Well that suct

For nearly 8 months, Wes’s left eye produced more goop than a lame celebrity blog. Which is why, during a recent trip to the pediatrician, we were told it was time to clear out the blocked tear duct we’d been hoping would correct itself. Dr. Dehovitz assured us it was a painless procedure, and recommended we go see her colleague Dr. Eyeballstabber* in Midtown.

The first time we visited Dr. Eyeballstabber, he seemed like a nice enough guy, very professional, good bedside manner, complimentary of Wes’ dashing good looks. But there was just something a little off about him…maybe he was a little too complimentary, or a little too casual…something. Anyway, he gave us some eye-drops to dilate Wes’ eyes before the procedure and told us to come back in a week.

So last Thursday, we took Wes back to the office in Midtown, eyes dilated like a rich kid at a Phish show. Knowing how squeamish Crissy can be about these things, we both agreed it would be best if I accompanied Wes into the procedure.

The first thing Dr. Eyeballstabber did was peer into Wes’ retinas and compliment him. “Ooh, great eyes. No glasses for this guy.” Okay pal, I thought. Kindly dispense with the flattery and get on with it.

He reassured me that this is a very quick and painless process. There are very few nerve endings in the tear duct, and the entire process is only a couple minutes. In fact, Dr. Eyeballstabber said, the worst part will be strapping him into the little padded straightjacket. “They never like that part.”

The weird thing is, I remember that little straightjacket. My brother Tommy pushed me lips-first into a coffee table while dancing to Saturday Night Fever when I was three, and they strapped me into one of those things for the stitches. It’s just one of the few, random memories I have left from my childhood, and I actually remember it not being that painful or scary.

It’s worth noting here that I have the world’s least dependable memory.

As soon as Dr. Eyeballstabber pulled the strap tight across Wes’ forehead, he started crying. Hard. Suddenly my neck got all clammy and my palms moistened. “Whoo! Sweatin’ over here,” I said. Dr. Eyeballstabber assured me that everything would be fine. Then he pulled out a 6-inch syringe.

Dammit. I knew there was something about this guy.

To be fair, he didn’t actually stab Wes’ eyeball. He inserted the needle into his tear duct, which is right next to his eyeball.
To a new dad on the verge of a panic attack, it was definitely his eyeball.

Just as the good doctor promised, it was all over in a matter of seconds. A couple quick pokes of the tear duct, and they swept him out of the straightjacket and back into Dad’s arms, happy and cuddly as ever.

I’m happy to report that the little dude has been 100% goop-free, 5 days and counting. And Wes, if you’re reading this in 20 years, and you still remember this event, I hope your memory is as inaccurate as your old man’s.


*There’s a chance I’m remembering his name wrong.