House of Pain
Wednesday, May 13, 2015
Ladies and gentlemen, I am now a homeowner. The loan for the house I grew up in was signed, sealed and delivered at exactly noon e.s.t. today. We have achieved half of our American Dream.
The other half is living long enough to retire, and being healthy enough when we do retire to actually enjoy said retirement, instead of just sitting around waiting to die.
On a down note, this is my last night with my Dad's computer. Now that we no longer need it for applying for a loan, Dad wants his toy back. I'll miss it, but not as much as I thought I would. I am considering replacing it once we are done remodeling the office, but nothing fancy.
Anyway, I have a new video game I want to go play until I have to leave in thirty minutes. I'll still be able to post from my phone, it's just not as awesome on that tiny screen with the virtual keyboard. My typing style is rather unconscious, like, I know where my fingers are supposed to be, and the words just come right out of them like I am thinking the words onto the screen.
Dad has been typing longer than I have been alive, and he still needs to hunt and peck. Thank you, Typing Shark and Yahoo! chat room Pagan Lake.
Sunday, May 3, 2015
This weekend was the 52nd Annual Shrimp Festival.
We wanted to attend, but couldn't. See, my knee just won't cooperate and respond to the current treatment of taking prescription strength Aleve twice a day and that's all.
I can do yard work, house work, drive a stick (though not without some pain and discomfort), but I can't walk for any distance greater than about half a block. Some days, if I can manage to not bend my left leg at all, I kinda forget that my knee is very bad, and will attempt grocery shopping without a ride on cart. Unfortunately, I never make it more than half way through the store before the pain starts making me question my own existence.
It's not just pain in my knee, though. The pain starts in my knee, but within minutes my entire left leg, from my waist to the bottom of my foot, is just SCREAMING in pain. Nothing stops that pain train once it leaves the station. I could at that point sit, but the pain would still be there. On a scale from one to ten, after the initial spike of a serious 9.5+, it settles into a seven. That's just three notches down from screaming and writhing on the floor.
And nothing but waiting it out makes it stop.
I have no idea what's causing this issue. I've gone about a year ago to see about my left leg, was prescribed physical therapy and a cortisone shot. It worked at that time, for a little while. I had even almost forgotten about that time. I had an MRI of that knee done, and there was some tiny meniscal tears, mild osteo-arthritis, and signs of early rheumatoid arthritis.
It didn't hurt as much then or as frequently as it does now, though.
Sometimes it hurts so bad now, for so long, that I sincerely wish that my left leg would just fall off so I could get a prosthetic limb and go about my life, business as usual.
I don't generally cry about pain. I'll bitch and moan, sure, but not actual tears.\
Last Sunday, I was working on the garden, stumbled just right, and my knee bent. Dude, I cried and yelled so hard, it hurt so much, I actually got dry heaves. It wasn't JUST that my knee hurt more than anything I could remember. It also meant that I couldn't keep on doing something I was seriously enjoying. I loved the feeling of building the garden. I had just started that day's chores. I was heartbroken, not that it hurt, but that I now couldn't get dirt under my fingernails.
The last time I got really sidelined was in the sixth grade. Our school had a spring field day, where we competed against each other in track and field events. I was signed up for almost every event, representing my classroom. One week before we were to have Field Day, I broke all of the bones in the arch of my foot. All of them. Not a single one was not broken like a green twig. How I did it was so stupid, I can't believe that it happened. I was babysitting the neighbor's kids, and we were outside playing with their puppy. I was wearing flip flops, because of course I was. I just happened to step right into a mole hole, didn't notice it as I was chasing the puppy around the yard, and my foot stayed there while I tried to keep on going. There was a sick crunch, and suddenly I couldn't put any weight on that foot at all. Called my folks to come check it out by the fence, and even before Dad could get to the fence, my entire foot turned black.
As calmly as my Dad could, he grabbed me, put me in the car and told Mom to call the neighbors and to bring the girls over to our house.
I didn't once cry from the pain. Instead, I cried when the doctor said I was to be completely off my foot for no less than a month. I explained my plans, and he said "No, Ma'am. No Way, Jose'. Nothing doing. You are going to have to sit this one out, sorry. You can't even walk, never mind run, jump, and all that other stuff. Here are the crutches, be careful on them."
I can tolerate many things. Being told to not do stuff in the spring time, as the earth awakens from her slumber, is pure torture to me. I cannot STAND to be sitting around. I have things to do, and dammit, I'm going to do them.
