Drugs and Parties, but not together.

First, the update: officially I survived the dentist. That is if you define “survived” as “I didn’t come out the other end all dead.” I’m not dead, but I’m not what you would call “happy”

I took the valiumy-pill. And then I waited. And at first I was sure I felt a difference right away. But no, that’s crazy. So then I was sure that I felt nothing. But THEN I sat down to meet with my boss (she’s a brave soul) and as I sat there another co-worked walked in to ask a question, standing beside me in my chair. And from where I was sitting the co-worker was roughly sixteen feet tall.

And then I knew something was happening.

I had another 30 minutes or so at work, with a floor who refused to stay flat and wheeled chairs with a mind of their own and can I also say that when the “possible side effects” included “clumsiness” on their list they were really, REALLY not kidding? Like that poinsettias don’t so much bounce? See what I’m saying? Right.

But you may ask here “were you at least more relaxed?” And I would reply with one of those “HA!” thingies, but with a side-order of wanting to puke. Dizzy? Yes. Clumsy? Yes. A little slow to react (as in “oh hey, that’s my thumb stuck between the desk and the chair. Surely that should hurt? Oh, there it is…”)? Yes. Relaxed? Good golly no.

Finally my Mom (who I so much love because she drove me all over town just so that I could jam my thumb between a chair and a desk without noticing it!) picked me up and took me to my dentist. I got out my dentist kit (which is really just my walkman and good tunes, and trimmed fingernails so that I don’t gouge my palms accidentally) and we were about to roll, I was ready, I was freakin' prepared... and at that moment the masked man (pretty sure it was my dentist) got that “I just realized something not so good” look in his eyes, asked to check my chart, and dropped the bomb. The “oh yeah, I just now remembered that you were supposed to get a root canal before we finish this crown.” Bomb.

BOOM.

So there I am with this dilemma: I really do like my dentist, and I know this was just a mistake, and even I, EVEN I, have been known to make those once in a while. Yet right at that moment I was filled with the overwhelming desire to grab the nearest super-sharp instrument (which in a dentist’s office are both plentiful and FREAKY looking!) and plunge it deep into his un-masked forehead. What to do, what to do…

We still did the crown prep, but instead of going to an office holiday party with food and presents and stuff this afternoon I got to go have a second dental procedure. For those of you keeping score that would be two trips to dentists in two days. And that would also be so WRONG!!!!! I got to spend my lunch getting a last-minute root canal.

Also? The temporary crown that Dentist the first gave me yesterday was too tall. I couldn’t tell when he asked me in the office because of course it felt wrong. All my teeth felt wrong! The whole right side of my mouth was full of teeth that I’d never met before, so how could I possibly tell that one of them actually WAS wrong? They fine tuned it and fine tuned it and I thought we were there. But hours later I tried eating. At that point the wrongness of my tooth was pretty danged obvious. So I gummed my way through a bowl of mac and cheese and that was the last solid food I’ve had to eat since then. Because now I can't eat due to the brain-melting pain in my jaw from two days of poking and gouging and other assorted dental evil.

(however here's a pony I found: I was given permission to have a milkshake as my dinner. aaawesoooome...!)

So, to recap: I’m hungry. I’m sore. I’m exhausted. I’m really hating all dentists right now. But at least I’m done for the time being. Merry ho-ho-kill me.