Monday, June 29, 2009

The one where I nearly lost an eye...

My eye is hurting. It’s hurting really badly. I think I have an infection. Or something. But this isn’t normal. It’s itching really badly and it’s looking quite puffy… I don’t know what to do. I still have health insurance but I’m stumped. I phone a friend of my mother’s. Her husband is a leading optician. He’ll be able to help me. I know I just need some antibiotic drops but… what the fuck? You can’t get them like you can at Boots back home.

This is not good. It’s getting worse. Worse by the minute. I went to the pharmacist here. There was nothing he could do. I’m beginning to panic now. No one will give me the drugs I want. I want Boots. I want the NHS. I want someone to help me. Fucking America. Fucking health system. I never thought I’d really miss the NHS. Actually. That’s a lie. I did. I’ve never had complaints about the NHS in the past. And here, nothing but trouble. From being shot to, well, everything. Their ibuprofen’s a bit stronger. That’s about it. Bah.

So. Yes. My eye. I’m panicking. I’ve got some drops now from this woman’s husband… JM calls. She basically tells me not to be such a dick. Go to an optician. I refuse. It’s too much money. $350. At least. But, she points out, it’s my eyes. What am I playing at here? My eyes. I can’t afford to take a risk. I refuse. I’m not paying.

Then… I talk to my sister in Boston. She suggests asking my aunt to lend me the money. I ask her to do it for me. I’m a pussy. I can’t do it. I don’t want her to know how freaked out I am. AJ says she will but suggests that I call too. She’ll lay down the groundwork. I get the green light. She’ll pay up. Now call her so… I call my aunt. My aunt in Wisconsin. I’ve never asked her for money. But now? I’m so scared about my eye. I’ve talked myself into a frenzy. She’s happy to help so I head off to the Benjamin Eye Institute. By now I’m nearly blind in my left eye.

There are videos on the wall. I think they’re of famous people talking about how good Dr Benjamin is. I can only see with one eye and am bumping into the old people, who appear to be really short. I mean, I’m pretty short, but these people. Tiny. Bump. Bump. And they don’t like getting bumped into. I can tell they’re about to get angry and then they see my eye. I look like a battered housewife. They back away. Sympathy etched on their faces. Shit. I must look awful.

I’m called into see Dr Benjamin. Apparently I have some kind of eye cyst. AND the ducts are all blocked. I need to put on hot compresses regularly to melt the crap that’s built up around the ducts. PLUS… He prescribes some medicine – basically nasty gel to put into my eye – at a cost of $59 and sends me on my way. By god it hurts. I thank him. $350 for 15 minutes. Not great. But I did the right thing. I asked him to see me.

I went to bed feeling really sorry for myself. I think I might have snivelled a bit. I couldn’t really cry because my eye was too puffy to excrete tears.

The next morning…

Oh Jesus. My eye has swelled up to the size of a small Clementine. And oh my god. It hurts. It’s turned purple. I call Dr Benjamin in a panic and he tells me to come round right away… $350 AGAIN! This time… I get my sister to call my mother in London. I’ll claim it back on my travel insurance but… right now. I just don’t have that kind of money. My mother is livid. She’s not heard from me in days, weeks maybe, and now I’m getting in touch because I want some money. Okay. I agree. It’s not great. But … seriously. My eye. My eye.

I turn up there and dr Benjamin and I chat. He runs a magazine – which is published in Russian. He’s from Tashkent. He’s Jewish. I fantasise about being Noam Benjamin for a minute. He seems nice. I could get my eyes lasered. For free. Especially if I’m Noam Benjamin. I can’t see if he has a ring on because I really only have one eye now.

Dr Benjamin flips open my eye. As he does so I reach into my bag and hand him my camera. He looks confused. I tell him I need pictures. For my insurance claim (but really for my mother, just so she can see what pain her little soldier - little soldier, I’m not a child... let’s not forget) and please could they take pictures. Please.

The nurse does so.

As they flip over my eye I see Dr Benjamin wince. This is not good. There’s the cyst. EW…. He needs to drain it. That means slicing it open and letting the blood ooze out. That means sticking a needle into my eye to numb it before they drain it. Be warned. I had a picture taken. It ‘s about to appear below.