Except, of course, walk through downtown Fernandina Beach for Shrimp Festival this year.
Saturday, April 18, 2015
So, I now own a dog.
I did not exactly seek this dog out, but I have known him since he was a puppy.
At first, I wasn't sure about this arrangement. I explored the dog's options for an optimal life for him. See, we are flat broke, and prospects of not being flat broke are slim (come on, Mega Millions!) Dogs are not cheap to keep healthy and well-fed. They are a serious commitment, even more so than a cat.
So, we thought about the options.
Option One: we keep the dog and pray he doesn't ever get sick.
Option Two: we place an ad (or several) selling the dog for around $200.
Unknown Option Three: we keep the dog, and Dad and Kay are responsible for vet bills and medications the dog should need, since it was Dad's dog to begin with.
We went with Option Three. And I am glad.
And now, for the irony. See, way back about five or six years ago, my little sister got this brilliant idea to buy my Mom a new Pomeranian, since Mom's beloved Rascal had to be put down at the age of 18 years. Mom was lonely, Dad was still working, and she really loved Rascal and he kept her really good company. She had also just had to put down her 19 year old cat, and she would often complain about just how empty the house felt with them gone.
Mom didn't really want a dog to take care of. Not even a little bit, and I warned her AND Dad to think really long and hard about saddling Mom with the responsibility of raising and training a puppy. Especially another Pomeranian.
Nobody listened to me.
So, they found a puppy mill (that I warned them was a puppy mill) with champagne Pomeranians for sale. They wanted a tea cup sized puppy. I told them it takes two years to know if a dog is going to be toy, miniature, or tea cup sized, BUT THEY DIDN'T LISTEN. They forked over $500+ for Trouble, with the guarantee that he would never weigh more than three pounds.
Holy fuck, of course I was right. Trouble weighs in at a little over 18 pounds. He is not fat. His features resemble more closely a Spitz than a Pom Pom.
All of that said, though, Trouble is now my dog, and I love him very much. He's not the dog I pictured having, but he's the dog I do have. By the time Trouble reaches the end of his lifespan (18 or so years) I will DEFINITELY be done having dogs.
Monday, April 13, 2015
Turns out, I am a doormat. Who knew?
My Dad has made the decision to return his dog, Trouble.
Trouble is a 5 year old Pomeranian. He's a beautiful dog, sweet natured, intelligent, loyal. He just couldn't adjust to apartment living. He needs a yard to play in and people to keep him company.
In other words, he needs a family with a stable lifestyle and a fenced yard.
Right now, he needs to see a vet for his itchy ear, to get some medicine to make it stop itching.
Dad also abandoned his cat, Mr. Cat. Mr. Cat is of undetermined breeding, with a big ol' floofy coat prone to matting. Mr. Cat *hates* living with other cats, and is so high strung, he won't let me tend to his mats, which have become painful at this point. I am sure a professional groomer could take care of the problem, but they like to get paid. I have barely enough money to keep everyone's bellies full this week, never mind the "frivolities" of animal care.
And, of course when asked about sharing the expenses, Dad turned out his empty pockets and played poormouth.
Other things going on right now include me having intractable pain in my left leg. Saw the Dr. for it this morning, and her prescription was prescription strength Aleve for two weeks, and lets see if it gets any better. Dude, I've been doing that for three weeks, and it's just getting worse!
Part of the problem is I can't do narcotics off handedly. They must be a last resort, when every single thing else has failed. I'm sure next is physical therapy, followed by images, and orthopedic consultations. The conclusion will no doubt be "your knee is fuckered with arthritis and needs surgery. That'll be $25,000 please."
There are times during the day that I would pay ten times that much just for a moment without pain, or at least long enough to get all of the things done I want to get done in a day that don't involve limping, whimpering, or sitting on my fat ass as it just gets fatter from all of the sitting.
Saturday, April 11, 2015
Right this minute, I am happy.
My heart is near full to bursting with just how glad I am to be who I am right now.
My one and only real wish is that the people who have loved me and that I have loved in return, but have passed from this life to the next, could see me now.
When my Aunt Dot passed, I was married to a miserable man who visited his misery on me and my entire family. I was usually hungry, frequently ill, and always over worked.
