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3 kittens

Crying about my cornea

Posted on 2014.10.05 at 09:52
Greetings from Vegas. Aren't I a little travel-pants. You see: we are knee-deep in wedding season, where we actually have six weddings to attend within twelve months. Lots of happy couples.  Three of them are in this last six weeks of me being pregnant; I will not be attending that last of the three.

This Vegas one is one of Jammies' very best friends, but I don't know anyone here.  I'm just screwing around in the hotel room because I'm antisocial.

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Mimi is watching the kids this weekend. She is truly a national treasure.

The hotel room's minibar says that you have 60 seconds to investigate the ingredient list of any item from the minibar before your room is charged for the item, so you can bet I'm whooping it up in 55 second intervals. Also, there is a $25 surcharge for keeping personal items in the minibar fridge. Fuck your leftovers!

I had some fun with photoshopping, because VEGAS BABY living it up:

September 27, 2014 (3.1)   September 27, 2014 (3)


The linen missing TV is kind of growing on me, to be honest.

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Three of my afternoons each week are spent screwing around on an uncomfortable bench while Hawaii is at her piano lesson, or dance class, or swimming lesson with Hokey Pokey. All three of these places are so fucking uncomfortably hot. It's invariably 90° out, the room is not necessarily air conditioned, and to be honest I am sweating through my clothes at 75°, in my distended state.


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At my OB appointment, she solicited complaints and so I told her that I'm really fucking boiling hot, constantly.  Dr. K responded as though I were a travelling Yankee: "Oh, we're used to the heat down here! This isn't even the worst of it!"

She went on and on, and I was exasperated. First, I've lived in Texas for fourteen years. Before that, I was mostly in Florida. I'm fully acclimated. But I don't expect her to remember all that. What I expect her to remember is that she's actively listening to the heatbeat of an 8 month old fetus that resides inside my core, while chiding me for my yankee-hood.

"You twat, you're not pregnant" is what I should have said, but instead I just said "This is different..." which is both weak and not even grammatically coherent.

The one solace I have is the wind-tunnel strength ceiling fan, in our bedroom.  It's the best.



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About 4 am, Thursday morning, I was actually chilly, and so I reached up to turn off the wind-tunnel fan, using the wall switch. In doing so, I knocked my iPad off the headboard, which fell on my face. The corner of cover - a stitched leather hem - landed on my open eyeball. I shrieked and moaned and fell back asleep.

In the morning, there was dried blood around my eye and it hurt horribly bad. I came to believe there was a flap of cornea which sometimes laid flat, and was tolerable, but then would flip up, and was excruciating. Periodically I had to pause and just sit and wait out the horrible pain. (We were supposed to fly to Vegas that afternoon.)

I got an appointment with an opthamologist. "A nice corneal abrasion!" he confirmed. I tearfully told him how excruciating it was, and he put some magic drops in my eye that numbed it up.

"What we do with this is give you some numbing drops and some antibiotics. I just want to go look up whether these things are contraindicated for pregnancy," he said, and left me alone for ten minutes while I deeply enjoyed my newly numbed up eye.

When he returned, he had that awkward lurching bad-news rhythm, and said something tepid like "In the absence of painkillers, the most important thing is to keep your eye from drying out. That's what makes it so painful."  My heart sank. Apparently magical numbing eye drops are made from prostaglandins, which is one of those things that induces labor, and so you don't get them in your last trimester.

My personal opinion is that this is bogus building-a-fence-around-the-rule. I mean, there are prostaglandins in semen, which is why they recommend sex to jumpstart labor, which they also say is not going to work particularly well, but have fun trying. If semen applied directly to the cervix barely does anything, I don't see how eye drops applied to my poor corneal abrasion would do anything either.

Let's all keep our jokes about applying semen to my eyeball to ourselves, shall we.
The point being that topical medicine doesn't tend to invade one's whole body very well.

But whatever, I'm not going to endanger this little baby, FINE. So I got nothing for the pain. My two options: an eye patch or a thick lube, to squeeze on my eyeball and help keep it moist.  (He did say that there was no little flap of cornea flapping around, the way I imagined. Just an abrasion.)

I tried both and hated both. Moisterizing drops seem to wreck my eyes' natural ability to water. They just get gummy, instantly. The lube was the same: gummy and dry, and I was quick to realize it was a terrible, terrible idea.

