Chalazion Day

This morning was scheduled to abort the chalazion (sha-LAY-zee-un) that had formed below my eye about five months ago.

Dena came with me, like Mom used to do when I'd go to the dentist, with promises of post-procedure breakfast rather than McDonald's milkshakes afterward.

To some extent the experience was worse than my mind had conceived. Rather than leading me to a modern-furnished patient exam room for what was advertised as a 5-minute procedure, she lured me into the elevator below ground and then to a room straight out of Saw horror films. Cold tile floors, pale fluorescent lighting, the time-worn retracting chair. An eye clamp that looked like hot dog tongs.

In all other respects it was a snap! The chatty nurse numbed my eyeball with the same drops I get for glaucoma testing during annual eye exams. The smallest needle in free society was used to inject the local anaesthetic, a bare pinch and minimal discomfort at all - they injected it from the outside rather than inside of the lid, as I had anticipated ("Hey Dena, poke me right here! Gotta practice! Don't make that face!"). Dr. Ken Barba (whose name is a doll-collector's delight... if his middle name was "Malibu" it'd be perfect) easily scooped out the gunk in there, and with a little dabbing of some residual ooze it was all over.

In fact, the most irritating part of the experience was not being able to feel my eye blink for the next hour or so. But for just $50 ($40 for the procedure, $10 for some disinfecting 4-day supply of eye drops) I feel like a new man.