As noted previously, my theme songs since last year have been "I Wanna Be Sedated" and "I Haven't Got Time for the Pain." Today I added a new one: "Poor, Poor Pitiful Me" by Warren Zevon.
Yes, I'm feeling sorry for myself. And why not? Who can better give me pity than my own self? Darling Husband does an OK job of it, but he's not around 24/7. And he requires attention back again. So tiresome.
Once when the Boy Wonder was three, he was whining, which I can't abide. (I inherited that trait from my mother.) I growled through clenched teeth, "Stop whining!" His response, in the whiniest voice possible: "But I want to W-H-I-I-I-N-E!" I burst out laughing.
So I need to whine for a while, and then I'll laugh again--though without smiling, as my mouth is killing me. Which is why I'm whining.
Before Wednesday's oral surgery (top) and root canal (bottom), the endodontist wanted me to start a prophylactic course of antibiotics. I try to take them as seldom as possible, as they wreak havoc with my gut; plus my D.O. told me that antibiotics don't prevent infection. So I didn't.
My mouth and lower face got all swollen and sore from the surgery. Now I know what it's like to have collagen and Botox injections, as my smile lines have smoothed out and I can't smile or grimace at all. Yesterday the D.O. told me I look younger because of it. Maybe, but I feel ancient--and surly. (Ah, the price of beauty...)
Last night, the lower tooth started hurting so bad I couldn't get to sleep, so I rifled through the Rx drawer for a painkiller. It's amazing how many drugs were thrown at me last year: Vicodin, Dilaudid, Demerol,Valium, nortriptyline, Sulindac, Ultram, Lyrica, Topamax. What a party I could have! Only if the guests are anything like me, they'd just wind up scratching themselves maniacally and falling down. I settled on a Demerol and was able to sleep (fitfully) till 7 a.m.
This morning the tooth hurt even worse, so I called the endodontist, whose office blessedly has Saturday hours, and her partner saw me. Diagnosis: infection in bottom and top. Gotta give the guy credit for not saying, "I told you so." He also explained that my nose is sore because the roots of the teeth are right under it (which I'd sort of figured out on my own), and that I might get black eyes (which I hadn't). And that my nose will likely be sore for a few weeks. Which means it'll start feeling OK just before it gets broken again (surgically this time) in early October.
Now I'm gobbling penicillin and ibuprofen every six hours and feeling very sorry for myself. And I'm cursing the wanker who coined the phrase "No pain, no gain." I've been in pain for more than a year now, with months more to come, and about the only gain I've seen is in my medical practitioners' bank accounts. Certainly it hasn't been in my peace of mind or productivity.
And I've decided that my endodontist's practice--Endodontics of Cherry Creek & DTC*--would sound snazzier it it were named after its first two partners: Safer Sachs.
*Denver Tech Center