"Well, everybody hurts sometimes." REM
(Before we begin, some newsletters are light like popcorn and fun to read! Others are educational and heavy like lead. Let's just say this one is a little on the latter side, but keep reading because this topic is important. Especially if you suffer from this or love someone that does.)
I’ve delivered three babies (2 of those were twins and one was a breech extraction), I’ve broken bones, suffered dance injuries, survived years of migraines, emerged from a severe concussion, and have experienced the everyday fare of pain that comes from dicing your finger on a mandolin, dropping a full can of something heavy (was it beans?) on my foot, and catching each baby toe on the coffee table. Multiple times. Ouch.
None of these things, however, come even close to the two most physically painful events in my life.
No, not even the twins.
I was running around a tree, chasing a little neighbor. We were playing “catch me if you can” and after several times around, I stood up from my toddler stance and ran right into a small branch. With my eyes wide open.
Ok, I know, I know. Who does this?
I quickly covered my eye and told the little boy that I had to go inside and I proceeded to flush out my eye with eye drops to make sure there was no debris in there. I, foolishly, tried to rub it, open and close it, and finally cover it with some ice (I’m not sure why?) while I laid down to experience some of the most intense pain I’ve ever felt in my entire life.
That night, I didn’t sleep at all. I’m very good with pain (I’m in no way bragging about this, I’ve come to find out that it's somewhat of a genetic trait) but this was almost unbearable.
The next morning I called my ophthalmologist and she agreed to see me right away. What I’m about to describe to you next was one of the most welcomed and blissful moments of my entire life:
Her nurse put two anesthetic drops into my eye.
Instant and complete relief. I could breathe again. I wanted to hug her. I wanted her to sell me those drops for any