Sometimes, Things Just Pile up in a Heap

Last Edit July 23, 1999

Sometimes, things just pile up in a heap.
So when you are terribly busy and running around like a decapitated chicken, you put off that Dr.'s appointment for that minor infection picked up a week or two back when finally mowing the lawn. Some pesky weed. I guess it was mad because I pulled it up. It got even. Know men like that.
And you don't run to the dentist because you don't have the time and the toothache isn't all that bad. Especially if you take Advil and a swig of bourbon.....
Besides, you'll see the doctor soon about your mammogram results and your son has finally consented to go to have that ingrown toenail looked at yet again, after he swore off doctors - the last ones having messed up his feet.
But, when it became necessary to chew on one side, avoid food with anything other than room temperature, and the bourbon intended for those little fancy franks you make at holiday time was running low in the bottle, it was time to call for the dentist. And not wait for the routine appointment in August.
Even if I was monitoring a seminar. Figure out a hole in the schedule and just go. Late lunch. Several lunches.
After all, my son and several e-mail buddies were nagging me.
So I went, after I carefully set up the class, had all the students happy with their notes and their toys and the instructors were operating their own computers and the evaluations were copied, and lunch coupons passed out (more important than the class notes), and attendance form signed. And everybody had their very own SillyPutty. You don't want to know.
And the dentist smiles and says, "Root canal".
Yipes.
Well, I have had one before. It wasn't all that bad.
So I am in the chair, with a novel (I planned ahead) and the Dentist saw me between patients.
First he gave me a really big shot. In that muscle at the back of the jaw.
Then, after scraping me off the ceiling, he gave me another one, because I could still feel the drill.
He got further along.
But when he started down the one canal he could get down, I knew he was there.
Knock. Knock. I'm home already!
So this time he shot the pulp.
OK. I can't feel a thing.
We have one canal down, two to go.
And it stayed two for the next three hours.
He was seeing others in-between bouts.
And he was determined.
And frustrated.
I was getting stiff.
And the shots were wearing off.
And I needed to get back to complete the class.
But we were getting nowhere.
Seems the tiny files keep bending.
Calcified canals.
Back-most tooth.
Old cap recently replaced. Nerves shrink under a cap (I didn't know that). Calcium fills in the space. Nightmare!
Ok, the old cap was replaced 10 months ago and I had been waiting for the tooth to calm down since then. (TEN MONTHS! Where DOES the time go!)
X-rays showed really narrow canals.
Bummer.
So, at 4PM, due back in the classroom to see that evaluations were done, the class was wrapped (this instructor likes to run to 7PM at night. That's a no-no.) and misc. wrap-up duties completed, the dentist decided that tomorrow I would see a specialist.
Next door.
I went home with a stiff jaw and an Rx for painkiller. "Don't take unless you need one." Turns out is is synthetic Codeine. Right. Take only as needed and not always then. Bad stuff!
I took one. AFTER I picked up my son from adult school.
My jaw had a mind of its own for a few hours.
So I baked a cake.
Next day, the seminar also in session, I got through the morning and into the afternoon OK. Classes running merrily along.
Just a few instructors not showing up on time.
That's always fun.
Who do you call?
By 2PM I was in pain but I didn't want to drive under the influence. No pills.
By 2:30 I was signed in at the specialist's and man number two started drilling. After they assured themselves that I knew this was $750.00 and they had an insurance card.
I am covered for about 80%. No big deal.
Just make me feel better!
So he shot me up - really big shot in that poor back muscle.
I was not happy. Bounced on the ceiling again.
And this time they used a big rubber dam in my mouth. (Yuk!) I was reduced to writing notes.
My poor jaw did not want to open. (Still doesn't - I cut up my food really, really small.)
Well, he dug and dug and bent his files.
Same tiny files.
Teeny things with color-coded tiny handles - look like little resisters on a stick.
I wrote little things like, "I know you are there!"
He had to give up.
No joy.
Back to the dentist - a short walk two doors down.
Now the options...... We can't get down two canals so we can remove the tooth or, just clean out the one canal they can get down, fill it in and hope.
If they pull it, the one above it will slowly fall down out of my head until it too needs to be removed. And the ones next to these will lean over and eventually have to be pulled.
And on they go until I get to be like my father - who died with ONE TOOTH left in his head.
I made an appointment for next week.
If I am in pain - they will pull it.
Of course, it is old, it may crumble, and it may take awhile to remove.
OK, says I. This time we'll use laughing gas.
I don't want to know.
If there is no pain, or the tooth quiets down, we'll try to keep it.
I'd rather keep it.
Somehow scheduling myself for a tooth extraction at 70 isn't attractive.
So home I go, and this time, I take pain medication before I go pick up my 17 year old from adult school.
Talk about staying on side streets and driving slow. I wish he had his learner's permit. I make the mistake of telling him so!
Of course, this pisses him off - he is always crabby when I am hurt.
He doesn't want his mother hurt so of course he yells at her.
Makes perfect sense. It's a male thing.
That evening.....my thumb, which I had been soaking and draining and wrapping for two weeks, decided to get nasty. Seems my immune system was tired of fighting the tooth so it gave up totally on the thumb.
It swelled and was painful and wouldn't drain.
Time for something besides home remedies.
In the morning, it was really bad. I make my son roll out of bed and do garbage detail. (They did pick up some of it - he wasn't too successful with the rest. Oh well.)
Since I was still running the seminar (which means I am bouncing in and out of the room), I tried to reach my doctor at the odd moments when I was near a phone. Since I was moving, it had to be a phone that worked..
And I tried.
And I tried.
Three hours later I was successful.
They told me to go to "Doc in a Box", Urgent Care center.
Because I would not have made it to my doctor before 7PM or made it home before midnight. Due to traffic directions and the way I had to drive to get there. Silicon Valley is like that. Don't leave the city at night. Don't drive into it in the morning.
I went home and called Urgent Care.
Their leading question - "What kind of insurance?"
And "Come on over."
I go over.
They fill in papers, photocopy my ID, and then sit me in a room.
The doctor, evidently confined all day long with himself and the receptionist, was most talkative.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Three rapid fire needles.
"See? I'm faster than the dentist."
Oh yeah.
Now get me off the ceiling.
I am evidently destined to be on one all week.
"Numb yet?"
Of course!
He grabs a scalpel (yes, all the HIV precautions are in place) and slits me open.
Yep. It was infected.
Junk and blood come out and he goes in looking for the tip of the weed briar that has to be causing this.
My hand is a mess.
After a few minutes of probing, during which I try not to look, he decides it is now cleaned out.
With luck, we won't clean out my stomach.
Turns out, I should have had antibiotics from the dentist. One of them.
But I am a unique patient.
I already have pain pills.
So I go get antibiotics. After wresting the Rx out of his lab coat - he had wandered out of the room with it in his pocket.
I also have this really big bandage on my thumb.
"Don't use it for three days..."
Now I am really driving slowly to pick up my son.
And he is really, really pissed. Storms out of the car.
Seemed I threatened to have him help me get dressed in the morning.
Body suit and pantyhose are hard to do one-handed.
He snorts.
Next morning, I hold off on the pain pills until I get to work.
Seems I am slurring my words when I take it.
Hard to open a seminar that way.
I had managed to get dressed, more or less, while watching the ships pull out with JFKjr's ashes on board.
I say good bye to my sleepy son, suddenly not wanting to leave without doing so. Besides, he needs to take care of the animals.
My son resists opening his eyeballs (feeding the animals sounding too much like work) but opens one long enough to mumble to me to take care of my thumb.
See?
He does care.