A recipe you won’t find in Betty Crocker’s cookbooks:
Do the Dental
Take one part up at sunrise.
Add one part antibiotics.
Stir in one part sedative.
Spoon in five parts Novocain.
Shake vigorously hornet’s nest of infection.
Top with sweet yooooowza! as sedations wear off.
Pour into glass.
Drink and blog.
Bad writing’s painful, particularly when it’s my own.
I remember little of yesterday’s blogging at a Starbucks’ layover between endodontist and home save for pulling into the parking lot and becoming aware of drool hanging as a wide string from the right corner of my mouth.
Fortunately I discovered it before approaching the barista and focusedly articulating my order.
I remember little in the hours post-root canal. I don’t remember blogging, rather TRYING to blog. To connect with the words through the thick haze and misfiring synapses. If they were firing at all.
Connecting to the words was like pulling teeth, pardon the pun.
I penned what I could before I completely faded out. Then lost half on a WP glitch.
I tried to recapture — as unlikely as spotting the one snow leopard twice in a day.
By then the Yowza pain was really kicking in.
Know the truth about root canals. The pain isn’t the treatment, it’s the Novacain wearing off!
Later I considered deleting yesterday’s post. The quality of writing isn’t up to snuff. The words that appeared are my own by a thread of drool.
However, in my higher assessment, I’m letting it stand as a snapshot of Moment in Time.
And an example of what can happen when you Dental and Blog. You never know whose literary sensibilities you will offend. They may be your own.
Postdated disclaimer done.
Moving ahead …
Yesterday’s a wipeout and blur.
Following an amusing attempt to blog, I’m at Costco’s pharmacy to fill the prescription.
Coming off the root canal high and descending into discomfort, pain and body shiftings is intense.
I arrive just before their lunch break. Of course.
The kind pharmacy lady, noting that I’m not exactly spinning pirouettes on the dance floor, sympathetically expedites delivery before lunch to spare me the 30+-plus minute wait.
The customer before me is having issues with her debit card. Of course.
I wait wait and wait, draped over the Please Wait Here sign, winks from sleep.
When I can stand no more, I take to the floor, kneeling beside what I vaguely recall was a case of bagged nutritional supplements but it could’ve been motor oil. I doze with head tucked in arms.
That’s when a woman who’s been enjoying her coherency and comfort in a chair finally stands and offers it.
I take it.
Note to self and others: Grabbing some floor may or may not return courtesy and thoughtfulness from another. In this modern society, it’s impossible to predict.
Antibiotics secured, I realize I’m inebriated, in a manner of speaking. In no condition to drive and certainly not to my high standards regarding safety and responsibility to others and myself.
So I take my flimsy limbs and blip of consciousness on a Costco course, which, if you know Costco space is equivalent to a spin or two around a high school track.
The slow stroll restores a level of coherency and alertness necessary for the 20-mile drive home.
As do the food samples from the nice demo ladies as I’ve eaten neither before nor after treatment. A small snack of burrito dressed in green chilie, peanuts and beef patty — all consumed carefully and NOT on the side just root canaled! — further assist the body in processing the family of chemicals, infection and toxins unleashed by the liberating root canal.
God bless the food samples AND the nice ladies who delivered them!
Home at last, some four hours after procedure, I c-r-a-s-h.
Afternoon, I fall into sleep on the grassy Earth paired with pillow and giant glass of water.
Early evening when I stir, the body wants movement. I oblige with a stroll a mere half mile turned two miles in my condition to the nearest market, Mexican, with hope of finding the sole food I’m soo craving: Campbell’s split pea soup.
I make due with a can of mushroom soup donated by a roommate and finely diced broccoli.
I (try to) watch TV on the couch. I fall asleep again.
Finally I rouse around midnight with just enough get-up-and-go to get me across the 250 feet of living room into my bedroom for deep slumber.
It’s an intense root canal, made so not by the procedure alone but severity and extent of infection in tissue and bone.
The primary breeding space of infection cleared out, now begins (stage 2), the (w)holistic detoxifying, cleansing and healing, destination: recovery.
In a few weeks, when I return to the endodontist, I’ll know better how this story ends.
To those with a biology bent, the tooth’s cleared. The swelling remains. it’s a process of time as the body (assisted by all other levels and planes) decomposes and removes toxins and infection.
I’m highly tuned into the body and all guidance and will follow. It’s important for me to do so for the next few weeks are very important..
So there’s that. A lot of being wiped out. Need for water and liquids (4 liters/quarts daily minimum!) and rest and more.
And split pea soup ’cause man that craving’s not abating!
So off to the market saunter saunter I.
And be reminded: Don’t Do the Dental and Blog. Ya never know what words and otherwise may spill from the mouth.