Still Here

Just so everyone knows:

---I'm alive.
---I'm well. (I actually mean that. I've been chewing over a couple of revelations over the past week or so, and I don't know if it's spring, Lexapro, or what, but things are making a little more sense than they used to. I'll go into more detail later...)
---...except that I had my last wisdom tooth pulled today, emergency-style, because it sorta disintegrated Friday night, leaving a snaggly edge cutting my cheek and an exposed root which reacted poorly to such vicious stimuli as air, water, saliva, and possibly thought-waves. It HURT, is what I'm sayin'. I called the oral surgeon first thing this morning, drove up to Skokie, and I am now sans-tooth, with a cheek which looks like I'm collecting nuts and berries for a long winter. I'm chewing on gauze rolls and wet tea-bags to stop the bleeding. But it's the LAST ONE, and hopefully I won't need anything more pulled for a while. And it could have been SOOOOOOO much worse--I was afraid they were going to have to go to WAY more extensive measures to get it out, especially when the surgeon said my roots were "curvy" and thus liable to break. But it came right out, curvy roots and all, with no kind of heavy equipment required. I think I have a dental angel sitting on my shoulder.

There are other developments. I'll write more about them later, but they're good ones, mostly. I think they are, anyhow.

Mostly, though, I just wanted to say--still here.

Things You Don't See Often

I would like to take this moment to say that my dentist is a truly awesome guy.

One of the things I don't think I've mentioned in this blog is that, though it's completely invisible from the outside, the inside of my mouth is a complete train-wreck. Til I was 14, I had perfect teeth; then I got my braces off. I really think the process of having them removed was at least part of the problem; I had the glued-on style of brackets, and they used some sort of acid to break the bond between the tooth and the cement. Before that, I never had a cavity; after that, things got bad pretty quickly.

When I was a freshman in college, I had a root canal. It was a DISASTER. It took two days, for one thing, and it HURT, and the crown wasn't fitted correctly, and in the end, several years later, the tooth cracked. But the root canal itself pretty much turned me off of dentistry. I didn't go near a dentist for about seven years...

...during which time I'd managed to tear stuff up for real. First there was the heroin, which made me puke a lot; like bulimics, heroin addicts are known for their eroded tooth enamel from puking. Then there was the methadone, which has dry mouth as one of its side effects; less saliva equals more cavities. And then there's my legendary love of sugar in all its forms; any little kid can tell you what THAT will do.

The outcome of it all was that my first dentist peered into my mouth while she waited for my x-rays, and said, "Well, it doesn't look so bad, and..." (pins up the X-ray) "...Oh my GOD, what did you DO here???" I had a cavity in every tooth in my mouth except my top fronts.

That was a few years ago. Over time, we made a lot of progress; then I lost my job, and everything came to a screeching halt. Actually it had slowed substantially before that; I owed her a lot of money, for one thing, and couldn't pay it. Once I had no insurance either, there wasn't much chance to get anything else done.

And that was fine; I mean, I knew, I had to get it done eventually, but...well, nothing actually HURT. That was a good thing, right?

Well, a good thing while it lasted, anyway. Around the time I noticed a big spot on one of my bottom molars, I also noticed a rather unpleasant sensation in the area whenever I ate or drank anything sweet, or cold, or hot...or breathed through my mouth while outside. It was sensitive, and it got worse and worse. Finally it was just a dull throb most of the time, with spikes of white-hot pain for variety.

I called my endodontist, to whom I owed nothing, and scheduled a root canal.

I'd had root canals from this guy before, and they weren't bad, but I was dreading this one; for one, when I'd had them before, it wasn't on an actively-painful tooth; and for another, it had been a long time, and I sorta didn't remember how easy it had been.

Well. I went in yesterday, and after five injections of Novocaine, about half an hour of drilling and scraping and what-not, and some of that temporary cement that tastes like cloves, it's done (well, except for the crown, which: big deal...) And the only things that hurt are a) where the five needles full of Novocaine went in; and b) my jaw, from the bite-block and being held open for nearly an hour. That's it. The tooth doesn't hurt at all; I can eat actual food, of a temperature other than "room"; and breathing no longer hurts my teeth, which is a good thing.

I love my dentist. Anyone who can make a root-canal painless is full of win.

Open Letter, Again

Dear Digestive System:

You need to desist with this whole "flu" thing. No one wants to hear any more of your obscene gurglings, least of all me. And frankly, when it's gotten to the point that I've memorized the number of tiles on the bathroom floor, it's clear that I've spent entirely too much time in there.

Stop it. NOW. I mean it.

Sincerely,
Gladys

Urgghh

You know what I REALLY, really hate?

Stomach flu.

And the worst is when it attacks in a work environment. How DOES one handle, for example, the knowledge that one is not only responsible for the wicked stench in the ladies' room (one no "courtesy flush" can alleviate), but also for the ten-minute parade of methane-based sound effects? Other than hiding out in the stall til everyone is gone, then shamefacedly sneaking away hoping no one is on stakeout outside the door, what do you DO in a situation like that?? The Walk of Restroom Shame??

I feel like crap. Which is, perhaps, appropriate, since that has been my primary activity for going on twelve hours now.

Urgh.