Quasimodo

That is about what I looked like Sunday morning. All night Jenny had woken up every hour. At 3:30 she woke up and stayed awake. At about 4:30 I had given up hope of going back to bed and was in the basement watching a movie while Jenny played on the floor as wide awake as could be. I, naturally, was rubbing my eyes, when suddenly it felt like my left eyeball had been dislocated.

I checked it out in the mirror and noticed a gelatinous material oozing around the bottom of my eye. It hurt too bad to open it. I woke up Brent to give him baby duty while I went back to bed and fretted about my eye. When I got up a couple of hours later my eyelids had swollen shut. They were like sausages up to my eyebrow and down to my cheekbone. The white of my eyeball had swollen to the point where it protruded out past my iris. Gross.

Brent took one look at me and said "Two words: Rocky I." I was not looking well, you might say.

We spent the morning in the urgent care facility around the corner from our house. The doctor came in and said "Whoa." Not very comforting. He examined me with several different machines, and the end was basically stumped. He gave me some eye drops and told me to wait 24 hours.

Well, I'm better now. I didn't go blind and I didn't have to have surgery. Both things I was worried about. I, being a classic worrier, immediately jumped to these conclusions. Brent, however, being calm and rational kept me sane in those few scary hours. It's nice to have someone like him to depend on.