Circumstantial Evidence

Something is wrong with my eye. The lower lid is tender, red and swollen. The eye doc prescribed antibiotic drops and said if it doesn’t improve by early next week, I’ll have to be evaluated by an ophthalmic plastic surgeon.

Praying it doesn’t come to that.

I am to administer a drop every 6 hours. Normally, I am a diligent patient and when a prescription says every six hours, I take it exactly every six hours around the clock. Because it works best that way.

But Wednesday night I thought a good, uninterrupted 8 hours of sleep might be more beneficial to my healing than strict adherence to the schedule, so I decided I would put a drop in when I woke up instead of setting an alarm.

Early Thursday morning I awoke while it was still quite dark and the house was still completely quiet. I pried my eyes open enough to check the clock on the nightstand. It was 5:45. The EXACT time the next drop was due.

If God woke me up for the drop, then I needed it now. So I got out of bed.

Yesterday my eye was worse.

Again last night I decided in favor of eight hours of sleep, especially since the drops didn’t seem to be working anyway.  Again this morning God woke me. At 5:40. His timing, again, was perfect. I administered the before bed drop a few minutes early because I was tired and wanted to go to sleep.

So even though my eye doesn’t feel any better and looks worse, I’m thinking the eye drops MUST be working. Otherwise, God wouldn’t keep bothering to wake me up.

Of course they might just be keeping the infection from raging out of control.

Staying home today with warm compresses. Gonna’ go eat something to boost my immune system…

I blame the Christmas tree.



I tried to do it properly, I really did. But last night, right before bed, I wondered whether I would have to borrow Buddy Boy’s epipen jr. – maybe both of them.

And then I dreamed about dying in my sleep.

When I awoke, congested, my eyes looked like Donny’s – at the point when Rocky was about to call the fight – minus the blood.

I found the hub in the dining room working on the jigsaw puzzle we started last night.

“Let’s skip church and take down the Christmas tree, I think I’m allergic to it.”

He chuckled, “You said that last year.”

“I did? Then I probably am.”

My daughter was heading out to church. “Say good-bye to the tree…”

“What? The Crawley’s wouldn’t approve!”

“I know, but the Crawley’s probably wouldn’t want me to die either. And I really wanted to enjoy it tonight while we watch Downton Abbey.”

After the hub dragged it outside, I vacuumed up all the needles and then typed “Can you put bleach in Christmas tree water to combat mold?” into my search engine because when I dumped the water it smelled really bad/moldy.

I’m sharing the useful information I found in case you, too, have an undiagnosed Christmas tree mold allergy.

Oh, and while I was vacuuming, I was thinking. I won’t bore you with the train of thought that lead me there, but I was thinking that those who call Christianity/religion a crutch often have crutches of their own. Things that get them through stressful, tough times. Alcohol.

I realize that thought isn’t groundbreaking and I’m sure it’s been thought a lot, and said, by lots of people. But for me, today, it was an epiphany.

Happy Sunday.