So next I patched myself up, as instructed. (At Walgreens: "Do you guys sell eye pads? I know it sounds like iPads, but I mean the other thing." They do.)  That was differently awful! My eye roamed around, under the patch, it was uncomfortable and I looked like a tool. It muddled my thinking to have an eye covered.

So natural was best. It's the only state in which my eye watered freely. Which caused my nose to run and gave me a light headache, as though I'd thrown a big tantrum. Time to head to the airport!


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I was exhausted and cranky and miserable. We flew Southwest with its asinine boarding policy, so we each got lovely middle seats and couldn't sit next to each other. I bounced my legs and cried and kept my eyes shut for most of the flight.

When we got off, Jammies was horrified: "Your eye looks really red." We had a brief scare about it getting infected, which would be the worst.

(The opthamologist had given me extensive instructions. "If it starts to feel worse, don't go to the ER. You need to call the ER and ask who the on-call opthamologist is. Get ahold of that person directly. If you go to the ER, they won't know how to treat it, and they'll do their best and then tell you to wait a couple days and go to an opthamologist. But this will get worse, fast, and you don't want to wait a couple days. You need to find an opthamologist who is willing to see you on the weekend, fast.")

It was just super dried out. The redness went mostly away when I applied a cold washrag. I went to sleep early, and the next day it felt much, much better. These things do heal fast, like everyone promised, but it's hard to believe it when you're steeling yourself for the worst.


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Here is a fun detail: I will presumably get a bill from the eye clinic, since I haven't yet met my $2K deductible. Yet if you remember, my OB made me prepay my $2K deductible, in preparation for the November delivery. The OB is presumably just housing this money - there hasn't yet been a bill to apply my money towards.

So when I get this bill, I will have to take it to my OB and politely ask for my money back, so I can pay these other people. Assholes, you seem to have stolen money that isn't owed to you. May I please have it back?

Observations about Vegas:
1. There are no hipsters here.  Which is odd because irony abounds.
2. There is no coffee maker in our room, but there is a scale.

Here are some light fixtures I've enjoyed:


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The wedding itself was lovely - the ceremony rang in at under ten minutes. I really like the bride and groom, and found the strangers basically easy to talk to. When I was done talking, no one cared because I'm eight months pregnant and everyone is happy to let the pregnant lady turn in at 8 pm.

Here is some general Vegas Sheesh:

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Nope, nothing depressing to see here:

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Sigfried and Roy's lions used to be housed in the lobby of the Mirage, which we found ourselves near. But now there is a small sanctuary, and they charge $20 to see the lions. And some cubs.  Which seems pricey if you hadn't also spent $30 on some frozen yogurt.

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A nice carpet:

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and some nice carved emergency exit doors:

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The main problem with Vegas is their ability to charge you $30 for some cold hashbrowns with a straight face. Oh, did you want a side of toast? $50.

I'd like to clarify something: last week I said that my goal is to dress like a fancy lady from the 1960s. What is actually truer is this: during the winter, my goal is to dress like a fancy lady from the 1970s. The green purse happens to represent the 1960s, and I love it, but I'm compromising.  (In the summer, my goal is to look like some sort of maverick lady artist from the 1940s who lives in the southwest: rolled up cut-off jeans, perhaps ill-fitting, and men's plaid button-down shirts with the sleeves rolled up. I don't do turquoise jewelry, though.)(To what extent I achieve any of this is debatable.)

Comments:


Susan Dennis
susandennis at 2014-10-05 17:03 (UTC) (Link)
1. No coffee makers in Vegas hotel room. Just a horrible thing and pervasive. I once did a research/survey - give me a hotel room in Vegas, walking distance to the strip, money is NO object but must have coffee maker in room. Grand total? 0 Criminal.

2. Carpets in Vegas. Hidden art. Whenever I am there, my head is down like I'm studying my phone only no phone. I am mesmerized by those damn carpets!!

heebie-geebie
heebie_geebie at 2014-10-12 17:01 (UTC) (Link)
I totally agree! In fact, I have a minor ongoing obsession with hotel carpets, and documenting the good/bad/ugly here. I was actually feeling mild regret that I failed to document more of the Vegas ones.
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