Look In My Mouth, You Can See To China!
So yesterday I got up and took a Percocet that knocked me on my ASS. Weird, because I've been taking them since Friday and what they've been doing for me has varied from "Nothing" to "OK, the pain's gone, I can think about something else, albeit woozily." Yesterday morning's Percocet sapped my will to live.
Fortunately (?) by the time Carcy and the Squidgit came to pick me up for my appointment, I was relatively coherent. I sat in the tilty chair for the nice Eastern European dental assistant woman (who looked like Jane Horrocks but sounded like a normal human being. Rats!) and she was so nice to me, crooning, "Oh, you poor thing. Poor thing, Bixxy." in her Eastern European accent. I want her to be my new mommy.
I told her that the pain hadn't gotten any worse since Friday, but it hadn't gotten any better either. "It's not even like 'agh!!! pain!!!' " I told her. "It's just a constant ache. It's annoying. It's persistent. I can't concentrate on anything. I can't sleep, I haven't been back to work."
"Bixxy-poor-thing," she said. "OK. You have dry socket. Constant ache means dry socket. You feel it in your upper jaw, too?"
"Actually, yeah."
"OK. You have dry socket, poor thing. Lean back in the chair, I make you feel better."
So I leaned back in the chair and tried to think about something else, because I'd gotten a glimpse of the HUGE PAIR OF HOOKED SCISSORS she was about to put into my mouth. Fuck.
I ended up thinking about sockets. Dry ones, in particular. I couldn't help picturing the interior of my mouth, a dim, wet pinkness, with twin mini black holes at the back. Empty holes. Nothing in 'em. Dry. Maybe one could even see my jawbone at the bottom of them, if one had an appropriately tiny battery-operated lighting instrument.
Holes in my mouth. Holes. In my mouth.
Oh think about something else.
So I thought about telephones. Old-style dial telephones, with the empty circles on the dial, for you to put your finger into. With the dozens of little holes on the part of the receiver into which you speak. What the hell is wrong with me?!?!?!
Jane Horrocks snipped my stitches and it was no big deal. Then she started with the packing. She told me that the packing was saturated with a sedative that should last about 20 hours, and that I should start to feel better in about five minutes.
I tried REALLY REALLY hard not to think about & picture the packing filling in the holes in my gums, but the image was just too horrifically irresistible. Why do I have to be so goddamn morbid? Why can't I be just a sweet puppies-and-kitties kind of girl?
The packing made one final thoc!!! into my gums and I went "AAHH!!!!!!!" Eewwwwwww. What a disturbing sensation. It ached a little, but it was mostly my own imagination that kept me whimpering like a total wussbag for the next three minutes.
"Poor Bixxy. Poor thing, poor thing. Did I hurt you?"
"Nnnmmmmnnoo. Wrrmmphmphmphhmmm."
"Poor Bixxy."
The bit of packing for the other side went in more easily. Jane Horrocks said that hole was "more open." Greeeeeaat. Just what I wanted to hear. Just what I wanted to fixate on for the next two days.
Hooooooles in my moooouuuuuuth. Wut I could store things in.
In a few minutes, though, the disgusting chemical that was flooding my mouth, numbing all senses except fucking TASTE, took my mind off the possibility of a new career smuggling tiny items through customs. Mmmman the sedative tasted vile.
Carcy took me home, where I fell asleep for three hours. What a relief. Lew-head came over with the AMAZING roasted cheequon soup wut he made, and we sucked a bunch of that down. Yum.
This morning Charles brought me to have my packing changed (with no further thocing, thank heaven. the holes must be REALLY REALLY open now. jeeooyyee.), dropped me back off at home, and I slept for five wonderful hours. Yay yay!!!
Fortunately (?) by the time Carcy and the Squidgit came to pick me up for my appointment, I was relatively coherent. I sat in the tilty chair for the nice Eastern European dental assistant woman (who looked like Jane Horrocks but sounded like a normal human being. Rats!) and she was so nice to me, crooning, "Oh, you poor thing. Poor thing, Bixxy." in her Eastern European accent. I want her to be my new mommy.
I told her that the pain hadn't gotten any worse since Friday, but it hadn't gotten any better either. "It's not even like 'agh!!! pain!!!' " I told her. "It's just a constant ache. It's annoying. It's persistent. I can't concentrate on anything. I can't sleep, I haven't been back to work."
"Bixxy-poor-thing," she said. "OK. You have dry socket. Constant ache means dry socket. You feel it in your upper jaw, too?"
"Actually, yeah."
"OK. You have dry socket, poor thing. Lean back in the chair, I make you feel better."
So I leaned back in the chair and tried to think about something else, because I'd gotten a glimpse of the HUGE PAIR OF HOOKED SCISSORS she was about to put into my mouth. Fuck.
I ended up thinking about sockets. Dry ones, in particular. I couldn't help picturing the interior of my mouth, a dim, wet pinkness, with twin mini black holes at the back. Empty holes. Nothing in 'em. Dry. Maybe one could even see my jawbone at the bottom of them, if one had an appropriately tiny battery-operated lighting instrument.
Holes in my mouth. Holes. In my mouth.
Oh think about something else.
So I thought about telephones. Old-style dial telephones, with the empty circles on the dial, for you to put your finger into. With the dozens of little holes on the part of the receiver into which you speak. What the hell is wrong with me?!?!?!
Jane Horrocks snipped my stitches and it was no big deal. Then she started with the packing. She told me that the packing was saturated with a sedative that should last about 20 hours, and that I should start to feel better in about five minutes.
I tried REALLY REALLY hard not to think about & picture the packing filling in the holes in my gums, but the image was just too horrifically irresistible. Why do I have to be so goddamn morbid? Why can't I be just a sweet puppies-and-kitties kind of girl?
The packing made one final thoc!!! into my gums and I went "AAHH!!!!!!!" Eewwwwwww. What a disturbing sensation. It ached a little, but it was mostly my own imagination that kept me whimpering like a total wussbag for the next three minutes.
"Poor Bixxy. Poor thing, poor thing. Did I hurt you?"
"Nnnmmmmnnoo. Wrrmmphmphmphhmmm."
"Poor Bixxy."
The bit of packing for the other side went in more easily. Jane Horrocks said that hole was "more open." Greeeeeaat. Just what I wanted to hear. Just what I wanted to fixate on for the next two days.
Hooooooles in my moooouuuuuuth. Wut I could store things in.
In a few minutes, though, the disgusting chemical that was flooding my mouth, numbing all senses except fucking TASTE, took my mind off the possibility of a new career smuggling tiny items through customs. Mmmman the sedative tasted vile.
Carcy took me home, where I fell asleep for three hours. What a relief. Lew-head came over with the AMAZING roasted cheequon soup wut he made, and we sucked a bunch of that down. Yum.
This morning Charles brought me to have my packing changed (with no further thocing, thank heaven. the holes must be REALLY REALLY open now. jeeooyyee.), dropped me back off at home, and I slept for five wonderful hours. Yay yay!!!