 |
|
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) mckitterick | |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Last week, I went to see the dentist - something that causes me unnecessary grief - and got a long-overdue checkup. The dental hygienist was very thoughtful and kind, and the dentist acted appropriately horrified when I told her about why I was nervous. "That's awful," she said. "Dentistry has come a long way since then," she promised. And it seems she was right. Nonetheless, tomorrow morning I need to go back for a "very small" filling, and it's tying my stomach up in knots. I'm sure everything will turn out okay. The worst part will be the damned needle and the pressure from the lidocaine under the skin. They're not sadists. They're in this business because they like taking care of people's teeth. Still. Oh, and I chomped the living hell out of my tongue tonight. Which will be awesome tomorrow morning. *sigh* Chris UPDATE: As expected, the hygienist and dentist were kind and professional. They were also quicker than I had expected, and it was nice to watch Mythbusters during the procedure. Unfortunately, they finished before the Rocket Car™ launched, so I don't know if it worked! I've discovered that nitrous doesn't seem to do anything, though the dentist told me that it relaxes people - because I felt normal, I must have been pretty anxious going in! The cleaning last week was actually much more painful: Those x-ray tabs hurt the mouth! When the lidocaine wears off, I fully expect to be sore, but for now, all's well. See, dental visits can be good. Tags: life
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
mckitterick | |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
...yesterday I made an appointment to see the dentist. Unfortunately, I was able to get in on Monday. I was expecting to work up to this for a couple of weeks, but no, they got me in right away. For those of you who don't know my history with dentists... well, it began in my high-school years with an amateur serial killer. The short story of one telling experience: He removed a wisdom tooth without functional pain-killers, despite the tooth breaking; he kneeled on my chest as he hammered away at my jaw with some kind of medieval torture device; when I used to much laughing gas, he turned it off; said procedure lasted about an hour. This history was furthered upon a visit to a dentist a few years later, who replaced a filling without pain-killers, saying, "Oh, it's not very deep" before realizing he had to work in there for a while. And so forth. I can count my positive dental experiences on two fingers of one hand, and negative ones on a couple of hands. I mean, have you had dental hygienists give you pain-pills (because novocaine doesn't do much for me) and then leave you alone in the little room as panic mounts and heart races, even though you hadn't really been worrying before that? And just as you're about ready to walk out, she returns and says, "Oh, I forgot to mention that a side-effect of those pills is heightened anxiety." Nice. Or dentists who screw up a filling so that it hurts all the time? And, when you go to get it fixed, he uses one of those horrific screamy-grindy tools to relieve the tension... without giving you pain-killers (again) because "You won't feel anything - I'm just grinding the filling," when in fact doing so causes a great deal of heat... and of course requires more work than he had expected, but doesn't give you anthing at that point because "I'm almost done." And so forth. My favorite experience with the dentist took place in Seattle. I went in for a regular checkup - by "regular," I mean that my friends pushed me to go because it had been five years or so since my last experience in dental torture. Anyhow, and the dentist decided that the top wisdom tooth that stood opposite the bottom one (removed; see above) should come out. He sensed my resistance (or my cold sweat), so invited me to chat in his office, where I admired photos of him with Bruce Lee. He told me stories about what it was like to study under Lee, we talked martial arts, and after a while said, "Ready for that tooth to come out?" I couldn't well leave at that point, and after a shot or two of pain-killer that actually worked and some very careful work, he removed the tooth in one piece (unlike the one that my high-school dentist shrapneled). "Huh," he said, admiring the curved roots, "I see why your teeth are so difficult to remove. Mind if I keep this to train students? If they can do a root canal on this puppy, they can do a root canal on anyone." Anyhow. So I get to see the dentist on Monday. It's been a few years, but I don't expect anything untoward to happen... then again, I never do. Wish me luck. Chris Tags: life
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
pointoforigin | |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
I feel as if I've lived through two or three days today. Since I last posted, we've been through all kinds of drama with my parents and family. Hours of phone calls and situation reports that changed in the next half-hour. The upshot of it all is something I would have considered miraculous and unthinkable if it hadn't just happened.
The doctors decided my father's back pain was simply a muscle spasm, to be treated with rest and physical therapy. So he wanted to go home. And in fact had another midnight rage episode where he demanded to go home, thought he was in a hotel, believed everyone was conspiring against him, and had to have sedatives put in his IV. However, they said he shouldn't be climbing stairs . . . and it is unlikely he could live at home without going up and down the stairs, because there's only one bathroom, and it's upstairs. The chances that he'd be amenable to staying upstairs all day? Slim to none. And my mother is not the kind of person who can take charge and make sure he is properly cared for.
At the end of the day, my father was discharged from the hospital, and actually did what he'd always said he never would do: allowed my sister the Duchess to take him and my mother to respite care at an assisted care campus in a nearby town. They are installed in their own little apartment, where they can be together, where meals and therapy are provided, and they are safe from harm and have medical attention on call any time they need it. My father seems to be accepting the idea that he will not be going home again. Of course, there's no guarantee that he won't have more episodes of paranoia, rage, and demanding to go back to his house. That's how it is with Alzheimer's. But for now, it's a miracle.
It's what we've all been praying and working for. And yet, now that it's happened, we're all grieving. At least, my sister Queenie and I are. The thought of them not going home again . . . it's just hard to grasp that such an important part of their lives, and ours, is finally over. That house is like a little shrine, or a carapace they've stuck together over the years. It's almost impossible to imagine them without it--like a turtle walking away from its shell. And yet, in recent years, it's been slowly killing them, and us. Time to move on! But what a time to do it. Merry Christmas, everyone!