When my Mom died, I had at least married Carl. She and Dad walked me down the aisle to show the world that they not only approved of my choice, but welcomed him into our family with open arms. I was, however, still living in substandard housing, making decisions for survival that would have ensured that's all I did, was survive. I still didn't have access to health care, and my view of the future was very dark.
Now, however, because of what Aunt Dot and my mother left behind, I am safe at last.
The wealth that Aunt Dot left allowed my parents to modernize their home.
The broken heart my mother left in my father left him to seek out comfort and love one last time, which he found in his new wife Kay.
If my father had never wanted to leave his old life completely behind, I would not have a secure home to live in, with comfortable, sturdy furnishings and a yard I can take pride in. (Yeah, it's a fuck ton of work, but stuff I love to do anyway, for as long as I'm physically capable doing)
Thursday, April 9, 2015
So, I am in the process of buying my Dad's house. He has left me a Great Big Ol' Lawn Tractor. Like just... HUGE.
Thing is, the entire property is a shade less than a half acre, with a decent sized house, and two decent sized out buildings. That tractor could easily mow 10 acres with one tank of gas. He bought it brand new late last summer, for just over $3000.
I don't want that much mower for this yard. It's just too much, really. It took me a grand total of 30ish minutes to mow the entire yard, all the way from the road to the back fence. It is a double bagger, and I only managed to fill one bag, two thirds of the way up. It's such a behemoth that edging the yard is mandatory as it just can't get close enough to the edges to make it a monthly, instead of weekly, job.\
So. What I was thinking of doing was, after we finally close on the mortgage and sale, taking the tractor back to where Dad bought it (some mower dealer up the road) and seeing if I could do an even trade for a power assisted push mower.
I don't know if it would use less gas, or have better results. I just feel guilty as all hell, tooling around the yard on that thing. I hear the neighbors all mowing their lawns, and that shit takes all fucking day long.
I just hopped on my tractor and had that shit whipped out in less than an hour. Like, as my husband and child were cleaning up after supper, I was out mowing the lawn during my smoke break. Shit was that casual.
What kills me is, growing up Dad would bitch, and whine, moan and groan to anybody that would listen that he had to mow the lawn on his riding lawn mower. There was more yard then (fewer out buildings), for sure, but really? dude. You're riding on top of a mower, which is doing all of the work. It was *my* job to edge the lawn, with an electric Weed Whacker.
I just don't get it, really. Why did he feel the need to buy such a gigantic lawn tractor? It seriously ONLY mows the lawn. No tilling, dethatching, toting trailers like wagons, toting lawn rollers to smooth out mole tunnels.
Just mowing. And being noisy. It's got being noisy down pat.
Tuesday, April 7, 2015
I have worked my fingers to the bone teaching myself how to do office stuff on a computer.
Things that would have taken an experienced office drone maybe an hour at the most, has taken me six hours of trial and (mostly) error.
I don't even know if I formatted things properly, or sent files that could be used by the recipient for the purposes intended.
In other words, I have lost a whole day to loan paperwork that I would have rather spent either looking for a job, doing yardwork I'm way behind on, or keeping up with the laundry and housework. I would have loved to have had time to get dinner prepped and ready to cook when I get everyone home.
The one saving grace I had was I had time to clean the kitchen really well while Jessica was getting ready for school this morning, which has freed at least an hour of cooking time, so that we might actually end up eating dinner some time before 8 tonight.
Tuesday, March 31, 2015
I cannot believe how much my left leg hurts.
The pain is mostly from my knee to my big toe, but on occasion it is also the back of my thigh. Nothing I can do has lessened the pain. There is no comfortable position, just less comfortable positions. If I stay still long enough in the big leather recliner, the pain is tolerable.
Right now, the pain is just one hundredth of a percentile point from making me scream in agony.
and there is nothing I can do about it.
I don't think I would be terribly upset if I woke tomorrow and my left leg had fallen off in my sleep. It would actually make sense to me, considering there must be something so horribly wrong for it to be sending out the levels of excruciating pain that it is.
Again, no strenuous activity. No outward injury. Just pain and weakness, with a healthy side of more pain.
It's a sick pain. Like someone smacked the living fuck out of my knee with a sledge hammer, but managed not to break it. The fact that the pain is exactly mirrored in every single joint in my left foot is interesting. Even joints that don't move hurt like an injured synovial joint.
