For the past couple of months I've been having a problem with my eye.
It started out as just a little annoying pain that only happened once every blue moon. However, it decided to begin hurting in earnest this past week. Having already been to the optometrist twice for the same thing, I decided to take further action and visit (dun dun DUN!!!)...the Eye Specialist.
Of course, being the type of person never to worry about anything, I consulted Dr. Google to see just how bad it could be, and then went immediately to the WORST POSSIBLE SCENARIO so that I could adequately torment myself before the time came to receive the diagnosis.
My eyeball was sure to be removed, and with it my ability to drive. I tried to imagine life without an eye, managing to work myself up into a frenzy in the process. I lamented my eye-less socket, how a fake eye wouldn't really look right, how people would stare or be uncomfortable around me, how I would no longer have the vision to do the things I love, and on and on and on.
By the time I got to the appointment today, I was ready to ask where one could purchase a seeing-eye dog for only the left side. Or half of a seeing-eye dog. Preferably one that could drive.
Imagine my relief, if you will, when the Eye Specialist looked at the windows to my soul, and found that I had chapped eyeballs.
It sounds like some kind of a dish you'd order in a Chinese restaurant.
Apparently, because of my delicate age (which he wisely guessed to be just a shade over 41) and the RA, my tears have dried up a bunch. He prescribed medication, drinking lots of water, and eye moisturizers.
He deemed the dog unnecessary at this juncture, unless I wanted a companion with which to eat Chinese food.
Another crisis averted.