I just got yelled at. I'm not so crazy about that. I'm usually one doing the yelling.
Well, yelling might be a little dramatic, but I definitely got taken to task.
I've been having an issue with one of my cornea transplants. I've put it off, blaming it on dry eyes, the woodburning fireplace, the drywall dust, etc. It's been mildly uncomfortable for a while, but not so much to make the effort to call the doctor and go all the way to Chicago, especially when we've been working so hard to make progress on the house.
However, last week it got worse. Quite a bit worse. The problem is that if I have an issue with my eyes, it means I can't drive. I can't drive in Chicago on my best day. I certainly can't do it with one eye that is screaming in pain and pouring out a flood of tears from the sunlight. And Vern was certainly in no shape to drive.
However, he's driving again, so I figured it was a good time to call my surgeon. He was NOT happy that I waited. At all.
So tomorrow morning we head into Chicago. I'm sure it's just a loose stitch. Right?
Because God wouldn't do that to us right now, would he?