My eyelids feel like they might never stop swelling

The decision to go to a clinic in Gangnam

I really thought that going all the way to Gangnam for eyelid surgery was the right move. Everyone kept telling me that if you want the best results, you shouldn’t settle for somewhere close to home like Ilsan or Ansan. So, I picked a spot in Gangnam, paid around 2.5 million won, and told myself the extra travel time would be worth the confidence boost. The day of the surgery, I was so nervous that I barely remember the pre-op check-in. Everything felt rushed, and before I knew it, I was waking up with a heavy, throbbing sensation around my eyes. The staff there handed me a paper script and told me to get it filled, but in my dazed, half-numb state, I just nodded and walked out the door, completely forgetting to visit the pharmacy attached to the building.

The long commute home with freezing eyes

Sitting on the subway back to Ilsan was an absolute nightmare. My eyes were stinging, and because I hadn’t picked up the medication, I felt entirely unprotected against the swelling that was already starting to set in. It took about an hour and a half to get home, and every bump on the train felt like a strike to my forehead. I kept checking my reflection in the window, only to see someone looking back at me with swollen, bruised, and slightly terrified eyes. I kept thinking, ‘Why didn’t I just go to a local clinic?’ I could have been home in ten minutes with a bag of ice packs instead of wandering around in a post-anesthesia haze, clutching a piece of paper that was currently useless to me.

Trying to find a local pharmacy at night

Once I finally arrived at my station, it was already late, and I realized I had no idea if any pharmacy would accept a prescription from a hospital that far away. I stood outside a pharmacy near my apartment, staring at the closed glass door, feeling a weird mix of frustration and regret. Do they even stock the same antibiotics or anti-inflammatory drugs? I read somewhere that some clinics use proprietary mixes, which made me feel even more anxious. I ended up just going home to sleep, hoping that the lack of medication wouldn’t ruin the entire recovery process. It was a stupid mistake, but in that moment, I just wanted to be in my own bed.

The uncertainty of the next few days

The next morning was even worse. My eyes felt glued shut by the crusting, and the swelling had shifted into a deep, sickly purple. I spent the entire morning scrolling through forums, looking for anyone who had experienced the same thing—getting surgery in a different city and dealing with the pharmacy logistics afterward. Some people said it didn’t matter, while others claimed the local pharmacists might give me a hard time or tell me they don’t have the specific formulation the Gangnam clinic prescribed. I felt like I was dealing with a bureaucratic mess on top of physical pain. I haven’t even called the hospital to ask yet because I’m embarrassed to admit I messed up such a basic step.

Looking back at the cost of convenience

I’m currently sitting in my living room with a gel pack wrapped in a thin towel, wondering if the outcome will even justify this level of stress. If I had just walked to a clinic near Ilsan Kintex or somewhere in the vicinity, I wouldn’t be dealing with this logistical headache. It’s strange how something that felt like a ‘premium’ choice—going to the center of it all in Gangnam—turned into such a clunky, inconvenient situation. I’m not even sure if the stitches are healing correctly, but I’m too tired to get up and drive back down there to show them. I suppose I’ll just wait a few more days and see if the swelling starts to subside on its own. For now, the plan is to just stay inside and keep the lights low, avoiding any interaction with anyone who might ask me why I look like I’ve just been through a boxing match.