*Warning: Written while on pain meds
I rarely get sick. When I do, it’s always to such an extreme.
I don’t get colds. I have nervous breakdowns.
I haven’t needed dental work since I was pregnant with Little Dude. He was sucking all the calcium out of my body, along with essential macronutrients and my life force and sanity. I loathed being pregnant.
My tooth started hurting a while ago (a week? a month? Thank you, Vicodin for eroding my sense of time) and I ignored it. That’s my medical strategy. Denial.
But it got worse. Every time I chewed food on the right side I felt like I was being electrocuted through my gums. I was forced to see a dentist.
God, I hate dentists. What a shitty job that must be. Everyone dreads you.
Despite how far we’ve come in medicine, dentistry is fucking medieval. The only advancement we’ve really had is sanitation. Essentially, you still have some guy standing over you with a pair of pliers in your mouth and a foot on your stomach, pulling at your teeth. Barbaric.
The dentist said my wisdom tooth was impacted and pushing through my gums. AND that I needed a root canal in the tooth next to it.
Double Pain Whammy. The next thing I knew he sent in Dr. Josef Mengele, the ‘Angel of Death’ endodontist, to reenact the torture scene in “Marathon Man.”
He drilled into my face, which is always awesome. That unmistakable high pitched whir, the smell of decay, bits of teeth flying everywhere like exploded shrapnel. It felt like a tiny grenade had exploded in my face.
And then he had to stop because the wisdom tooth was in the way.
The dentist office tried to get the extraction approved quickly but my insurance company was being a dick. The bottom line is always the bottom line. It doesn’t matter that there’s an infant alien with claws scratching its way out of my jaw and ripping it to pieces.
The dentist gave me antibiotic and pain meds. I’m on 10 mg Vicodin which he leaned down to tell me was “the good stuff.”
Hate to tell you Doc, but the good stuff would be an eight ball of cocaine and a bottle of Jack.
Did everyone have as druggie of a past as I did, or am I just more honest about it because I’m anonymous? I was a cocaine cowgirl during the years I bartended (and had other nighttime jobs) in New York. Last call is at 4 am. After work, I’d go to after hours clubs, the ones that operated from 4 am to noon. I would stay out until 8 in the morning, then go home to take a bath and sleep all day.
I was a vampire before it was fashionable. A vampire with a trickle of white powdered snot running down an upper lip too numb to feel it. How attractive.
The stupid insurance finally approved the extraction and I’m scheduled for Monday. I am in for a world of pain. As it is, every time the air passes over those two teeth I feel like I got punched in the face.
We interrupt this blog post to show you a REALLY COOL nail polish color. I actually love seeing this color dance across my keyboard…
Did I just say ‘dance across the keyboard’? Jesus these drugs are pretty good after all.
My kid went to his first boy/girl dance last night – the fifth grade social. Most of the boys didn’t ask any girls because the girls just wanted to go with their friends. Just as well. Little Dude will be wading thorough that sewer soon enough.
This one kid in his class is a real oddball. He picks his nose and eats it, so he’s shunned- although I’m happy to report that Little Dude is always nice to him. The Nose Picker decided to ask THE most popular girl in the fifth grade to the dance – a girl who, my own son has told me, is a super bitch to all the other kids as befitting her status as Most Popular (He didn’t use the word bitch but you get the idea).
He asked her KNOWING she would turn him down, and when she did, he recited an original poem referencing Batman.
My kid thought it was bizarre, but I think it’s SO cool. The Nose Picker has balls of steel. Maybe he’s getting certain booger nutrients that enables him to break free of social constraints.
Sometimes, you have to risk rejection. And then recite an original poem featuring Batman.
When I went to pick him up I didn’t plan to get out of the car. I had on Victoria Secret boxer shorts and no shoes. The school is just down the street.
Of COURSE when I got there all the doting moms were parked and going inside to retrieve their kid. Is it bad or good that no one said a word to me about my bare feet and boxers?
Now I have to cancel my date tonight, because the last thing I want is something in my mouth.
Get your minds out of the gutter. By ‘something,’ I mean penis.
I’m worried that after I have both the wisdom tooth out and the root canal after that I will be DYING IN PAIN and unable to write anything for a really long time and you’ll all just forget about me.
Don’t forget about me. Wow, opiates make me needy.
I’m just here, floating on a cloud of Vicodin, trying to figure out which draft I should work on.
I’m going to list a few of them here. I’d love it if you told me in the comments which one you think I should write?
1. How to Shoplift
2. In Which I Admit to Being a Grateful Dead Fan
4. Things I Found in My House
5. Patty Hearst and the Symbionese Liberation Army
6. The Grinch Who Stole Mother’s Day
7. That Time I was In a Cult
8. Greetings From the Pain Abyss Oopsie! Not that one! That’s this post.
I don’t even know if anyone will read this. I don’t usually publish on the weekends. I guess I’m about to find out, right?
And now I must go eat something. That’s one of the benefits of being a grown up. I can eat melted ice cream for lunch and NO ONE CAN STOP ME.
Is there anything more painful than a toothache? I’m really a baby, aren’t I?
Should I go back and proofread this post?
Talk to me. I’m listening.