Dear Girl with the Disgusting Cough,
I know you can’t help it, but every time you cough it really grosses me out. The fact that I can hear the mucous trying to leave your lungs makes me wince. I, sitting a few seats ahead and across the isle should not be able to diagnose and/or treat whatever is ailing you, and yet, I find your cough such a dominant sound on the train, I want to recommend plenty of bed rest (not on this train) and something my grandparents take all the time called Mucinex. Maybe some people are better able to handle the sounds of lung bubbles, popping, but I wish both you and your disgusting cough were farther away from me, as I was hoping not to get “the plague” on my way upstate.
Thank you,
The Girl Two Seats Ahead
Dear Girl Who Wanted to Sit Next to Me, but took the hint that I was less than enthused and sat with another stranger that was also less than enthused to sit with you, a stranger,
How can I sit here and make commentary about my experiences on this train when I have you to worry about? How would I be able to document that I think your purple leggings are AWFUL, especially when paired with your bright, cherry red wool coat, paired with a navy blue hoodie, paired with your face? I wouldn’t, so thanks for taking the hint and going elsewhere.
Thank you,
The Girl Who’s Blogging About You
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Girl Gone Blind
Today was god’s way of noticing that I had gone almost an entire year of life without visiting an emergency room. What better way to remedy that situation than some good ‘ol trauma to the face?
I can’t see. I just got back from the hospital. I’m writing this with my eyes closed. Come on home row, don’t fail me now!
Walking back from lunch (Italian hero, not the usual), I tried to hurry past some oogling construction workers when a gust of wind carried some debris into my eyes. I couldn’t see, there was a stinging pain, and you know how those sorts of problems usually fix themselves? This one, not so much. With my eye getting worse, I hobbled back to school in terribly high heels.
At this point, I could only use one eye, and my right hand covered the half of my face in pain. I must have looked like a real wreck, because the security guard said “Jackie, what the hell are you doing?” when I walked into the school building. “What am I doing? Just playing a fun game called ‘affect your depth perception.’ I want to see how long I can go before I hit something.” The nurse then told me my eye had been cut, and I needed to get to the hospital.
As much as I tried to hide my face trauma, everyone at school saw it happen. I mean, like, everyone. It was almost like having the worst pimple of life smack on the top of your nose, only instead, this problem affected my eyes, and wasn’t caused by post-adolescence.
Onward to the hospital, where I sat in a waiting room, holding a paper towel over my eye like some sort of sad, ill-prepared pirate.
Thanks to Nurse Paul and his fast-acting pleasantries, I immediately calmed down, especially when he numbed my eye. I figured I was in good hands. Too bad Jewish mothers never push the idea of finding a nice “Jewish Nurse” to marry – if only he’d been a doctor! He even gave me a sweetass hospital bracelet, that even with one eye, I could tell was sweetass.
“On a scale of 1 to 10, how much pain are you in?” he asked. The question threw me off, as I immediately had to come up with what “1” and “10” would be equal to on the pain scale. If “1” is the equivalent of being poked too hard, and 10 is something like “loss of limb”, my eye must have been a 6.5. But, overall, I think the eye gets it’s own scale of pain, where 1 is “ow, I’ve looked into the sun” and 10 is “ow, I’ve lost my eye”. Nurse Paul “stained my eye” which involved putting some kind of green dye in it that made everything appear green. It was kinda’ like having a really lame superhero power for a few minutes. Paul-dizzle tried to make a few jokes to lighten the mood, but I had to explain very politely that things just aren’t as funny when everything looks green.
After the numbing, staining, ointmenting, and shot, it was finally time to go. There was no eyepatch necessary for my recovery, something I could have only imagined to spark a schoolwide epidemic of pirate jokes, and besides, I gave up my habit of dressing in ‘pirate casual’ freshman year of college. Regardless, with “talk like a pirate day” having recently past, not even a bedazzled eyepatch would have been okay, so I’m glad it was avoided.
Once home, I had a bit of an appetite. I finally opened my sandwich, (the reason this whole thing started in the first place) only to discover that there was TURKEY on my ITALIAN HERO. COULD THIS DAY HAVE BEEN ANY WORSE?! Overcoming disappointment, I was surprised to see there really is nothing like eating an entire bag of sun chips with your eyes closed (with the best part being, of course, that they have 33% less fat than the standard potato chip!).