So… he slices in and the blood start dripping into my eye and his cotton bud. It didn’t hurt but it was more the trauma of having someone digging in my eye that freaked me out. A quick pat on the head – I’ll never get married to Dr Benjamin if he’s patting my head – and we’re done. I’m a bit emotional. I mean. The man just sliced into my eye.

I have to get more medicine. Pay up again and I leave. I’m driving home. I’m driving home after having had an eye operation… why? Because I’m too damn proud to ask anyone for help.

Normal people. Well. They would have rung up a friend and asked for a lift to the doctor’s. Me? I can cope alone. I’m fine. So. What happens? I’m in the car and I’m crying and crying. Boo hoo. Self pity.

I call Tam. She doesn’t pick up the phone so I leave a pathetic message about how sad I am… more self pity. But maybe justified.

Someone I managed to drive home. I’m lying on the bed. With the dogs. Boo hoo. Booo hoo. I’m weeping blood. I really am. But at least I guess I’m cleaning my eye.

Nico gets home… he wants to know why I didn’t call him to come and get me. I didn’t call anyone. I didn’t want to be a bother. Jesus I can be a martyr sometimes. I just had an eye operation and I didn’t want to be a burden. What a loser…

The next day…

The eye’s settled a bit but I’m still in glasses. My eye. It hurts… This isn’t good. But… it’s gone down so much. I look less like I’ve been battered. I can’t believe how quickly it’s beginning to settle. I need to get my head together because I’m doing an article for Angelino magazine. My first one. I’m so excited. Whoop! My first US magazine piece.

It’s with an actress. I went to see her film the other day – she’s in a new Jim Jarmusch film. NP walked out of the screening she hated it that much. Me? I just, well, didn’t really get it. Bit airy fairy for me. NP left before the final ten minutes. That’s when it all happened. The only bit of action. Other than that – what an awful film. I mean. Really. Urgh.

The actress is all ethereal. We’re talking on the phone. She’s in a car and it’s noisy but she says I’ve got a nice voice. I feel special. That was nice of her. She seems nice. Artsy. Into good deeds. Does her bit for charity. It all goes well. Now I’ve got to write it up and hope that my style works for a US audience. Ulp.

Two days later…

My eye is getting even better. I can’t believe how well I’m healing. This is fantastic. My friend RJ is in town and we’re going out with NP, GF and PS. A bunch of Brits. We’re meeting up with my friend AdG, who’s also GF’s landlady. The venue? Some bar in Santa Monica.

I have no idea what’s going on here. We had to pay to go in and … well… It’s a COUGAR PIT. They’re all over RJ. He’s a married man. And… if they’re not Cougars I think they’re prostitutes. There are also a lot of Thai Ladies in here dancing with older men. The music’s nice enough but I have no idea what’s going on here. I’m bemused. We’re the youngest people here and we look out of place. We look normal and everyone here is either a freak, a geek or a pro.

There are some women really jiggling bits of their bodies. Noooooo. They look so old I’m scared that their tits are going to fall off. Or some part of their body. This really isn’t pleasant.

The band come on stage. Now they look normal and I see a few more ‘normal’ people. They’re with the band. We exchange glances across the dance floor – what is this place? RJ and I start pissing ourselves laughing. This is wrong. Wrong. I disappear and go to the bathroom. A He/She is taking her sweet time. By the time I’ve left the bathroom, a cougar is shimmying in front of RJ and GF’s turned down the advances of an older Thai lady. It seems I missed all the action. Or perhaps they were waiting for me to leave before they pounced on the boys?

I have no idea what’s going on here but it’s about 1am and it’s time to leave. So time to leave.

Oooooh. The next day. It’s up at 10am for my first LA premiere. Yep. A premiere in the morning. LH is taking me to Monsters vs Aliens. As it’s a kids’ film it’s in the morning. The venue is in Universal Studios and in we swoosh in LH’s swooshy car.

She has some clients in the film so we get to sit with them all. Oh yeah. Here I am. I’ve arrived. Hi. I’m a nanny. Look at me. Look at me getting my LA validation from a bunch of people who don’t know me but I must be important because I’m at a premiere, not because I’ve done anything of any particular merit whatsoever… I nod at people who feel inclined to nod back because I’m sitting in the VIP section of the cinema. And then… I’m quiet. I’ve had my moment. I slip on my 3-D glasses and settle down to wait for the film. And… It was fun. Next time (next time?) I might even talk to someone…

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