The good news is that Dad and Kay are back from their honeymoon and will be picking up Trouble tomorrow some time. I wish they were taking Mr. Cat, too, since the poor thing is being horribly picked on by Stumpy. I mean, Stumpy isn't even old enough to be territorial about anything, but yet he won't let Mr. Cat within 5 feet of the house if he can help it. It doesn't help that Mr. Cat is extremely finicky about what he'll eat, and under what circumstances, and the time of day, and position of the moon in conjunction with Venus.
On top of everything else, there is exactly $2 to our name until Friday.
Is that an airplane, or a rogue asteroid coming to relieve me of some of this bullshit?
Wednesday, March 25, 2015
It has been coolish and damp for days now. I seriously have to strain to remember the feeling of the sun on my skin.
I hate this weather. seriously.
Anyway, today I am concentrating on getting the house in working order and less covered in pet hairs.
so many pet hairs...
Tuesday, March 24, 2015
So, I am having some kind of sciatica attack or another. Yanno, searing pain going down the leg, stiffness, weakness, loss of coordination. Doesn't mean I don't have shit fuck tons of shit to get done, so I have been going as hard and as far as I can.
Tonight, I pooped out at dinner. I just couldn't even muster the desire to eat, but I did, a little. As to cleaning up after dinner... fuck it, there was just No Way in Hell that was going to happen.
And then, it dawned on me. I HAVE A DISHWASHER. Like, right there, in the kitchen and everything. So, Carl lovingly loaded it, set it to our desired settings, and right now, the dishes are being washed.
This will not be an every day thing, I promise. Just tonight, when wiggling my toes sends shards of PAIN from my foot to my hip, and trying to walk anywhere looks like I've got a loaded diaper. (wide stance, shuffling walk, look of determination etched upon my visage)
Funny how this journal was started as a way for me to vent about my pain without boring everyone around me to tears with the fine details of how I wish my legs would just fucking fall off already.
Monday, March 23, 2015
This entry was going to be about how much I miss my Mom, what with living in her house, eating off her dishes, cooking in her pots, etc, but instead, I think I'll post about the bliss of cats on warm laundry.
My cats have never had the luxury of warm laundry, straight out of the dryer. Well, Mr. Pants has, but he was more interested in sniffing all of our stuff (which is still outside, as I try to find ways to shoehorn my stuff into a house crammed full of my folk's stuff.) So, I was knee deep in alligators, busy as a bee, busy as a one legged man at an ass kicking contest, busy as a cat burying a turd on a linoleum floor, busy as... someone trying to shoehorn one household into another. I was also doing laundry, because every day is laundry day in the Thunderflyer household. The load with some sheets was done drying, so I whipped them out to put the next load in, and plopped them on the dining room table until I got a chance to fold them.
Son, lemme tell ya. It took about a nanosecond from the moment the sheets hit the table until All of the Cats were in a pile, in the midst of them, zonked out in a haze of warm laundry freshness.
And they stayed that way, even through Gooshy Foods Time, while I was cooking dinner, all the way until I finally needed to clear the table for supper. Oh, the protests and whines and stretches and insta-returns that ensued as I folded the sheets. After supper was eaten and cleared away, the poor babies sniffed and searched for the return of their snugglywarm sheets. They have been little clingy creatures, looking for their warmies anywhere they think they might find them.
Meanwhile, my dad's cat and dog are having a hard time adjusting. Mr. Cat is completely disgruntled that his previous existence as an only cat seems to have come to an end. He wants desperately to just hang out on my or Carl's lap, or sleep with us, but only if he can't see or smell any of my cats. He is even refusing to eat his favorite pouches of Whiskas. That's ok, Trouble the Pomeranian is also refusing to eat anything not hand fed to him. See, his approach to eating his food is this: once you put it on his plate, he'll sniff at and around it. Then he'll take a tiny taste, give a sneeze of approval, and then leave it. It must sit on his plate long enough to become one with the plate, all gross and crusty. Then, and ONLY then, will he eat his food, licking his plate so clean you would doubt there ever was any food on it to begin with.
The only way around this routine is to hand feed him from a spoon like a baby.
Ain't nobody got time for that shit.
So, as soon as he walks away from his food, one of the Truncated Horde will wander by, see abandoned food in the middle of the floor, and quietly scarf it right down.
