So this past week for me has been all percocet, cream of wheat and and an incredible amount of antibiotics. Oh yeah, also the screaming, pain and Satu, the angel of compassion, taking care of me through the whole thing.
Last Wednesday I went to the dentist on base because my teeth felt like they were exploding in my mouth. I have been blessed with teeth that are about the hardness of soap and they have been slowly dissolving all of my life no matter how much I floss or brush or try to exercise them by holding metal flashlights in my mouth. The dentist peered in zeroed in on my last remaining wisdom tooth which has been just floating there sideways, half-submerged for all of my adult life like a capsized sailboat abandoned in the marsh. It has never been a problem, nor has it been useful, but he figured that pulling it would solve my problem. He pulled the tooth and then for whatever stupid reason refused to let me have it. This was disappointing for Satu since she loves teeth and especially likes the ones with nice big roots like molars and wisdom teeth. He told me to go home and take advil.
I spent Wednesday night hanging my head off the side of the bed and pulling on all of my teeth with strands of dental floss to try and find a less painful position. On Thursday I returned to dental sick call where a parade of doctors looked in my mouth and discussed what could be wrong. There were a lot of differing opinions, but in the subtext they all boiled down to how much of a wuss I must be if a little extraction and gum irritation was causing me to act like I'm dying. They gave me pain killers and some mild antibiotics in case it was a sinus infection and sent me home for the three day weekend.
Friday was not a fun day, but percocet has a way of making you not care too much. I woke up only long enough to wear myself back down again by hiking the 40 or so feet to the bathroom or the kitchen for more drugs.
On Saturday when I woke, I discovered that someone had implanted a golf ball in my hard pallet overnight. Had I pissed off a tooth fairy or something? The pain was pretty intense and it caused me to be a mouth breather too which actually makes me feel dumb, so there's insult to injury. Since the dentist had given me an emergency number, I gave it a call at the insistence of my sweet neighbor Sharon who had been checking in on me and feeling my forehead periodically for signs that I might transmogrify into a zombie or a vampire or something. The number led to a useless voice mailbox that asked me to dial my party's extension and then hung up on me.
The golf ball and my cheek swelled up with a nasty infection. I took refuge in tapioca pudding and drugs and waited it out until Satu drove up to see me on Sunday night. I had been spending my conscious moments peering in the mirror with a flashlight, so I knew that things were getting scary in there, but when Satu gave it a look, she instantly turned green and shut her eyes. She has described it as something that she will never un-see. Then she patted me lovingly until I slipped back into sleep. I believe I dreamed about sidewalks. I remember looking for the places where grass was growing in the cracks and bending down to smell the weeds. Weird, even for me.
On Monday I went to the dentist and Satu worried at my house waiting for me. That visit is so far the most painful experience of my life. The doc narrowed the problem down to the tooth next to the now excavated wisdom tooth and began a root canal. If you have ever smelled roadkill left in a small, enclosed, dank space you will get the idea of what that was like. When the work was done, I sat up and the pain washed over me causing me to break into a sweat and complain to the doctor. "Please fix this." I begged. "It still hurts like..." I couldn't think of anything that was painful enough to describe it. He put me back in the chair and then showed me what real pain is like. I got a shot right in the golf ball and then there was a lot of draining and squeezing and screaming. When it was over, I returned home to catch Satu leaving for work. She stopped and came in to worry over me and feel my head and panic a little while I fell asleep.
That evening Satu made the 2 hour drive back to my house where she and my neighbor Sharon met to talk about me while I was sniffing grass in my drug fueled dreams. She told me yesterday that they discussed brain infection, blood poisoning and the massive infection that I was not at all taking seriously enough. They both knew that I could be seriously ill from the infection, but I irrationally believe that as long as I am not throwing up, then things are really not that bad. There is nothing scarier to me than nausea and all other maladies are rated in an unrealistic comparison with the stomach flu being a 100 and a broken leg being somewhere around 3 or 4 I suppose.
Satu helped make sure I took my medicine and could still think. On Tuesday when the golf ball was back and I looked like a chipmunk, Satu was the one to drive me out to a real civilian dentist who would drain and squeeze my face much more gently and then redo the root canal for me. She prescribed me enough antibiotics to kill a lesser mortal, and Satu took me home to put cold compresses on my face and keep my spirits up. She called out from work and bought me soft food and kept making sure I ate enough to get medicine in me.
