This surgery has been a whole lot of not-fun. Friday, I looked like I had a golf ball stuck in my jaw. Kind of felt like I did, too. Pain, random bleeding, etc. etc. etc. The area stitches up is Considerably Larger than I had anticipated – silly me, I expected the surgery would impact the areas immediately around the one tooth. Ha ha ha ha ha. Yeah. The stitches extend from my front lower teeth all the way back to my last molar. I’m also still numb from the center of my lower lip to my ear, probably due to the swelling (which is gorgeously awful) putting pressure on that nerve that runs along the base of your jaw.
BUT, it went well and hopefully things will be getting a little better every day and then someday soon I will wake up and realize that I do not have to pound back anything because my jaw is throbbing.
When I woke up at Ridiculous O’Clock Friday morning, my entire life was one large red smear of pain. I could feel my heartbeat in my jaw. I was pretty sure I was no, really, dying. DYING. This was it. And then the great Pharaoh died of a toothache, the end.
Relief was about twenty feet away, in my bathroom. A bottle of Motrin, and a bottle of Vicodin. Four of the former, one of the latter, and I should be feeling the will to live again in less than half an hour.
…but it was soooo…farrrrrr…awaaaaaayyyyyyy…
Eventually, I managed to overcome inertia. Staggered into the bathroom, got myself a swallow of water, tossed back my pills, and crawled back to bed to wait for the relief to wash over me.
Which it sorta-kinda-partially did, eventually. Still hurt like a @*^&@^&, but I was able to grudgingly admit that I probably was not going to actually-literally die of the toothache.
Saturday morning was more of the same. Waking up too early, pain too intense, can’t deal, relief is far, far, far away…
Saturday night, with those two experiences under my belt giving me wisdom and guidance, I set a bottle full of water and my pills right next to the bed – so that I wouldn’t have to actually get up to get the pain relief started.
So, when I woke up this morning after a fairly decent night’s sleep with my face sure-enough throbbing like I’d been kicked in the face by a mule, I rolled over and smugly popped my now-routine four-Motrin-one-Vicodin combo. Then I lay back, folded my hands on my stomach and began my Zen-like meditations on suffering and how each moment of our lives is like a drop of water into a holy crap I forgot to hide the Easter eggs last night, GAH!!!!
“Tim!” I hissed. “The Easter eggs! We didn’t hide the Easter eggs!”
“Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz,” he replied urgently. Curse you, Super Sleeping Powers…!
I contemplated the relative importance of hiding Easter eggs and lying in bed waiting for pain killers to come along and, well, kill the pain. I pondered the probability that any of the Denizens would be getting up soon. I calculated just how much light there was outside and how long it would take said light to penetrate into the Inner Sanctum of Captain Adventure’s room – he’s generally our earliest riser and seldom stays in bed much past dawn.
I didn’t have twenty minutes. Shoot, I probably didn’t even have ten minutes. If I didn’t get up and get those things hidden immediately, well, it would be a(nother) year of many good intentions and zero follow-through.
So I got up, went downstairs, and hid the 48 Easter eggs all around the downstairs – just in the nick of time, because I barely had time to slip back into bed before Captain Adventure’s little bare feet hit the floor with a thud and we were off to the races.
That I was able to get up and do this is, to me, a sign of considerable progress.
Friday or Saturday morning, if you had told me that Jesus Himself Personally was at my door asking for a cup of coffee, I don’t think I could have gotten out of bed to make it for Him. I’d’ve been all, If the dude can turn water into wine, I think He can @*^&@ing well manage to make His own damned coffee. Leave me alone, I’m dying.
But today, merely the thought that the Denizens would be rather disappointed if (once again) we had forgotten to “do” anything with the Easter eggs we’d fussed with so much was enough to overcome the throbbing and get me moving.
Which means it had to have been less-intense throbbing.
Which is progress.
Of a sort.
But man…I wouldn’t wish this on anybody. Not even the people who drive like jerks around schools when children are present.
Especially since they probably wouldn’t make the connection, you know? “Gee, this pain is awful! It must be because I drive like a jerk around that school every weekday while children are present!” – probably wouldn’t occur to them. So it would just be a wasted hex.
And what’s the point of that, I ask you…?