3 weeks ago I went for my annual eye appointment. l did the usual testing with one thing different. Instead of the “eye drop that makes you blurry” test they took a picture instead. What they found looked something like this:
Except my spot was a lot bigger.
Me: What is that?
Doctor: I don’t know. This isn’t my specialty. It can be anything from an infection to a melanoma. If it’s a melanoma that could be bad. You need to go see an eye doctor.
Ok, hold on a minute. I thought he was an eye doctor. Apparently in my 45 years of living, I never realized the difference between an optometrist and an ophthalmologist.
So, for another 3 weeks I had visions of some bad shit running through my noggin. I pictured my tumor getting bigger and bigger by the day. I even started to “feel” it. I thought of them having to remove my eyeball. Well, at least my little nephew would now have a real pirate to play with.
So, I go to the eye doctor and go through the routine testing. Again. After 2 hours, I find out what the prognosis is. Are you ready? Drum roll please…
A birthmark. Yup. It’s a freaking birthmark. In other words, a freckle. Well, good. That is good, right? Yes. But it doesn’t make for very interesting story telling. I mean, I’m glad I’m not dying or anything. But it could have been something a little more fun. Like possibly a virus or something. Something. But a freckle?
So, I do leave the appointment feeling relieved I’m going to live. The fact that I’m not dying is a good reason for a celebration so I stop off for some wine. I notice that people are looking at me. No, I mean everybody. Looking at me. I don’t get looked at that often anymore so I was curious to see what was the attraction. Did I leave some lunch on my face? So I look in the mirror and see this:
I look like Night of the Living Dead. Gross. I forgot those drops made your pupils as big as the black hole. The lady at the doctor’s office told me to wear sunglasses even though it was dark out. Now I know why.