I saw her on the basketball court, starting to rub her eye. She came off the court, still rubbing. Crap, she's gotten something in her eye. "Stop rubbing" I whispered under my breath as if she could hear me on the court.
She sat on the sidelines, rub, rub, rub. Then she took the locker room keys and left the gym. Okay, she's going to go get whatever it is out of her eye. "Good grief, what kind of cheap toilet paper crap is she about to stick in her eye?"
Quickly...too quickly, she's back. And, she's really upset. I'm not watching the game anymore. The coach tries to deal with her and then, I hear it. I hear what it is impossible for me to hear. The gym is loud. The game is exciting. And, over the din, I hear "Are your dads here?" And, I was on my feet, ramrod straight, mustering all the "presence" I have so the coach will see me.
And, when her eyes hit mine, I move. Down. Fast. One step after the other.
When I get to Sydney, she's pretty hysterical. Blubbering gibberish is all I hear. But, I know that every parental eye in that gym is on me. (What will the gay dad do???) No way I can get any control over her there in the gym. So, I look up in the stands and my eyes hit Rob and there he comes. Fast.
We take Sydney out in the hall. "Take two deep breaths and tell me what happened."
And, we wait because she knows I won't listen until she does what I said.
And, she starts. Blah, blah, blah details that I didn't hear about the play "and then some girl stuck her finger in my eye and for a second I lost vision but then it came back and then (substitute girl's name that I don't remember) screamed at me that I had blood in my eye. And, I couldn't get in the locker room to see..."
"Stop. Hold your head up. Look up."
And, indeed, just behind the lower lid, there is a spot of blood under the surface of the eye that's about as big around as the lead of an old fashioned wood pencil. "Okay, it's not so bad. Does it hurt?"
"No, I want to go back to the game."
"Calm down. I just need you to take a couple of breaths and calm down. Your blood pressure is high and that's just going to make it worse."
"You're stressing me out. I want to go back to the game." We are on the verge of hyperventilation.
"You can go back to the game as soon as you calm down."
Rob got involved then.
And, she calmed down and she went back to the game.
That night, I looked at it a couple of times and gave her a tylenol. She woke up the next morning and said it hurt, but she said the longer she was awake, the less it hurt, so I gave her an ibuprophen and sent her to school.
About four hours later, she called me and in her most pitiful voice (okay, if you have a daughter, you know that voice that sounds on the verge of tears and is nature's way of making sure parents take care of kids) "can you bring me an ibuprophen? My eye hurts."
The medical book says:
Blood spot in the eye with no pain, wait until it goes away. Blood spot in the eye with pain, see the doctor NOW.
[Okay, I confess to a bit of poetic license. I actually checked the medical book before I sent her to school. But, it fit in the plot better here.]
I called our doctor...can you believe that I share the same GP with my daughter? That sounds wierd, huh? Anyway, they suggest the optometrist. So, I call my O.D. and he's out of town for a couple of weeks. They refer me to the one that I saw when my O.D. was in Iraq a couple years ago.
Call them. They will fit her in. No, they don't have an appointment, but for this, the doctor will absolutely see her. But they're only open until 12:30. Time now, 11:40. We will be there in 10 minutes. And, we were. And, a lady heard us come in and came out and got us through the paperwork and got us in and an hour and a half later, and a hundred and forty dollars poorer, we're having burgers for lunch.
The girl removed a good bit of epidermis (translate for Sydney "she scratched the skin off"). No damage to the inside of the eye, just to the surface. It will heal just fine. Only risk is infection, so some eyedrops and alternate tylenol and ibuprophen until it stops hurting.
I could have taken her back to school after that. She could have gone to world history and spanish and choir and theater. But, I wanted her with me. So, we came home and ate and painted cabinet doors and then I quilted and she did her thing.
Here. Nearby. Where I needed her to be.
So, that's been our end of week. How 'bout yours?