CHAPTERS on Why Instagram is SO deceiving
this is the real hen-do story you'd never have guessed from insta (part 1)
If you’ve seen pics from my hen-do, like this one, you are about to realise how deceiving instagram can be… this is the real story.
We rushed to the hospital’s emergency unit and I was quickly seen into a room full of the eye-equipment you’d usually find at the opticians. I sat in front of the machine with the little moving telescope on it and tried to look straight ahead into the lens.
“WOW.” Exclaimed the nurse in a tone of disbelief as she examined my eyes. In a strong Scouse accent, her voice as loud as a foghorn she said, “I’m just going to get the doctor, okay, you stay there a minute!” I leant back from the chin rest trying not to panic, but wondering what the hell was happening?! Only a couple of hours ago I’d been wearing a white cowboy hat with a veil attached and having the time of my life on my hen-do. We had all arrived in Liverpool the day before and we were channelling a strong ‘girls-on-tour’ type energy. But as fast as someone could say BIG. NIGHT. OUT I was drinking water from a polystyrene cup in A&E, when I should have been sipping Prosecco through a penis straw.
“I don’t have time to see this patient right now,” the doctor snapped as he came into the room. He sat down where the nurse had been and without greeting me he quickly peered through the lens. I lent forward, assuming I was supposed to place my chin back into the cold plastic ledge. “Oh My God” he said.
As we’d started getting ready for the pinnacle of any hen-do weekend - The Saturday Night - a stinging feeling in my eyes rapidly became an unbearable burn. Within twenty minutes I could barely open my swollen lids - not really the look I was hoping for on my “last night of freedom” or whatever they call it. I sat on the floor of the hotel room wearing a dressing gown and praying for the pain to subside, but every blink was razor sharp. I knew I needed to go to hospital and this was no normal eye issue but I desperately didn’t want to accept my fate. I hoped that I was blowing the whole thing out of proportion. I thought maybe, if I just stare at the floor for a bit and try not to blink too much, it will pass. Spoiler alert. That technique did not work.
“The left one is just as bad!” the nurse shouted at the eye doctor despite being less than a meter away. I might be visually impaired right now, I thought, but I’m not deaf! “What is it?!” I asked, my voice also several decibels louder than expected. The doctor wheeled his chair out from behind the equipment and addressed me directly for the first time. I was glad when he spoke in a normal volume. Three people shouting seemed unnecessary in the circumstances. He was young and smartly dressed in trousers and a cream jumper - he looked like he could have been going into town himself after the shift. I might have offered him the table we’d reserved at the bar, if I wasn’t holding on to delusional hope that I’d still make it out. He softened his initially rude manner slightly as he delivered the news.
Of all the things I was anxious about before this hen weekend - what should I wear, would everyone make it to Liverpool safely in the stormy weather, how to politely decline doing anything too embarrassing - losing my eye sight and ending up in A&E had never crossed my worried mind. But here I was, in a jumper and leggings spoiling everyone’s fun. Not in a ‘no I won’t be wearing “L” plates’ kind of way, but in a serious, medical mood kill.
To be honest the diagnosis is a bit of a blur to me now. The party-pooping doctor reeled off various fancy names for what was wrong with me. I grasped that there was not going to be a quick fix when he said he was prescribing four different medications for three months. But the personal highlight was that I’m not going blind! I started to cry which, in this case, literally added insult to the injury.
“You’ll feel a lot better when you’ve got the first lot of meds in.” The nurse, still at full boom, consoled me. “I’m on my hen-do right now.” I confessed. “Am I going to be able to go out tonight?” The numbing drops had definitely wiped my memory of how red and swollen my whole face was. “Well your eyes might be sore but you’ve got gorgeous teeth!” The nurse shouted. I took that as a non-committal ‘yes’ in my desperation to salvage what was left of my hen weekend, looking at the doctor for a glimmer of agreement. “If you use teeth whitening” he said ,“don’t get it in your eyes” and with that parting wisdom, he left the room.
I hurried back to the waiting area to tell my friends the good news - I would be feeling better when I’d had the first lot of meds and we could still go out! It’s a good job I couldn’t properly see their reactions because they definitely weren’t looking convinced. I was blissfully unaware that I looked like Harry Potter when Hermione casts a stinging curse on his face to disguise him from the Snatchers. In my mind I would get these magical eye drops and resume the frivolities immediately. Walking back out into the fresh, northern, night air I breathed a deep sigh of relief.
But any elation I felt in this moment would be short-lived, as the numbing drops wore off, I caught sight of my reflection and my luck turned from bad to worse.