And now that I’m home and typing with one eye, I’m totally breaking the rule on my discharge sheet, clearly stating that I can’t watch TV or read, usually the only two things people do when they get sick and can’t do anything else. The Tetanus Shot makes me feel like I’ve been punched…EVERYWHERE. I’ll heal in the next 24-48 hours, and all will be well. I mean, I shouldn’t complain; 50 cent got shot NINE times and he be RAPPIN’ bout it (coincidentally, getting shot is number 9 on the generic pain scale, getting shot in the eye, however, is a 10).
I can’t see. I just got back from the hospital. I’m writing this with my eyes closed. Come on home row, don’t fail me now!
Walking back from lunch (Italian hero, not the usual), I tried to hurry past some oogling construction workers when a gust of wind carried some debris into my eyes. I couldn’t see, there was a stinging pain, and you know how those sorts of problems usually fix themselves? This one, not so much. With my eye getting worse, I hobbled back to school in terribly high heels.
At this point, I could only use one eye, and my right hand covered the half of my face in pain. I must have looked like a real wreck, because the security guard said “Jackie, what the hell are you doing?” when I walked into the school building. “What am I doing? Just playing a fun game called ‘affect your depth perception.’ I want to see how long I can go before I hit something.” The nurse then told me my eye had been cut, and I needed to get to the hospital.
As much as I tried to hide my face trauma, everyone at school saw it happen. I mean, like, everyone. It was almost like having the worst pimple of life smack on the top of your nose, only instead, this problem affected my eyes, and wasn’t caused by post-adolescence.
Onward to the hospital, where I sat in a waiting room, holding a paper towel over my eye like some sort of sad, ill-prepared pirate.
Thanks to Nurse Paul and his fast-acting pleasantries, I immediately calmed down, especially when he numbed my eye. I figured I was in good hands. Too bad Jewish mothers never push the idea of finding a nice “Jewish Nurse” to marry – if only he’d been a doctor! He even gave me a sweetass hospital bracelet, that even with one eye, I could tell was sweetass.
“On a scale of 1 to 10, how much pain are you in?” he asked. The question threw me off, as I immediately had to come up with what “1” and “10” would be equal to on the pain scale. If “1” is the equivalent of being poked too hard, and 10 is something like “loss of limb”, my eye must have been a 6.5. But, overall, I think the eye gets it’s own scale of pain, where 1 is “ow, I’ve looked into the sun” and 10 is “ow, I’ve lost my eye”. Nurse Paul “stained my eye” which involved putting some kind of green dye in it that made everything appear green. It was kinda’ like having a really lame superhero power for a few minutes. Paul-dizzle tried to make a few jokes to lighten the mood, but I had to explain very politely that things just aren’t as funny when everything looks green.
After the numbing, staining, ointmenting, and shot, it was finally time to go. There was no eyepatch necessary for my recovery, something I could have only imagined to spark a schoolwide epidemic of pirate jokes, and besides, I gave up my habit of dressing in ‘pirate casual’ freshman year of college. Regardless, with “talk like a pirate day” having recently past, not even a bedazzled eyepatch would have been okay, so I’m glad it was avoided.
Once home, I had a bit of an appetite. I finally opened my sandwich, (the reason this whole thing started in the first place) only to discover that there was TURKEY on my ITALIAN HERO. COULD THIS DAY HAVE BEEN ANY WORSE?! Overcoming disappointment, I was surprised to see there really is nothing like eating an entire bag of sun chips with your eyes closed (with the best part being, of course, that they have 33% less fat than the standard potato chip!).
And now that I’m home and typing with one eye, I’m totally breaking the rule on my discharge sheet, clearly stating that I can’t watch TV or read, usually the only two things people do when they get sick and can’t do anything else. The Tetanus Shot makes me feel like I’ve been punched…EVERYWHERE. I’ll heal in the next 24-48 hours, and all will be well. I mean, I shouldn’t complain; 50 cent got shot NINE times and he be RAPPIN’ bout it (coincidentally, getting shot is number 9 on the generic pain scale, getting shot in the eye, however, is a 10).
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