your face - I fell in love with your heart, your brain, your laugh, your wit - all of which remain unchanged by some weird grapefruit sized protuberance jutting out of your head."
We laughed.
Plus, I think he still wanted to see me dolled up in that dress.
I learned a great lesson in this - that looks aren't everything... even if you look like something straight out of a horror movie.
Endnote: I found some pictures online that are equivalent to what it looked like, but they are gross... because it was gross. I'll spare you the details.
I've been asked several times why we broke up... the answer is simple. He wanted me to be a stay at home mom with a litter of children. And anyone that knows me, know that wasn't going to happen... I'm kind of an outside cat.
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