Daron's Guitar Chronicles: Vol 4

307 ALIVE AND KICKING

ALIVE AND KICKING

When I'm in pain I'm not exactly the most rational person and also my memory of what happened in what order is all messed up. What I do remember is fighting with the paramedic who was trying to get me to let go of my eye so they could have a look at how bad it was, and I just wasn't going to let go. The fact that my hand was burned didn't help either.

My right eye was fine, but I had it squeezed shut in sympathy, I guess. It was the left that was the problem.

I don't know how they did it, actually, or how many of them it took, but they finally pried my hands off, pried my eye open, and got a drop of something in there and I thought, holy crap!

I mean: Holy crap, that's much better. The pain went away instantly. I immediately felt like an idiot for fighting so hard to keep them from doing it. I was blinking up at a face, a young-looking guy. He spoke.

"Is that better?"

"Yeah." I was going to say, next time tell me it's an anesthetic, except then I realized they probably were telling me and I was fighting too hard to listen.

"Okay. Let's flush them to make sure you don't have any ash or debris in there. The left one's probably going to start to hurt because that'll flush the anesthetic I just put in. But I promise I'll put another drop in when we're done."

"Okay. Okay." I steeled myself. They did the right eye first and it felt fine. Then they did the left and I really had to keep from hitting the guy, but as promised, that last drop took the pain away instantly. My entire body went from wired to limp in the snap of a finger.

Then they worked on my hand. I think that all happened in the ambulance. Or maybe I was just on the gurney and then we went in the ambulance. I don't know.

When you go to the emergency room in an ambulance gurney, you don't sit around the waiting room, apparently. They wheel you straight in. I guess maybe at that point they still thought I might lose the eye. I don't know how they decide these things.

I remember wondering what happened to the guitar. Did it catch fire and I didn't remember it? (It didn't.)

I also didn't notice what was going on with Ziggy. He rode in the ambulance with me, but they didn't rush him through triage like they did me. Triage, a word I only know because of the old M*A*S*H TV show.

They shined a lot of lights in my eye. I guess first a nurse, then an ER doc, then I guess an eye specialist. Sorry for all the guessing, but no one was really telling me anything and I probably couldn't remember if they did.

Then I did whatever I do after a stressful experience. I slept. Or maybe they gave me something to knock me out. I'm not sure.

When I woke up Digger and Courtney were sitting in chairs next to me. Digger looked half asleep. Courtney was reading a magazine. She saw me raise my head.

I blinked and realized I was only looking out of one eye. I put a hand up to my face and the hand was heavily bandaged. Bandage met bandage–there was something bulky over my eye. Well, that would explain why I couldn't see out of it. No panic then.

"How are you?" she asked.

"I have no idea," I said. "Did they tell you anything?"

Digger stood up and came over to me. "They think you're going to be okay. You're going to have to wear a bandage for a day or two and put antibiotic drops in it, and see an eye doctor when you get home."

"Well, could be worse, then."

"I'll go see if we can finish the paperwork to get out of here," he said. He ducked around the curtain.