I woke up starving at around 8AM. All I had to eat or drink all day was a single diet coke, which I used to down two Tylenol. My pain level was pretty good and I made it all day without any Vicodin. I tried to distract myself from feeling hungry by keeping busy. I cleaned the kitchen, washed a bazillion pots and pans and vacuumed the entire downstairs before showering and getting ready for my appointment.
Dave came home around noon and after Carol arrived, he and I took Alex to school and then he dropped me off at the dentist's office about a half hour early. I told him I'd call him when I woke up.
I paid my bill and then made out all my shopping lists for our party while I waited for my turn to go back. I was STARVING and every few minutes one of the employees would walk through the front door with a hot stinky bag of fast food and my stomach would growl. I sat there waiting and thinking, for the first time all day, that I really REALLY hoped nothing bad would happen. I wasn't nervous until I realized that if anything DID happen to me, I would've spent my last day totally ignoring my children while I cleaned the house, a monumental misallocation of priorities. What an idiot. For whatever reason, I was feeling well enough to clean house, but not well enough to stay in the same room with my noisy children for very long.
Of course I'm writing this, so obviously I survived, but as I tweeted yesterday, it feels like just barely.
Shortly before 2:00, the anesthesiologist popped into the waiting room to introduce himself to me and shake my hand. He was kind and gentle and not a day younger than 75. He immediately reminded me of the retired judges Dave is always telling me about, who retire from the bench and then become professional mediators, charging $500 an hour. But when I asked him how long he'd been an anesthesiologist, he said only 20 years, so the math didn't make sense. When I prodded him further, he said he was a school counselor before becoming a doctor. I found this instantly endearing. I only wish I had remembered to ask him what he thought of John McCain and whether he thinks 72 is too old to run a country. My guess is he would've said that 72 is as young as you make it.
Eventually Melanie, the dental hygienist with the heart of gold, took me back to my room and I settled into the chair. They asked me a million questions, took my blood pressure and started an IV in my left hand. I could feel the saline going up my arm. It was cold. Next he gave me some Valium and then some kind of narcotic to help me with the pain. Then they put the oxygen mask on me and the next thing I remember is waking up with Dave hovering next to me.
Apparently my tooth was REALLY infected. I don't mean to gross you out, but I definitely remember hearing Melanie say the word "squirt". Because of the abscess, It took well over two hours for them to finish the root canal, which is about double the time they were expecting it to take.
I woke up feeling awful. I was surprised to see Dave there because I knew I hadn't called him and didn't think they even had his number. I was unbelievably nauseated. It was like being spinney drunk, like COLLEGE drunk - the world spins when you close your eyes and you can't stop retching and you feel like you're drunk enough to die from it. The strange thing is that this was my third time having general anesthesia and I never remember it being this bad before.
By the time I was sitting upright enough to look at my watch, it was after 6:00. Dave hadn't heard from me and I wasn't answering my cellphone, so he just came straight to the dentist's office after work. After twenty minutes of watching the room spin, Dave helped me into a wheel chair,where I retched a few more times before he was able to wheel me out to his car. Melanie stayed by my side the whole way giving Dave my care instructions. I remember her telling him that I probably wouldn't remember all of this.
Sadly, I do.
The drive home was torturous. The lights were too bright, the suspension too tight, everything too loud. We got home and I could barely walk up the stairs to my room, Dave practically had to lift me. But my bed? Felt WONDERFUL. I immediately fell asleep while Dave went out to fill my prescriptions. He got back around 8:00 and the kids came up to see me. So along with the world's strongest antibiotics (Clindamycin? It's what they use to treat Malaria!), I got kisses and hugs and drawings and sweetness. Dave brought me up a cup of strawberry Kefir and a bowl of mac 'n cheese. My tummy felt better, but my tooth felt worse.
Apparently, when they put a crown on an abscessed tooth, they drain as much of it as they can during the procedure, but puss can build back up again under the crown. Antibiotics help drain this fluid, but they take time to work and right now I'm waiting it out. In spite of not actually containing any nerves, my tooth actually hurts more now than it ever has before. I was up most of the night trying to either breathe through the pain or take additional Vicodin. I took more antibiotics at 2:30AM, just so I could stay ahead of the schedule. I am EXTREMELY paranoid about getting a blood infection. That happened to my father several years ago after he had an abscessed tooth removed and he almost died. Like for real with the seizures and the hospital and everything. I've taken my temperature at least a dozen times since I've been home and so far I'm fine. My tooth just HURTS. I feel a bit like I've been run over by a bus.
Of course I was already signed up to volunteer in Alex's classroom this afternoon for the Harvest Day celebration. My only job is to take photos, so I've already cut myself off from the Vicodin and I'll take some extra Tylenol and head over later on. I figure I've been through childbirth, I can get through 90 minutes of preschool. I am definitely on the upswing, though. The antibiotics seem to be helping remove the pressure, even if slowly. By tomorrow I should be back to cleaning house and taking names.
