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1 february 2001 Submit to lid. Earn fame. Lots of fame! Fortune, well... |
oh, my nose! Alright, now I don't like to be one to wish my life away. But can I just tell you that I will be happy when this week comes to a quiet and uncomplicted end? Remember that Brady Bunch episode where Marcia got socked by a football? Oh, my nose! That one? I've been lucky this year. No colds, no flu, feeling swell. And I thought the nosebleeds had been taken care of, thanks to getting it cauterized two days ago. Sure enough, I'm at work and BLAMMO, the floodgates break again. Most unpleasant, slightly embarrassing, and making my coworkers give me the Spock eye. Go away, Kim. Come back once you've had a transfusion. I trudge back to the doctor. "Ahem, doc. Fixy, fixy." So they toss me back down on they stich-ya-up table, and this time he goes for "the stronger stuff". He comes at me with something that I've seen my dad light bonfires with. It's covered with some silver oxide-sort of burning goo. He proceeds to pillage my entire sinus cavity--four times. Where's my lollipop? I'm being a good girl here! Lollipop---NOW! I've never white-knuckled anything so hard. This stuff hurts a lot. It makes you want to sneeze, which I can't do because now my nose has been bleeding for over an hour and he's doing everything he can to make it stop. To his credit, he's not going to let me leave without solving this problem once and for all. I want my mommy. And where's that lollipop?? About two hours and several procedures later, he deems me a success. Uh, yeah, whatever you say doc. Half of my face is numb, so yeah, I'm feeling really successful. I go to the restroom before my trip home, and notice that there are black spots all over my face. Like, spots I can't wipe off and that do not coordinate well with freckles. Ahem, doc. "Oh, the silver has had a chemical reaction to your skin. You're just going to have to let that wear off." Of course I am! I've got nowhere to go! I don't care that people look at me like I've been freebasing! I thank him for his time and efforts to help me out, and trudge back home. I grab a package of Pop Tarts. Wilma nibbles on the edges. The numbing stuff wears off. My face hurts a lot. I try to sleep it off, sort of successfully. Grr. Wake up this morning, black spots still there, but a little bit lighter. Phooey on it. I'll do what I can with the concealer and let my coworkers have a good giggle. Reader mail tomorrow. Promise. It will be a much more pleasant way to end the week. |
