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Dear Diary – I never thought I’d be so excited in my life to see a dentist. Or to be stabbed in the pie hole with a needle.
I’ve had something grumbling on my lower jaw since a dental cleaning in early April, and it kept growing worse. So on April 30th, I gave up and saw my dentist. I wasn’t even sure which tooth it was, but after x-rays, he assumed it was the one with a sneaky, hidden cavity. It was invisible to the naked eye and hidden behind another filling in the x-ray. He just happened to find it when he adjusted the angle to double-check.
The pain increased so I was relieved to see him on Thursday. Being “frozen” is no fun, but it did offer sweet relief. That cavity cost me most most of a perfectly good tooth but I was glad the problem was solved. He gave me antibiotics, just in case.
However, once I “thawed”, the stabbing, aching, throbbing pain was back. Ice packs helped. I got so sleepy in front of the t.v., I would have stayed on couch all night but Boopy-Doo (aka Angus) felt a desperate need to chug at his water bottle. And the fan I turned on to dampen the sound, rattled like a skeleton in Scoopy Doo cartoon! I curled up in my bed instead, and prayed.
It seemed better on Friday morning and I knew an insult like that could take some time to settle down.
I shouldn’t have tried to tough it out. By evening, I was completely miserable. Youngest Son had to do the dishes and cook dinner. I managed only a few bites. It was a long night and I contemplated driving myself to the hospital, but that meant moving, which would only make it worse.
I left my dentist an urgent message at 8:59 a.m. and called again at 10. Could I come at 2:40? Ah…does buttered toast always land face down?
I was weak, exhausted and unshowered, so Hubby had to drive me. One look at my pasty white face and defeated demeanour, the dentist could see I was in serious trouble. It became even more obvious when he barely touched the tooth and I recoiled in pain, screaming! I proceeded to curl up in the fetal position, hand on mouth, groaning and rocking.
Since the tooth was twisted to the side and completely not functional (i.e., didn’t help me bite or chew), he recommended just pulling it. Which is exactly what I had seriously and deliciously contemplated in the wee hours of the night.
First he wanted an x-ray. Which wouldn’t seem like a big deal, except that I was still writhing in his chair. And I have a tiny mouth. The assistant made 5 attempts to shove electronic devices into my pie hole, bumping the sore tooth from time to time, unapologetically. She eyed me coldly like I was being a big baby, and I wanted to punch her. I’m not proud of that, but days of hellish pain, starvation and sleeplessness was changing me!
I was the last appointment of the day and that turned out to be a good thing, because my body was completely uncooperative. The dentist kept assuring me we had lots of time to make sure I was very frozen. Having used only one syringe to numb me for the filling on Thursday, we were completely baffled when it took 8 syringes, in various locations in my mouth and jaw, to almost freeze it. I say almost, because it never did. I could apply slightly more pressure than before, but that searing pain like a sharp needle jabbed straight down and deep into the bone never left. Since we were starting the third episode of Big Bang theory, I decided it was now or never. I didn’t endure all those needle jabs to go home without an empty socket. This tooth was coming out if he had to sit on me and pull.
Yes, it hurt. But not as unbearably as I feared. Yes, it took a really long time to come out. He “stirred and stirred” my tooth like he was making a silky, smooth batter. Every now and then he’d stop, not so much for me, but for his aching arms. I heard bone snapping and I prayed that it wouldn’t break before he was finished. But eventually, it happened. The dentist won.
He showed me my tooth, shaped almost like an hour glass figure, with a curvy bulbous hip that made it harder to “pop” out. At the tip, hung a little pink sack of infection. Otherwise the tooth had no filling, no cracks. It was perfect.
I crawled into bed while Hubby picked up my heavy duty narcotics. I was exhausted but unable to sleep. Dinner was compliments of Chef Boyardee and after hours of starvation, it was mighty fine. My ice pack became my new best friend, but even it couldn’t abate the pain. Neither did the 2 prescription painkillers I was on. Why do things always hurt the most after midnight?
I liked my Tylenol 3s. Sure, they didn’t really do the trick, but I knew they offered me what Extra Strength could not. Hope. My friend told me “T3s are purely to entertain the caregiver as you stagger around”. She was not wrong. They did.
We shipped Youngest Son out on Tuesday. I messaged a friend in my hometown to see if there was any possibility his employer was hiring. He gave me instructions and names. That evening, Hubby met my folks halfway between our homes and “delivered the package”. Dad and Youngest Son have been delivering resumes every day since. Youngest Son may not be “happy” about it, but he won’t express his unhappiness to them, like he would to me.
Fingers crossed.
It’s been a rough few days since, the pain and swelling taking an eternity to dissipate. I’m slowly recovering my strength, but getting sick of oatmeal and yogurt. I showered one day – that was a highlight. My desires for tea and Minecraft are returning slowly too, and today (drum roll please), I got dressed. It’s a good thing.
I cleaned Angus’ house daily, but our house seriously needs attention. Hubby and Youngest Son have pitched in some. Youngest Son spent an hour on the weekend tackling quite a pile of dishes. Hubby cooked. He also got groceries (for a few days until I felt better). The fridge is nearly empty; the laundry pile overflowing. They tried, but at the risk of sounding sexist, they’re guys. Even together, they could never equal a Mom.
My nickname is Mom, but I also go by Mother, Mo-om, Honey, Jenn, or Jee-nn.
It’s often followed by “could you”, “where is the”, or “what’s for dinner”.
Dear Diary- Hubby has been getting home later and later from work. Usually traffic is to blame. Either it made him late in the morning, or slowed him down in the evening. It is tempting to complain about it, but, he does come home.
We were talking on the phone the other evening when he got slowed down by an accident. There was a motorcycle lying on its side…and someone performing CPR on a person. I’m praying that story had a happy ending because I know it doesn’t always.
It’s why I insisted after we got married that when we say goodbye, no matter how angry we might be, how soon we’d see each other, or who was listening nearby, we’d always end with “ I love you”.
Hubby used to think it was kind of silly, but with a few years behind us and a few losses too, it doesn’t seem so silly anymore. Sure, it sometimes rolls off our tongues without a great deal of thought, but it was said. Sometimes it has rolled off my tongue at the end of a phone call to a friend. It was awkward…. But why shouldn’t I tell my friend I love her? My boss…maybe not such a good idea. I don’t think I ever have….? My friend absentmindedly called her boss “honey” once and was mortified. He just laughed.
I wanted to cheer Hubby up so I called again when I thought he was almost home. I cheerfully announced, “fries are done”. To which he replied, “ Great! I’m in the driveway. Love you!”.
Dear Diary – I watched a “Fashion DYI” on a talk show (which I never watch) and they showed me how to make a pair Balenciaga earring. It’s literally a round shoelace tied in a big bow and attached to a post. Balenciaga sells them for $345 a pair. I wonder how much I could get?
Whoever said that money can’t buy happiness, simply didn’t know where to shop.
Bo Derek