Luxury Travel Blog + Spewings

Where Am I?

If Hollywood were to do a movie about the past few days of my life it could be called, "The Lost Mid-Weekdays" or "Days of Pills and Fried Chicken". I've been out on Oxycontin due to a surprise root canal on Tuesday. I knew I had to finally make an appointment with my dentist the previous Friday, when I was eating outside on the deck of my favorite Mexican joint (El Chupacabra) and nearly jumped out of my clothes (any excuse) when a glop of guacamole hit my lower left teeth. I got out my rarely used cell phone and called my dentist immediately. If my ability to eat chips and guacamole was going to be hampered, in any way, something had to be done!

So, after being bitch-slapped on Monday for not working ten hours a day, (plus a few weekends), looking for jobs that aren't out there, I get to go see my dentist bright and early on Tuesday. So early, in fact, that the receptionist laughed at me (in a loving way I'm sure) when I called on Friday and she said she could get me in at 8:00 AM on Tuesday. I was silent for a bit and then said, eight A.M.? (Give me a break, I've been unemployed since February 1 - sure at the beginning I would get up at 6:00 am like I did when I was working. Then, after a day, it was 6:30, then a few days later 7:00 and now I force myself out of bed at 7:30-ish, knowing that getting up at noon 9:00 could easily become the norm.)

So Tuesday morning I'm in the dentist chair and I feel like I'm giving all the wrong answers. They are testing my teeth (with ICE!) to see which one is the problem and I can tell that for some tests I say one tooth and for others another tooth - I'm sure I'm a doctors nightmare - wimpy and clueless. Even the x-rays didn't show anything. (Has anyone had the new digital x-rays yet? Quick, yeah, but the contraption they shove in your mouth you practically have to be Linda Lovelace to handle it! Talk about feeling inadequate.) Finally, the dentist says that she's worried it could be a root problem and doesn't want to do anything until that is checked out. So I'm sent upstairs to the root canal specialist (I forget what they're called and really don't care enough to look it up - slacker, remember?). Guess what? I needed a root canal!

I 've been dreading having another root canal for 20 years. The last time I had it done in my mid-20's I was such a wimpy whiney crybaby that after my fourth visit the doctor looked at me with eyes that said, "Please, please don't ever come back to me." So I confessed to this doctor my low-threshold for pain and she said we can give you Nitrous Oxide but insurance won't pay for it and I said, "Well, how much is it?"

"$40" she said.

"GIVE IT TO ME!" I yelled.

Unfortunately the "laughing" part of this gas didn't work on me. Maybe because I was so worried about how much we'd have to pay for the root canal, and then the crown, out of pocket, (and being that I'm not working that mostly means out of Scott's pocket) and I just had to have an ultrasound a few weeks ago (some polyps - no big whoop) which we haven't yet got the bills for, and god, am I an expensive unemployed wife or what? Needless to say - I was not laughing. But I felt no pain and it was a short procedure (guess root canal technology has improved in the last 20 years -- who knew?).

Anyway, back to the drugs. So they gave me a prescription for Vicodin and as much as I wanted to emulate my favorite TV doc, House, I remembered that I still had some Oxycontin leftover from my fibroid removal (see, expensive unemployed wife). So, got home Tuesday afternoon (after buying some comfort food for dinner that night - fried chicken and mashed potatoes), got in my jammies took a pill and passed out blissfully -- no worries in Oxycontin land -- for several hours, much to my cat's delight. Before bed I took another one and although I didn't take anymore on Wednesday I was still in la-la land and wouldn't have even left the house if it hadn't been so nice out. Also, I was afraid I'd get to like staying in my jammies, eating fried chicken, and Hershey's milk chocolate, and then then sleeping off my worries of abject poverty and extreme obesity, with Oxycontin. That would be a bad way to live, wouldn't it? Wouldn't it?

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Where Am I? + Spewings