After having all my preparations interrupted by so many emergencies, I FINALLY got to carry out my plan and scrub the tae kwon do mats and the basement floor with bleach solution to kill the mildew. Yes, it is a damn strange labor of love and Christmas preparation! But I can't let my little Muffinhead and Angel Baby sleep in a place that's not all squeaky clean, or as much so as a basement can be. It isn't the best thing for me with my bad knees and asthma to spend hours doing, but in the absence of a Victorian scullery maid, I'll have to do. It's lucky I had a pair of pants I'll never want to wear again! And every half hour I'd think of some little thing and start crying again. Probably a good thing, as it washed the chlorine fumes out of my eyes.
Thanks to whatever gods there be for 4 Elements for Mac--bwah ha ha ha, I hear its cheery brainless little theme song beckoning me even now--and for the Sparrowhawk and his extra strong cocoa with Jack Daniels. And a shout out to the boys of the NYPD choir, for singing "Galway Bay" . . . .
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
pointoforigin | |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Well, I THOUGHT I was going back to cleaning the basement. As it turns out, that would have been fun by comparison. What I've really been doing is answering phone messages and texts all afternoon and into the evening. My father has had severe back pain for an unknown period of time. He was scheduled for an X-ray at a satellite lab today. My sister called to tell me that he had not been able to get out of bed this morning. Instead of driving him to the lab, my mother had to call an ambulance to take him to the ER. The EMTs gave him morphine, but he still screamed in pain when they tried to get him up. They eventually got him into a chair and carried him downstairs that way.
He has been admitted for observation overnight. The X-ray didn't show any obvious fractures, though it did reveal severe bone loss, and the tech said when there's that much bone loss, it can be hard to spot a hairline fracture. They FINALLY gave him the prostate exam he's been refusing--heh heh--I can't help taking some satisfaction in that--and said it was "normal." Well--perhaps normal for an 86 year old. At any rate, they don't think it would be causing this pain. They're proceeding on the assumption that it's a musculoskeletal problem of some kind. They're going to try to get him stabilized and up on his feet so he can go home and get physical therapy there.
I honestly am relieved to know that he's in the hospital. He refuses care at home and my mother can't or won't cope with him. The hospital is the only place where he will follow instructions and accept proper care. I don't think he should go home unless he is completely normal again. And that's not likely. But, for the moment, that's how it is, and I hope we'll be able to come up with a rational plan for when the hospital decides to discharge him.
I had a long conversation with my sister while wandering around K-mart trying to buy mildew killer to scrub the basement floor with. And then another long conversation with my other sister after I got home. And I also spoke with my mother. Sigh. I am now seriously behind in my plans. Sometimes it helps to be a novelist. "See, in this fun novella, the protagonist's father is in the hospital, and her husband is wearing an Airwalker boot and gimping around with a cane. And she's trying to scrub the basement for company. She hasn't written her Christmas cards yet, and the scars from her gall bladder surgery still itch! Ha ha--it's a tragicomedy! Merry Christmas!"
I'm proud of myself for preparing dinner in less than half an hour once I got off the phone. Tilapia with peppers and onions and Montreal grilling spice powder, baked potatoes, and salad with spicy greens and cucumber. I haven't lost my knack, and I didn't go for the cheeseburger! Take that, you treacherous fat-loving bacteria!
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
pointoforigin | |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
I'm prodded back into blogging by today's Google quote of the day, by Arnold Lobel: Books to the ceiling,/ Books to the sky,/ My pile of books is a mile high./ How I love them! How I need them!/ I'll have a long beard by the time I read them.It will be kind of a miracle if I grow a long beard. But then, it would be kind of a miracle if I read all my books, too. I'm spending my days cleaning up and clearing out, in anticipation of the arrival of nine more people soon after Christmas: four children, three spousal units, and two grandsons. Another large box just went off to the Purple Heart this morning. And yet, the Stuff doesn't seem to diminish. I guess I haven't reached that critical point yet when Absence of Stuff becomes noticeable. It's like losing five pounds--you can't really tell. Lose twenty and people might begin to notice. And books are the most incompressible of Stuff. Like water. And like water, they find their way into every nook and cranny. But I WUV them! Sigh. . . . Speaking of Stuff, and losing it, there is a growing body (heh) of evidence that your gut bacteria play a role in making you fat. We love the little darlings. We couldn't live without them. But obese mice--and people--apparently have significantly different populations of microbiota. It's those darn Firmicutes, I tell you! You would think that something called a "Firmicute" would make you firm. And cute. No? But no. In fact, they probably help ferment your food to wring a few more calories out of it, and they encourage your liver to deposit more fat. Diabolically clever for a one-celled organism! We are great big colon(y) creatures . . . why . . . we're just like aliens out of some SCIENCE FICTION story!! These articles are a bit polysyllabically dense, but if you can wade through them, they are seriously fascinating! http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2653298/pdf/WJG-15-81.pdfhttp://www.mayoclinicproceedings.com/content/83/4/460.full.pdf+htmlhttp://diabetes.diabetesjournals.org/content/56/7/1761.full.pdf+htmlAnd now, having performed my public service of the day, back to cleaning the basement.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Previous
