It’s taken me 11 months to write about this event.
You see, the story that I’m about to share with you all is so awkward – so mind numbingly cringeworthy – I pushed it way, way down into the recesses of my mind.
I still shudder when I walk into a doctor’s office.
I can’t look my own mother in the eye.
The sight of a urine sample cup is enough to make me curl into the foetal position.
And now that we’re about to embark upon the tale that covers THE WORST DAY IN MY LIFE LIKE EVER, I’m hoping that you will be kind.
Okay. Here we go.
So once upon a time, on a rainy March morning, I was in the throes of what my GP called ‘acute glandular fever with a liver and kidney infection’. I was sweaty. I was an odd shade of grey. And I looked like something you’d find deep within a drainpipe.
While I had all the run-of-the-mill symptoms you get with glandge (sore throat, a general desire to die), I had recently developed a weird ailment: persistent, annoying, hideously ugly eye infections.
Not a huge fan of this eye sitch, I visited my GP every day for a week, demanding new eye drops and medication. "IT ISN'T WORKING," I'd yell, catching falling pus in my hands. "THE GOO IS MULTIPLYING."
By day seven, my right eye was completely closed over, and my left was about as functional as a wet sock. My depth perception was screwed - I couldn't pour the milk into my morning bowl of cereal, let alone drive to my next doctor appointment.
I was about to come up with the stupidest, dumbest, most regrettable solution in all of human history.
"All good - I'll just ask Mum to drive me."
Mum obliged because she is a magical lady from the far away forest of Narnia, and off we went. Me, the temporarily blind daughter and her, the utterly concerned parent.
When we arrived, Mum had to guide me into the little boxy room which meant OF COURSE she sat beside me. But OF COURSE that was okay, because OF COURSE this was going to be like every other doctors appointment I've had, where I leave with a fresh box of eye drops, right?