I am pretty sure Satu spent the time while I was sleeping scaring herself on the internet by reading stories of people who died from mouth infections. She kept reaching over to touch my arm and my forehead gently I guess to reassure us both. She intentionally didn't tell me how bad the infection could be, Satu was maintaining a monopoly on fear for my own good and I was maintaining my monopoly on ignorance.
Now that I am feeling better and my golf ball is gone, we are having a lazy day together. I am a pretty simple organism that might have expired if she had not been there to take things seriously. I am so thankful that she cared for me and loves me and helped me recover. I honestly don't think I would be doing so well without her and I certainly wouldn't be as happy.
Sunday, August 25, 2013
Thursday, August 15, 2013
I want to fuss with my cigars
I am a woman who loves a project, but I love them the way I love chocolate cake, sometimes it's all I can think about but when it comes down to the eating, who ever finishes a cake? You have a slice, sometimes two and then you call for backup. In fact, what I enjoy the most is the daydreaming. The standing in the grocery store looking at all the frosting possibilities. Then sometimes I just eat the frosting with a spoon. Screw all the baking.
When Satu however, decides to make a cake, she researches cake and blogs about it a couple of times and spends a lot of time finding the perfect pan. This is a long way to go for an analogy that is actually about cigars and projects, but you get the point. She sees things through and she does them right.
This is a spreadsheet for cigars. Satu doesn't use excel, or she didn't until the humidor project. She's learning it so she can complete her plans. She is thorough and focused. Fucking pictures even! Just wow!
The humidor was a TV stand in the bedroom. I just never noticed it beyond knowing it was a thing that was in the bedroom that I understood to be a threat to my bare toes. Now, five years after my first invitation into Satu's bedroom (hallelujah! and amen!), I know it to be an antique humidor. Satu is restoring it to it's original purpose slowly and carefully. I think it's absolutely amazing that she knows how to do these kinds of things. She definitely is a friend to objects as much as she is to animals. It looks great so far and now that I know what it is I am super happy that I will get to live with it for real one day soon. Also, no matter how many times I crush my toes on it in the middle of the night, it will never beat the time I went ass over teakettle on the baby gate.
One of the things that has delighted me most is that while I was googling I want a thunder shirt for people one day (don't judge me) google's helpful suggestion of queries past volunteered in purple text "I want to fuss with my cigars." I imagine Satu on my computer wondering how to look at the humidity level as much as she would like without messing up the process. In exasperation, I'm sure she typed in the phrase and then erased the exclamation point thinking it would throw off the search.
When I asked her about the results, she said that people seem to want to fuss with a lot of things, or they don't know what the fuss is about with this cigar or that one, but she is the only one who wants to fuss with her cigars. Well at least she is the only one that talked to Google about it. This is just one of those little things that happens all the time that makes me so happy that Satu and I found each other.
Dear Google, I want to fuss with my girlfriend!
When Satu however, decides to make a cake, she researches cake and blogs about it a couple of times and spends a lot of time finding the perfect pan. This is a long way to go for an analogy that is actually about cigars and projects, but you get the point. She sees things through and she does them right.
This is a spreadsheet for cigars. Satu doesn't use excel, or she didn't until the humidor project. She's learning it so she can complete her plans. She is thorough and focused. Fucking pictures even! Just wow!
The humidor was a TV stand in the bedroom. I just never noticed it beyond knowing it was a thing that was in the bedroom that I understood to be a threat to my bare toes. Now, five years after my first invitation into Satu's bedroom (hallelujah! and amen!), I know it to be an antique humidor. Satu is restoring it to it's original purpose slowly and carefully. I think it's absolutely amazing that she knows how to do these kinds of things. She definitely is a friend to objects as much as she is to animals. It looks great so far and now that I know what it is I am super happy that I will get to live with it for real one day soon. Also, no matter how many times I crush my toes on it in the middle of the night, it will never beat the time I went ass over teakettle on the baby gate.
One of the things that has delighted me most is that while I was googling I want a thunder shirt for people one day (don't judge me) google's helpful suggestion of queries past volunteered in purple text "I want to fuss with my cigars." I imagine Satu on my computer wondering how to look at the humidity level as much as she would like without messing up the process. In exasperation, I'm sure she typed in the phrase and then erased the exclamation point thinking it would throw off the search.
When I asked her about the results, she said that people seem to want to fuss with a lot of things, or they don't know what the fuss is about with this cigar or that one, but she is the only one who wants to fuss with her cigars. Well at least she is the only one that talked to Google about it. This is just one of those little things that happens all the time that makes me so happy that Satu and I found each other.
Dear Google, I want to fuss with my girlfriend!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)