The doctor finally came back, and prepared his equipment. We waited some more, until the assistant arrived. Some more drops in my eyes, and some talk between the two about some somethingcaine, then a warning: "this might hurt like a couple of Loosiana skeeters
for a sec". Then came the first needle
; it hurt like a giant skeeter, a malevolent six-footer that took sport in lodging its stinger
deep into my eyelid for an interminable time. I groaned. Then came the second one, no nicer than the first. I groan
ed some more. The cyst was methodically drained, and I could feel, on my eye, the doctor's massaging and probing of it. I asked whether I needed to keep my eyes open for this, and I was told to try to look down. I tried, but mainly kept my eyes closed in terror. Finally, a laser
was brought in, at least I thought so, because I could smell something that must have been burning human flesh
, but of an unappetizing variety. Then it was over.
My first look in a mirror made me think I looked like I'd gone about ten
tortured rounds with Prince Naseem; my eyelid was
swollen partially shut. I was told to keep it warm, and to massage it, to
help further drain it. For how long? I don't know. The checkup and full exam is
in three weeks, so maybe I have to do it for that long, or until I lose the
I-lost-to-Naseem look. Massaging was out of the question at first, since that
part of my face was all numb from anesthesia. As it slowly wore off, I
noticed the soreness of the surgeried area; now, having slept long enough for
the numbness to be gone, I can massage in earnest. The lump is gone, but it's replaced for now with a lot of swelling. Will it ever recede? I don't know. Constant watching for signs of improvement would be like watching grass grow, so I will avoid the temptation to mirror-gaze. I'm just letting the organ music soothe me; the lump is gone, and that will suffice for now.