Several days ago, Jack told me that his eye hurt. He was rubbing at it and it was all red, from the rubbing or something else, I couldn’t tell. I looked in it and couldn’t see anything wrong, so I told him to blink a lot, he agreed, and we both moved on.
Jack didn’t complain about his eye again until New Year’s Day, which was awesome, because everything is closed on New Year’s Day. Once again, neither Alex nor I could see anything in there and Jack said he was fine with waiting until the next day when doctors were open so we could check it out.
Then, the next day (last Thursday), I forgot about it until 1 pm when the nurse at his school called to tell me that he was in her office, complaining about eye pain. After agreeing that it didn’t look like pinkeye (no discharge or fever), she sent him back to class after I asked her to tell him that I was making him an eye doctor appointment.
True to my word—and to avoid losing my Decent Parent card—I took him to the eye doctor on Friday. As I filled out paperwork, Jack sat down next to a gentleman who seemed to be waiting for multiple family members to see the doctor and started showing him his Garfield book.
Jack is nothing if not extremely friendly to complete strangers.
It wasn’t long before Jack was called back and the doctor checked his vision before getting up close with the magnifying machine that looks a little like a head torture device.
“You have all those beautiful eyelashes,” she told Jack.
“But,” she continued, “a couple of them have gone rogue.”
The eyelashes were still attached to his skin, but were growing the wrong way and they were poking into Jack’s eyeball.
Yes. Fucking eyelashes. Really.
“I’m going to have to take them out,” the eye doctor said, pulling out a pair of tweezers.
I know it is the eyelash screaming in the picture, but Jack was none too pleased either. The first eyelash yanking went easy. The second and third required a bribe of a 99¢ game for our iPad and also for us to not believe Jack when he started saying, “No! It feels better! You don’t have to do it again!” Needless to say, the doctor did it again, but she did the second and third at the same time.
The good news? Jack doesn’t need glasses! The less good news? One of the eye doctor’s employees has a kid who has rogue eyelashes and he, “only has to come in every three months or so to have me pull them.”
I think I might start stroking Jack’s corner eyelashes lovingly away from his eyeballs every night in an effort to soothe the angry eyelashes.
When we returned to the waiting room, Jack went straight to the same man with whom he had shared his Garfield book and said, with oh so much passion and emotion, “It was TERRIBLE! I barely made it out alive!”
I sure do hope I get to bring him in four times a year for eyelash taming. That would be great for him.
Stupid jerkface lashes.