Which has caused a bit of a problem: they totally refuse to eat the food that they've eaten for years now, even though just a couple of days ago, they would have eaten through my still warm corpse to get to an opened can of Special Kitty Mixed Grill canned cat food. All I had to do was TOUCH a can of their food, and BOOM! Suddenly Cats. God help the fool that accidentally knocks a spoon against a ceramic plate in the vicinity of the kitchen. I swear, the fuckers can teleport through time and space, from where ever they happen to be, and be sitting Right There, staring at you. Waiting. Patiently.
for about 10 seconds. Then it's loud meowing, purring, rubbing, back arching, tip toe walking, chirrupings, name it.
Anyway. I still miss my Momma. I accept that I won't ever get to have that one last chat, or ask her for advice, or help her out around the house, or cook a big holiday dinner with/for her. Accepting it, however, doesn't make me miss her any less.
Thursday, February 26, 2015
The house buying is moving along at a right snail's pace, but moving along.
Surprisingly, though, that isn't what has the majority of my attention.
Tuesday morning, i had a sharp, stabbing pain right between my shoulder blades. It dissipated after a few minutes, only to return more intensely than the first one when i took a deep breath. Only this time, there was pressure in my chest like my heart was being squeezed by an invisible fist.
So i ignored it. I can't be having any issues. I'm young, strong, and not to mention, too damned busy to be sick.
So, I ignored it, except when it hurt too much and I needed a sit down. Then once i caught my breath, I would be off again cleaning house, running errands, etc.
And then things got really bad. I went to pick Carl up from work, and an elephant decided to park itself on top of my chest. Surely it's just an anxiety attack coupled with exhaustion. So, Carl drove home so I could snooze (or not. It hurt too much, really.)
I had had enough, and decided to go to urgent care just to assuage my fears/confirm it was just a panic attack.
My heart checked out as perfectly healthy, but my blood pressure was through the roof and my arteries were making weird noises, so the doc-in-a-box asked if she could call me an ambulance. I politely declined the $750 cab ride and had Carl drive me to the e.r.
Holy shit. If you ever want to see people shitting their pants in as calm a way as possible, just say "I've been having chest pains and difficulty breathing all day" in an e.r.
I got triaged and put in a holding pattern as they were so jammed up, they were stacking people two deep in the hallways. Ten minutes later, and i was in a bed, hooked to a monitor, and being interviewed by the doctor while every blood test ever was being drawn.
Several hours later, and a determination was made. I did not have a heart attack. I have, instead, congestive heart failure due to advanced hypertension. Oh, and i'm now diagnosed with diabetes, so that's an official thing now.
I was given two baby aspirin, a dose of nitro glycerin, and a slew of other blood tests watching for stroke warning signs, as my speech was slurred and my voice gravelly.
Once the nitro was absorbed, i felt like a new woman. My b.p. had dropped, the elephant went away, and i could breath again.
I was prescribed the maximum dose of lisinopril and ordered to get my fat, happy ass to a general practitioner Right Now. Which i did. And i'm following all medical advice.
Just two doses in, and my b.p. is 135/85, down from 159/103 this morning. (It was 289/120 when i went to the e.r.) Also? My ankles are looking like ankles and i can easily take my wedding ring off. Oh, and i have a jawline again.
Tuesday, February 3, 2015
So. I have hired a real estate agent, applied for a loan.
The round is chambered, the hammer cocked, and the trigger has been pulled.
We could be in our new home, that we own, by the end of the year.
My sister is less than pleased, but not so much out of jealousy. She is afraid Dad is making a huge mistake. She fears that his fiancée, Kay, is a gold digger who will bleed him dry. I don't think so. I think Dad just wants to make a clean break, have a new start. I think Dad is happier than he has been in decades.
I also think the Universe is finally letting us catch a break. At least, i hope that's what this opportunity is, instead of yet another hard lesson.
I hear tomorrow whether the underwriter of the loan will approve the loan, and exactly how much i qualify for and the recommended interest rate. The broker is optimistic that we'll be approved,and get a favorable interest rate less than 5%.
In the time since my last entry, much has happened. Whether it is for good or ill, only time and posterity will tell.
The catalyst for this entry starts with my Dad dating an old classmate of his. No problem with that. He's lonely, she's lovely, and now he's happy and in love again. He's asked her to marry him, and she accepted.
I have no problem with that, if that was where the line "and they lived happily ever after" went.
So, this lady has a problem with Dad's house, because Mom lived there. And my sister and i are welcome there. And we grew up there. And it's baggage she fears will keep him from freely loving her, and Dad really wants to marry her. Like really really, even if it means disowning everything and everybody ever associated with anything tangentially related to my mother.
