When is a Mote Not a Mote?

Photo by Simon Pais (flickr)

When it'a a shingle. Okay, so the eye in the photo is definitely not mine. I have shed a few pounds since last month, but I'm not gaunt yet, and I haven't grown facial fringe yet, either. And my eyes, at least what can be seen of them, are still green.

That haunted look, however, fits well.

The day after I wrote the mote post, my lid swelled even more. Far worse, I began to feel as though something were crawling around just under my skin. (You may now hum the theme from the "Aliens" movie, if you know how it goes. I don't, and anyway, I'm living this, so I shall refrain. And just a btw - did you realize that Ewan McGregor was in the original 1986 "Aliens"? Interesting tidbit.) By Thursday I could hardly see out of the eye, and by Friday I was so creeped out by the whole thing that I called and scheduled an appt. with Dr. W. Naturally, because of the holiday, the earliest she could see me was Tues. morning.

Over the weekend, a sort of hole appeared, so I thought great, something has bitten me and laid eggs inside. The eggs have hatched and the creatures are crawling inside me.

Yeah, yeah, I know it's an ear & mine's an eye, but you get the idea. The expression of horror still holds.

Dr. W. takes a look, listens to my description and pronounces it shingles. Then insists I see an opthalmologist immediately to make sure it isn't affecting my cornea.

So the upshot is that I'm on medication to keep it from spreading, though I assume that if it hasn't spread by now I am fairly safe. Now I just wait for those little guys to get out of my face . . . .


Small epiphany here, which came to me in my cousin K's voice (though she was probably unaware of it): this mote-that-is-not-a-mote was not of my making after all, and turned out not to merit any guilt. Perhaps I should not be so quick to shoulder blame. Note to self: remember this.


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