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- Subscribe - Contact Us - Rate Card - Place an Ad Valley&State Backpage O&E Sports Archives Classifieds Faith&Beliefs Obituaries Revels November 27, 2004 Pugh's Muse Keeping My Eyes Peeled Lance Pugh I didn't notice it at first. It was a small bump on my right eyelid, situated such that it could not be seen when my eyes were open. I became aware of it indirectly; people began to look at me with a renewed, though detached, attention. I kept thinking that I must have had a shark's fin stuck between my teeth or perhaps some keen marksmanship by a lumbering crow had dropped some doo on my do. I kept looking in the mirror and everything appeared somewhat normal, this until my wife, Annette, commented: "What the heck's going on with your eyelid?" Fortunately, I had an appointment with my dermatologist later that day, who observed that I had a small cyst on my eyelid and that I should let a specialist look at it. The days fell off the calendar like autumn leaves in a windstorm until my appointment with the specialist became the order of the day. Three weeks of wearing a black eye-patch and talking like a pirate was starting to get old. That and the parrot poop. After checking in at the eye specialist and completing the requisite paperwork, I was asked to take a seat in the standing room only waiting room, there to listen to a baritone voice booming from one of the examination rooms, which clearly did not belong to a patient. You could tell from which examination room the loud voice emanated, as the door seemed to swell of the hinges with the punch of each powerful pronouncement. I was ushered into an examination room about the size of the back seat of my Blazer and given a host of tests, eye drops, then blinded by some extremely bright lights. My eyes were now dilated and I tried, without success, to duck the bright beams that had me back pedaling in the reclined examination chair. I was offered a host of treatments, each less benign than the prior. The last was a 5-minute surgical procedure, which, in a dizzy moment of distraction, I apparently requested. The real eye-opener was when Herr Doctor mentioned that the first order of business would be to inject the eyelid with a painkiller. Standard protocol. End of discussion. Now what could be better than that? Well, for starters, how about me jumping out of the chair, rumbling through the multiple waiting rooms, past the front office packed with staff churning out bills and files, hopping like a one-toed pirate out into the parking lot and roaring away. I mean we're talking about a needle a whisper of skin away from the optic nerve's window to the world; the very home to, and definition of, Huge Pain. I was left in the closet to stew about how big a needle and syringe would be used. I could only envision a submarine torpedo tipped with a 6 foot needle, as my pulse began to race and skip. All moisture left my mouth, only to reappear a few seconds later in the form of sweaty palms. I began to hyperventilate as Nurse Ratchett burst through the door, carrying a tray of very sharp objects. My only escape was to retreat deep within while reciting an ancient mantra worked long ago at a large, crazed, open-air Grateful Dead concert full of hobbits, fairies and wizards. I shut my mental door and threw away the key. My next sensation was being told to take my file to a lady at the end of the hallway, who allowed that I write a check. This was an abundantly generous offer to a man who was still hallucinating and, due to having his eyes dilated, numbed and exposed to blasts of bright light, could barely walk and definitely could not see well enough to write a check. The nice lady wrote the check for me. I noticed that something was amiss as I exited the parking lot. It was as I was driving in a thick fog, though I knew the sun was shining brightly, too brightly. I pulled over near the first stop sign and got out to breath some fresh air. As I closed the door, still standing in the street, I noticed a shiny object on the ground. I leaned over to pick it up when my back locked in a spasm of pain, apparently due to my energetic back pedaling back in the chair. It was then that a police car pulled up, flashing yet more unnerving lights. The officer got out and asked me what I was doing bent over in the street. I thought quickly, then answered as truthfully as my vision would allow: "Well, officer, I'm just obeying the Stoop Sign over there." Contact Lance Pugh at [email protected]. DailyTidings.com Home Page Valley&State | Backpage | O&E | Sports | Archives | Weather | Classifieds Columnists | Faith&Beliefs | Obituaries | Revels | Subscribe | Contact Us Copyright 2004 Ashland Daily Tidings and Ottaway Newspapers All Rights Reserved Slippers Isotoner Slippers Dsw Shoes Citibank Student Loans Acs Loan Matchmaking & Dating Scripts Click Here Site Search: .:Advertisements:. RESOURCES - Mail Tribune News - ODOT Road Cams