He's scrubbing his past, as though the last 50 years of his life were spent in suspended animation.
So, how does this place me at a crossroad?
Dad offered me the house and contents for about half what it's worth. It's giving it up without letting it go, and i get that. Thing is, Carl and i don't really qualify for a home loan. We have no credit, no down payment.
And i really want to buy that house.
Monday, November 24, 2014
I finally have a new phone. Samsung S5S. Maybe now i can get back to enjoying the internet, such as it is on a mobile smart phone.
1. You can ONLY answer 'Yes' or 'No' to each of the question.
2. You are NOT ALLOWED to explain ANYTHING unless someone messages or comments you and asks — and, believe me, the temptation to explain some of these will be overwhelming. Nothing is exactly as it seems.
Kissed any one of your LiveJournal friends? — Yes
Been arrested? — Yes
Kissed someone you didn't like? — Yes
Slept in until 5 PM? — Yes
Fallen asleep at work/school? — Yes
Held a snake? — Yes
Ran a red light? — Yes
Been suspended from school? — Yes
Experienced love at first sight? — Yes
Totalled your car in an accident? — No
Been fired from a job? — Yes
Fired somebody? — Yes
Sung karaoke? — No
Pointed a gun at someone? — No
Did something you told yourself you wouldn't? — Yes
Laughed until something you were drinking came out your eyes? — No
Caught a snowflake on your tongue? — Yes
Kissed in the rain? — Yes
Had a close brush with death (your own)? — Yes
Saw someone die? — Yes
Played Spin-the-Bottle? — No
Smoked a cigar? — Yes
Sat on a rooftop? — Yes
Smuggled something into another country? — No
Been pushed into a pool with all your clothes on? — No
Broken a bone? — Yes
Skipped school? — No
Eaten a bug? — No
Sleepwalked? — Yes
Walked on a moonlit beach? — Yes
Ridden a motorcycle? — Yes
Dumped someone? — Yes
Forgotten your anniversary? — No
Lied to avoid a ticket? — No
Ridden in a helicopter? — No
Shaved your head? — No
Blacked out from drinking? — Yes
Played a prank on someone? — No
Hit a home run? — Yes
Felt like killing someone? — Yes
Cross-dressed? — No
Been falling-down drunk? — Yes
Made your girlfriend/boyfriend cry? — No
Eaten snake? — Yes
Marched/protested? — No
Had Mexican jumping beans for pets? — Yes
Puked on an amusement ride? — No
Seriously & intentionally boycotted something? — Yes
Been in a band? - Yes
Knitted? — Yes
Been on TV? — Yes
Shot a gun? — Yes
Skinny-dipped? — Yes
Given someone stitches? — No
Eaten a whole habanero pepper? — No
Ridden a surfboard? — No
Drunk straight from a liquor bottle? — Yes
Had surgery? — Yes
Streaked? — No
Been taken by ambulance to a hospital? — Yes
Tripped on mushrooms? — No
Passed out when NOT drinking? — No
Peed on a bush? — No
Donated blood? — Yes
Grabbed electric fence? - No
Eaten alligator meat? - Yes
Eaten cheesecake? — Yes
Eaten your kids' Halloween candy? — Yes
Killed an animal when NOT hunting? — Yes
Peed your pants in public? — Yes
Snuck into a movie without paying? — No
Written graffiti? — No
Still love someone you shouldn't? — Yes
Think about the future? — Yes
Been in handcuffs? — Yes
Believe in love? — Yes
Sleep on a certain side of the bed? Yes
Saturday, August 23, 2014
It appears that I get to outlive my teeth. I am not happy about that, at all.
I haven't given in completely, even though I fully know the futility of trying to save what's left.
When I do finally throw up my hands in defeat, there will be benefits to conceding defeat. The main thing will be no more toothaches. Mouth pain has been such a part of my daily life, I have forgotten what it's like to eat without pain.
I wanted implants. They promise to perform like natural teeth, prevent jaw bone erosion, and be easier to care for than prosthetic dentures. Unfortunately, I don't have enough skull left to hold the posts, except on two places in my lower jaw. Those would be used to affix overdentures to, making the bottoms, at least, more secure.
