Random Acts of Ismael

Pop-Eye

by Ismael Manzano

    Recently, I wrote a rant about the discovery of my glaucoma problem entitled Eye Spy.  For those of you who did not read it, you might as well not read this rant because I no longer like you and do not want to be your friend, associate with you, sleep over at your house, pet your dog, eat your food, bathe in your shower when you’re are not home or leave cups of water with cream cheese on your dresser as you sleep—I actually did that last one to someone; don’t ask me why, I did it in my sleep.

    Anyway, back to my very important and-better-than-your problem.  My glaucoma.  I have.  It sucks.  I’m too young to have it.  All the doctors say so.  Old people should have it.  Why are they giving me their problems?  I didn’t give them anything!  It’s not a fair trade.  I hope this means when I get old I’ll suddenly get things that young people have, like some kind of fashion sense or the ability to rollerblade…or a strong, working hip.  That would be fair.  And if those stingy old people would just let me in on the secret of giving away their problems on the young, I’ll be sure to do just that one day. 

    Anyway—stop distracting me, this is hard to write with my glaucoma—in case you did not know, I have glaucoma.  As such, I have to go to the doctor regularly to check my eye pressure; it’s very high.  The other day, however, I went to my doctor to see if the two sets of eye drops he’d given me were bringing down my eye pressure.  To his amazement, but not mine because I just have that kind of luck, my pressure not only hadn’t gone down, it started going up as I was SITTING IN HIS OFFICE!!!  That’s right, they checked me four times and each time the pressure went up.  It went from 24 to 36 or 38, I don’t remember—I think I went a little crazy for a second and zoned out.  That’s almost twice the normal number for healthy eye pressure.  Although, I confess that I have no idea what those numbers mean except that the higher it goes the deeper shit I’m in.  So, in short, my eye pressure jumped nearly fifty percent in a matter of moments, and for no reason other than to say to the doctors, “See, fuck you all!  You can’t stop me He-man!  Castle Grayskull will be mine!”…I used to watch a lot of cartoons when I was younger…A LOT!

    By the fourth—“This shouldn’t be happening,” exam, I began to fear that my eye would rupture and explode right then and there.  I asked if they could do anything at all to help or at least explain why it was happening.  For the latter, they said no.  For the former, they gave me a nice, shiny orange pill that tasted funny; did I mention it was a horse-sized pill?  Anyway, I took it and, within minutes, my pressure dropped to 15.  Yeah!  Wahoo!  Below normal!!  I’ve never been so happy to be below normal in my life.  I might have done a little dance, if I didn’t think dancing might someday be discovered to be the number one cause of high eye pressure—did I mention I was going a little mad? 

    The problem was those pills are a whopping 500—FIVE-HUNDRED—one plus two, plus four hundred and ninety-seven—milligrams.  I didn’t know what that meant, but it sure sounded like some strong shit.  And it was.  It turns out that pill—whose name I can’t recall—is a last resort pill used to quickly drop eye pressure and is not recommended for long term use because of the numerous side effects.  I didn’t bother memorizing any of them because—what the hell—if they told me to take, I’d take. But, luckily, they had an alternative.

     They gave me a low dose eye drop of the same medication to see whether that will maintain my pressure.  Good luck to me.  I know you are all hanging off of my every typed word with baited breath to see whether the master of pop culture will continue to deliver his award-winning rants to your deprived lives…Did I mention I went a little insane? 

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