Wheaton’s Way

I don’t think I really knew what the saying “The show must go on” implied, until last Saturday night.

As many of you will be aware, last week was Cayman Cookout at The Ritz-Carlton, and I had the privilege of emceeing some of the events. By the time we got to the weekend, I only had two left: The Goodnight Hannah/Goo Goo Dolls concert on the Great Lawn, and the Bon Vivant Chef Competition Brunch, which I would be co-hosting with the lovely Cynthia Hew.

There I was on Saturday, around lunchtime, sitting on my couch at home, eating curry chicken with mac ‘n’ cheese (nothing finer – I mean it) and chatting with my dear friend Carol. I half-joked about how I was going to lock eyes with Johnny Rzeznik and he would realise that his perfect woman had been living in the Cayman Islands all this time. As he sang ‘Iris’, he would cup my face in his hands, and then propose right there on the stage in front of a huge audience.

Perhaps overcome by emotion as I saw it all playing out in my head, I reached up to my left eye to brush something away, and… immediately yelled in pain as it felt like someone had shoved a shard of glass in there. I didn’t know what I had done, but I knew it hurt like hell. Instinctively I rubbed at it, trying to remove whatever foreign object or dollop of curry sauce had wedged itself under the lid. Of course, it only made it worse, and now tears were streaming from it like only that eye had watched ‘Old Yeller’.

Unable to properly see out of the other eye as it winced in sympathy with its mate, I felt my way to my bathroom and tried to flush everything out with water. That didn’t work and I kept getting stabbing pains in waves. It was going beyond a joke, and I was becoming seriously concerned about hosting the concert that night, never mind losing my sight. As much as I just wanted to lie down with a cold compress on it, there was no way. Best friend Lynne suggested we get in the car and head to Doctors Express, so off we went, with me whining and moaning the whole way. I am terrific company when I’m not well.

Mercifully, I was able to see a doctor really quickly, and although I insisted that I could not find anything wrong with my eye in the mirror, she (for some reason… maybe experience and certifications) patiently said that perhaps she’d find something I hadn’t caught. Sure enough, two numbing eye drops and a UV light later, it turned out I had scratched my eyeball.

As it was not a piece of dust or chicken bone that could be removed, granting instant relief, I now had a dilemma on my hands. How was I going to work that night and the next day with this injury? The doctor very kindly gave me a couple of numbing-drops-to-go (along with some antibiotic ointment) but they were only effective for a short period of time and, even then, the temptation to keep closing that eye was overwhelming.

Lynne guided my weepy, stumbling self to her car, not unlike the early days of our friendship when I tested the very limits of all-you-could-drink Saturday nights at Treasure Island Silver’s Nightclub. Despite being at a very low ebb at that moment, I decided that – no matter what – I was going to be on stage at the concert that night.

My Plan A was to get home, drench my eyeball in ointment, take a nap for a few hours, and hope that would solve the problem. Plan B was to stick duct tape over the eye to keep it closed and worry about losing half of my eyebrow when the night was through.

The few hours napping didn’t solve the problem. I dreamt that my eye was absolutely fine, and that I and my Johnny were out for dinner together, but when I woke up, it was still hurting. The first thing I did was get Lynne to apply the numbing drops. I didn’t trust myself to do it without blinking and I had very little supply. Next, I had to seek out the duct tape or whatever would keep the eye closed, so I wasn’t merely peeking out of the good one. Just as I was reaching for the tape, I spied an eye patch. Maybe things didn’t have to get too drastic after all. As soon as I put it on, I could feel the difference. The cushioned side soothed my sore eyelid and I was able to open the other orb without squinting.

Did I mention that it was a pirate eye patch with a skull-and-crossbones on the front?

Off we went to the concert, and thanks to my apparent reputation of being super-wacky, most people thought the patch was a fashion choice. It was an interesting climb up the dark steps to backstage, but I made it. There were some curious looks from the AV guys; nevertheless, I kept my head held high (cautiously, so I could still see), and marched in with confidence. As the lights came up and I got ready to go out with Marc Langevin to announce the Goo Goo Dolls to the audience, I saw Johnny at side stage.

It may not have been exactly as I’d described it to Carol, but I’m pretty sure… no, I’m almost positive, that I locked eye with him.