6/23/09

Technically it’s 6/24/09.  It’s 3:30 in the freaking morning, a time I prefer to reserve for pillow hugging, blanket snuggling and epiphanies-of-whatever-sort that play themselves out in my dreams.

3:30 in the morning, and I’m doing none of those things. I’m sitting here on the patio in my jammies with pain the likes of which I’ve never known with the exception of childbirth.

Walking barefoot?  Oh yes I am.  Right through an endless field of broken glass.  I know the path to glory is out there somewhere, maybe just over the next hill or around the next corner, but I’d sell my soul for a pair of sandals or a Google map showing me the shortcut.

So here’s the story: I was gifted with an infection four days ago in a tooth I had a root canal on 20 years ago.  This happened on a Saturday, of course, when all dentists with any sense were either on a pastoral golf course or a pre-scheduled trip to Disneyland with their kids.  My dentist, fortunately, will take emergency calls.  Well, he’ll take messages and call you back between the 9th hole and Space Mountain.  I called and left a message detailing my tale of woe (“Hi!  Sorry to disturb you on your day off but my tooth hurts so will you please prescribe an antibiotic and I’ll see you Monday!”)  He dutifully called me back 2 hours later, called the prescription in to my pharmacist, and I left work that day secure in the knowledge that within 24 hours I’d be my old self again.

And that’s where the story gets ugly.  I picked up the prescription and took the first one before I even left the pharmacy.  Relief was just a few more tablets away, I knew, so despite the pain I had an optimistic outlook on tomorrow.

Five days and one root canal “re-treat” (as my dentist referred to it) have now passed, and I am up at this absurd hour because…?  The infection that started in the errant tooth couldn’t find it’s own way out and decided to take residence in my jaw.  Living quarters apparently weren’t substantial enough for Mr. and Mrs. Bacteria to support their dreams of a large family, so they built an addition to their new home by way of my cheek.  And then my neck.  Apparently the in-laws are threatening to visit because the expansion plans now include a revisit to the old gum wing.  

In short, every tissue in the right side of my face is inflamed to the point of absurdity.  I am in screaming agony and have been for the last three days: the root canal helped alleviate the pain NOT.  For purposes of clarification, that would be N-O-T.  Hence, it’s now 4:00 am and I’m still awake.  Mouth throbbing, gum and cheek busting at their poor little seams, and no relief in sight. 

It’s important to note that I’m a sissy when it comes to pain. The idea of intentionally inflicting anything of the sort on myself is simply beyond my scope of comprehension… until tonight.  But something HAD to give.  This hurts.

So, I went to bed 5 hours ago, having rinsed with saltwater, and taken my antbiotics.  6 episodes of “The Nanny” and 3 hours of ridiculous pain later, I did the unthinkable: I took a needle to my gum.

I did.  Seriously.  Desperate for relief, I bathed my gum in Anbesol, sterilized the needle with alcohol, and poked away like there was no tomorrow.  And for all that I got… nothing.  A little blood, but no relief.  Zip.  Zero.  Nada.

So.  Still in pain.  Quasi Moto just called and wants to know where I got the nifty “hump” on my face.  He wants my autograph.

Nice.