5 December 05

Bleeding Eyeball (Part 3)

I was called to the Medical Unit.
“So ya had an appointment last week and ya stood us up did ya?” the original nurse said.
“I was here. The male nurse didn’t have a clue what was going on. He told me I needed to see you again.”
“Has it got worse?”
“Yeah.”
“Lemme see it then.”
I showed her my eyeball, and asked, “What’s wrong with it?”
“I don’t freakin’ know what’s wrong with it. Maybe ya ruptured a blood vessel or somethin’. Did you get the eye drops?”
“No.”
“We ordered them. I guess pharmacy never sent 'em.”
Outside, I noticed an old-timer in the throes of an asthma attack. His face reddening.
“He’s not gonna freakin’ croak on us out there is he?” the nurse said to a guard.
The guard opened the door.
Seeing the door open, the old-timer shuffled toward us. He looked suddenly happy - perhaps he thought the doctor was ready to see him.
“Hang in there,” the nurse said.
The guard closed the door in the old-timer's face. The old-timer panted and wheezed and looked devastated.
“The doctor’s ready to see ya, Jon, come with me,” the nurse said.
As I was ushered into the doctor’s office, I felt like James Bond being escorted by Odd Job to see an illusive supervillain. I was greeted by the flailing arms of a black doctor. Before I knew it his fingers were all over my face.
“Let me see your left eye...hmmm. Now your right eye...hmmm.”
He pounced from eye to eye. He yanked the skin around my eyes back and shone his torch at my eyes.
“And your left again...Now your right...And your left...And right...Left...Right...” His fingers danced on my face.
I saw Odd Job grinning before she vanished from my peripheral vision.
“Does it hurt? he said.
“It aches when I switch in and out of focus.”
“Did you get the eye drops?” he said.
“I never got the eye drops."
“Make sure he gets the eye drops,” he nodded to Odd Job.
“What do you think’s caused it?” I said.
“Many things,” he said.
“Headstands perhaps?” I said.
“I don’t think so, when you get the drops, put one in your eye four times a day,” he said, and then rushed away. He settled near a filing cabinet, opened a drawer, and buried his arms in it.
Odd Job shot me a time's-up nod.
“You’ll get the eye drops soon and I’ll schedule you for a check-up next week,” Odd Job said in a tone that indicated she couldn’t wait for me to be in her clutches again.
Outside, the old-timer was bent over. He looked ready to die.

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Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood

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