Cat Attack and Birthday Suckage
So, in the wee hours of Sunday morning, our large tiger-tabby, Arjuna, was walking across the back of our pillows to look out the window. Bob must have shifted, or pushed him to the side because Arjuna fell. Right into Bob's right eye. Claw first.
It wasn't so bad, right away. But, by the morning, his eye was red and swollen so I suggested that we go to the emergency room at Lankenau. Which worked out a lot better than our last ER visit to Penn, which was like a 7 hour tour for nothing. Anyway, Lankenau confirmed that Bob had a corneal abrasion - a pretty severe one - and sent him home with instructions to see an ophthalmologist right away.
So, right off the bat, things did not bode well for my birthday on Monday.
As a side note, they asked Bob if he wanted something stronger for the pain and Bob said no. I did my best to stare at him, to try and telepathically insert my voice in his brain. To me, that's just a question that you always answer yes to, unless you're a recovering addict or you have an unfortunate allergy. You never know when you're going to need pain relief. Or emergency recreation. Maybe you use it. Maybe you save it for the next freak injury or, hell, maybe it might be nice to have that shit for when civilization completely collapses. But either way, you never say no to the hard stuff in my book.
Anyway, Monday morning, Bob woke me up in a complete fit of pain and rage. There was the primary sensation of burning and stinging in the eye but then, underneath all that, he said it felt like someone was driving a spike through his head behind his eye socket. *Any* type of light was horrifically painful and copious amounts of fluid, in all sorts of technicolor grossness, were oozing out of, well, the meat that used to be my husband's eye.
I kept quiet about the pain meds at that point. I value my marriage.
And that was, basically, my birthday for the rest of the day? The ophthalmologist said he had scratched at least 55% of his cornea. Further, given the cat claw situation, the cut was healing with a lot of ragged edges, which is not good. So they had to sort of re-open the wound, I guess, to even out the edges and let it re-heal. It was absolutely heart wrenching to watch him go through it and he essentially has to see the doc every day this week to check on healing.
Because I'm a bad person, I'll admit that I felt sort of resentful towards the cat for ruining my birthday. Or, if not the cat, maybe the gods in general. Bob had taken the day off as a vacation day and we were going to see an orchid exhibition at some botanical gardens and then, maybe see Coraline in 3-D. The irony of the 3-D movie weighed heavy as we sat in the eye doctor's office later that day. Friends had also offered to take me to Benihana's, which would have made me tear up a bit because my grandfather took me there every year on my birthday when I was a kid. But there was no way I was leaving Bob. I felt so bad for him.
Given all that, how old do you have to be before you stop feeling cheated when things don't go right on your birthday? I mean, I wasn't externally pissy about it. I did everything I could to take care of Bob and help him get through this and, without a doubt, it was horrifying to watch him go through it. But, inwardly, I was like a 7 year old, stomping my feet and screaming, "But it's my BIRTHDAAAAAAAAAAY. Nooooooooooooooo!"
On a more positive note? Bob's been wearing an eyepatch we bought for him at Rite Aid. And we've been talking like pirates since Monday.
Fucking Arjuna.......
It wasn't so bad, right away. But, by the morning, his eye was red and swollen so I suggested that we go to the emergency room at Lankenau. Which worked out a lot better than our last ER visit to Penn, which was like a 7 hour tour for nothing. Anyway, Lankenau confirmed that Bob had a corneal abrasion - a pretty severe one - and sent him home with instructions to see an ophthalmologist right away.
So, right off the bat, things did not bode well for my birthday on Monday.
As a side note, they asked Bob if he wanted something stronger for the pain and Bob said no. I did my best to stare at him, to try and telepathically insert my voice in his brain. To me, that's just a question that you always answer yes to, unless you're a recovering addict or you have an unfortunate allergy. You never know when you're going to need pain relief. Or emergency recreation. Maybe you use it. Maybe you save it for the next freak injury or, hell, maybe it might be nice to have that shit for when civilization completely collapses. But either way, you never say no to the hard stuff in my book.
Anyway, Monday morning, Bob woke me up in a complete fit of pain and rage. There was the primary sensation of burning and stinging in the eye but then, underneath all that, he said it felt like someone was driving a spike through his head behind his eye socket. *Any* type of light was horrifically painful and copious amounts of fluid, in all sorts of technicolor grossness, were oozing out of, well, the meat that used to be my husband's eye.
I kept quiet about the pain meds at that point. I value my marriage.
And that was, basically, my birthday for the rest of the day? The ophthalmologist said he had scratched at least 55% of his cornea. Further, given the cat claw situation, the cut was healing with a lot of ragged edges, which is not good. So they had to sort of re-open the wound, I guess, to even out the edges and let it re-heal. It was absolutely heart wrenching to watch him go through it and he essentially has to see the doc every day this week to check on healing.
Because I'm a bad person, I'll admit that I felt sort of resentful towards the cat for ruining my birthday. Or, if not the cat, maybe the gods in general. Bob had taken the day off as a vacation day and we were going to see an orchid exhibition at some botanical gardens and then, maybe see Coraline in 3-D. The irony of the 3-D movie weighed heavy as we sat in the eye doctor's office later that day. Friends had also offered to take me to Benihana's, which would have made me tear up a bit because my grandfather took me there every year on my birthday when I was a kid. But there was no way I was leaving Bob. I felt so bad for him.
Given all that, how old do you have to be before you stop feeling cheated when things don't go right on your birthday? I mean, I wasn't externally pissy about it. I did everything I could to take care of Bob and help him get through this and, without a doubt, it was horrifying to watch him go through it. But, inwardly, I was like a 7 year old, stomping my feet and screaming, "But it's my BIRTHDAAAAAAAAAAY. Nooooooooooooooo!"
On a more positive note? Bob's been wearing an eyepatch we bought for him at Rite Aid. And we've been talking like pirates since Monday.
Fucking Arjuna.......