In which I am a total pussy, and my doctor is a saint:

There are moments in our lives that we think define us. I find that this is incorrect. These moments don’t so much define us, as teach us truths about ourselves that were always there to begin with.

Yesterday, I had eye surgery. While awake. Needles and lasers and freezing. My ophthalmologist has levels in wizard. His expert execution of Ray of Frost at my retina while I whimpered and cried and hyperventilated like a child is testament to his amazing skill at his craft.

Being honest with myself, they probably ought to have restrained me or something. The man is a miracle worker that he was able to flawlessly re-attach my retina with me shaking like California during a massive, devastating earthquake.

Kudos also to my boyfriend, whose facial expressions And vocalizations conveyed nothing but soothing comfort and support while a mad-man stuck needles in his girlfriend’s eye. Then did other stuff. Then stuck in more needles.

I did not find out until today that the D was actually pretty mortified and scared, as well. But that he was calm yesterday was possibly the only thing that kept me from reaching up and strangling the doctor as a fight or flight response, then running out the door- irreversible blindness be damned.

And I attribute to God the fact that although I was terrified and plotting my escape every moment, I still had the presence of mind to follow the doctor’s directions during the procedure. Seriously. That shit was difficult.

At the end of the day though, it was a really positive experience. Don’t ask me to explain how. I don’t understand it either. All I know is that I went to bed last night feeling really, really good about life.

I’m still feeling pretty damn good about things. Except the snow. The snow can go fuck itself.

Go home, Mother Nature. You’re drunk.

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