My upper jaw, though far less diseased than my lower jaw, would never hold the posts for implants. The bones in my skull are very fine, and are the reason my upper wisdom teeth were so severely impacted. The wisdom tooth on the right side was just a millimeter from encroaching my sinus cavity. Removing it has improved my sinus conjestion, but left me minus some cheekbone. It's not immediately noticeable, but I can feel the divot through my skin. I am having a few complications from it's removal, like a sprained jaw muscle, and the tissue on the roof of my mouth is pissed right off. I have to go back in a couple of weeks to make double damned sure there isn't a hole leading from my sinuses to my jawbones. I understand such a development could be a bad thing.
Tuesday, August 19, 2014
And there, and there, and waaaay over there, too.
Before the sun even thought about peering above the horizon, I have managed to:
get up (3:30 am)
get Carl up (3:45 am)
grill two sausage, egg, and cheese sandwiches for Carl's b-fast (3:50 am)
gather and sort laundry (4:00 am)
packed Carl's lunch for work (4:15 am)
drove Carl to work (4:20 am)
dropped Carl off (4:45 am)
loaded laundry into car (5:15 am)
washed laundry (5:30-6:45 am)
hung laundry (7:00-7:45 am)
got Jessica up and in a shower (7:45 am)
This still doesn't cover what the rest of my day promises.
Left to be done:
Take Jessica to school
Gas up the car
Buy tobacco and cigarette tubes
Storm clean up
Dust, vacuum, mop, spot clean walls
Take down and fold laundry
Pick Jessica up from school
Pick Carl up from work
Get Jessica to bed
Clean up after supper
Get Carl to bed
Shower and then collapse into bed, just to wait a few more hours to do it all again tomorrow.
A lot of people (mostly my family, except Carl) tend to think that as a housewife/stay at home mother, my day is consumed with daytime tv, shopping, and eating bonbons all day while I file my nails and gossip on social media. The above "to-do" list is not nearly comprehensive, and there might be things added/deleted from the list as things crop up. If I'm lucky, I might get a minute or two to grab some lunch.
Don't get me wrong. I am not complaining. I love my job, ad I get to dedicate my energy and passion to caring for my family and home. I count myself fortunate that I don't have to compromise between winning the bread, and serving that bread to my family.
Friday, August 8, 2014
Ouch. Though my whole head is numb, my whole head hurts. And I am hungry and thirsty. And waiting in the target cafe for my prescriptions.
I just made the mistake of rubbing an ice chip over my parched lips. Now I can taste the blood.
Flash forward two hours, through the magic of not posting this until two hours after we left target.
I still haven't gotten brave enough to eat anything, but thanks to the fist full of pills I took when we got back to Dad's house, I don't hurt. Three hours after being done, and my face is still numb in large swaths, but my tongue works. Even my nose is numb.
Instead of the planned six extractions, though, he ended up doing seven. The seventh was the remnants of the wisdom tooth I had had attempted to be removed about 20 or so years ago. It's gone, and he closed the hole the shards of tooth caused.
Anyway, what was a great big scary thing I had to psych myself up for is over. Well, at least the scariest part where I got knocked out, and a whole fuck ton of teeth got taken out of my head.
Now, to plan and figure out replacement options. Of course, the doctor suggested implants for the lower jaw (the upper is too deteriorated and small). I am more inclined towards prosthetic partial dentures, since none of my front teeth were effected.
And, now it's time for more sleeps, whether I want to be sleeps or not.
Sunday, July 27, 2014
I have been feeling like crap for a long time. It's been so long since I've felt "well" that the feeling is a dim memory.
Due to excruciating oral pain I have only recently been unable to tolerate the pain, so o broke with tradition and sought medical intervention from a dentist.
Holy crap, it is worse than I thought. I got so many xrays of my head, it's a wonder I don't glow. The findings are grim: of 32 teeth, I have 10 that can be saved. There is exposed jaw bone on my lower jaw, wisdom teeth in my cheek bones and a raging infection eating away at my jaw bones and gums. I have literally lost skull bone mass to a bacterial infection.
This gets even better: the only way to remove most of the bad teeth is surgically, which will be done all in one go, along with the three impacted wisdom teeth.
All told, with jaw and root planings to remove tartar from my fucking jaw bones, the extractions, and the fillings: $1000 after the insurance. The thought that I will be able to eat food firmer than boiled potatoes by Thanksgiving: priceless.
For now, I am bombarding my body in a scorched earth campaign with 2000 mg of penicillin daily for 10 days. I am not pleased with the prospect of the "trots" and inevitable yeast infection, but that steak I'm gonna eat without wishing my face would just fall right off will be worth it.
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