Earrings Will Ruin Your Life [True Horror Story]
At 4AM, I woke up with blood and pus leaking out the back of my left ear, and my lobe was swollen to the size of a grape. Disoriented from medication-induced sleep, I stumbled to the bathroom and inspected the damage. As expected, my left ear was scarlet and quite infected. Odd, since before I slept, there'd been no pain or blood.
Need to take the earrings out. So, I tried. Took the right little owl out, but on the first go with the culprit, nothing happened. Except regret, but that doesn't count.
I felt the needle, but not the post. Okay, my ear's so swollen, the post must've fallen out as I slept. Returning to my bed, I searched for the post to no avail. Strange.
Back in the bathroom, examining the mirror, I tried to take the left earring out again, and luckily, the earring did come out. Blinking, eyes dry and burning from the lights, I stared.
No.
Not so luckily, apparently, during my sleep, the post had not only embedded itself in my ear, but it had gone all the way through my lobe and gleamed like a little beady doughnut out the front of my ear.
You may ask how this could have happened, whether there is logical explanation or it is the product of a cruel universe set on oblivion and callous destruction. It's an apt question, and it's with that I say, "Eh, hell if I know."
Anyhow, as many would in this situation, I supplicated to the almighty Google gods for answers.
ER, injections, laughing gas, X-shaped scalpel cut.
Wonderful.
After disinfecting the alien mass as best I could, I resolved to sleep and go to the clinic as soon as it opened. I dreamed a friend sat in front of a Mac and said she wouldn't be going to work today. When I woke up, within ten minutes, she texted me to state she wouldn't be going to work.
At 8:30AM, I donned yesterday's clothes and crossed the street to the clinic. The day was bright, and a discarded pumpkin rested disemboweled by a fire lane. My ear throbbed, and I took a picture of a pigeon.
When I walked in, the receptionist adjusted her glasses and asked, "Hello, how are you? Whatcha need?"
"I'm well." My ear hissed. "I know you don't do walk-ins, but can I schedule an appointment for today?"
The receptionist scheduled me for an hour and a half later, which was fine. I was willing to wait if it meant I could possible stop my ear from exploding in a gory mass. That'd be a mildly discomforting class experience; it'd detract from the study of medieval adaptation of Classical rhetorical theory.
I brought a book with me, got some water, and sat in the waiting room. The water was heavenly, and the waiting room had comfy plush chairs and a dead hearth.
I read a page and--
"Emily?"
Saddened by my lack of reading time, I followed the nurse, a kind blonde woman, and she weighed me. Thankfully, I had lost five pounds in a month, so the exercise was paying off.
In the patient room, I sat in the chair.
The nurse asked, "How are you today, sweetie?"
"Great," I replied. And all my vitals were good. I wasn't being facetious; everything was great, really, despite the demon pregnancy in my left lobe.
Then, I showed the nurse the problem.
"Oh my goodness," she said. "Well, it is definitely infected."
"Yeah."
She left to get the doctor, and I reassessed all my life choices.
When the doctor, an older woman, asked to see my infected ear, I acquiesced, though, to be fair, it was a conspicuous sight.
"Oh my goodness," the doctor said. She had me rest on my side under a light. "This is the earring?"
"No, it's the post, the back."
"But it's in the front? I don't understand what I'm seeing."
"Me neither."
"I haven't the slightest how this could've happened." Great.
The nurse asked, "Do we need to disinfect this?"
"I don't disinfect," the doctor said, putting on gloves.
The nurse was in front of me, and the doctor tried to remove the post with her fingers.
It didn't budge. Blood leaked down my neck.
A pause.
"Get the hemostats," the doctor said. The nurse did.
Tensing, I covered my mouth.
A spike of pain. Blood and pus filled my ear and ran on my cheek.
God, here we go. Unto the breach once more, etc.
The doctor showed me the bloody post clamped in the hemostats. "It's done." Relief swelled as much as my ear once she ripped the post out. The nurse and doctor spent a minute cleaning my face. "Well, you certainly have a hole there now."
"Do you want me to throw the post away?" the nurse asked.
"No," I replied, and she gave me the bloody post in a biohazard bag.
Wow, red is such a pleasant color. Beautiful.
"You should wash your hair and face after this," the doctor said. And she was right; my hair was gross, dried pus notwithstanding.
I thanked them and talked about the book I'm working on. Then, at 9:30AM, I went home, made some tea, and ate a Hot Pocket.
TL;DR: Earrings with posts are of the Devil, but at least I have something other than obscure and disturbing historical facts to talk about at parties.
(Note: I am incredibly grateful to the doctor and nurse who helped me. My intact ear also appreciates it.)
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