Monday, October 02, 2006

Consent To Treatment

Oy veh! So I went through with it, and suprisingly, it wasn't that bad. 'Course that's prolly b/c I was majorly doped up....

I'm talking about having my five teeth extracted last Tuesday, folks. Yep, that's right. Five. Count 'em. One, two, three, four, FIF!

...Sorry. I couldn't help myself. I LOVE Dave Chapelle.

Anywho. So last Tuesday, I woke up after maybe three hours of sleep, took a shower, choked down some oatmeal and OJ, and then Dave dragged me out of the house, down the sidewalk, and forced me into the truck. Yep. I was being a big, fat baby about it. I mean, begging, whining, threatening to run away--I'm weak, so very, very weak.

At the dentist's office, they made me sign all of these forms with clauses like "...some patients suffer adverse reactions to analgesics which may require hospitalization...," or "...patients with heart defects are at higher risk of complications which may result in severe infection...," and my personal favorite, "...in the event of your death...." Yeah, there's nothing like consent forms to get that heart racing. Luckily, though, I opted for the pre-meds to the extraction which include my new uber-fave cocktail: Valium, Demerol, and a Phenergan chaser. Nice, huh?

It took half an hour or so for the meds to kick in, and then it was off to the dreaded Dentist de Sade torture chamber. The assistant slathered benzocaine gel on my gums, hooked me up to some laughing gas (whee!!) and before I knew it I was flat on my back--and not in the good way, either. When I started "floating," the doc came in and started jabbing my gums with huge needles until I was numb from my nose to neck. After that, I don't remember much b/c that was the point where they kicked up the gas....

I have some vague memories of stumbling out of the doctor's office with Dave's help, sitting in the parking lot of a CVS, scribbling a rambling, incoherent note on the back of my receipt, and then plopping down on the couch in the living room. I swallowed some Vicodin, Medrol, and Cleocin when we got home and then--well--I started dozing in and out while propped up on the couch. I 'member these snippets of Dave dabbing drool off my chin or coaxing me to drink Gatorade and even helping me change those yukky gauze wads. Ah, l'amour, no?

I have to say, though, this was by far the best medical experience I've ever had. I'm not kidding either. My dentist is one of those super efficient, no bullshit types. I love that about doctors! He minimized my pain, addressed the most pressing issues, and was very informative about my treatment options. And you know what else? I only needed the painkillers (the Vicodin) for the first day. That's it. For the past week, I've been on the Medrol (anti-inflammatory steroid) and Cleocin (to keep me from developing some kind of horrendous, cardiac tissue devouring infection,) but that's all. So yeah, if you're in my area (and you know who you are!) gimme a ring when u need a dentist!!

Onto other interesting info....

Well. Our A/C gave out on Saturday morning and it's seventh level of Hell hot right now so that's not been a lot of fun. Right now, the slightly inept maintenance guy is trying to figure out what the problem is and I don't think he's having much luck. First, he tried changing the filter which is fine b/c it prolly needed changing anyways, but I SERIOUSLY doubt that's the reason the A/C is blowing hot air. I'm thinking it's a teeny bit more technical than that. I sort of want to insist that they call in a professional b/c I'm tired of soaking thru my t-shirts plus heat and antibiotics don't mix well, but I'm really, really trying to be nice. And now he's rifling through my closet, flipping breakers, and did I mention that he's totally NOT talking to me? Sigh. Perhaps I should go retrieve my trusty pair of prosthetic balls so he'll feel comfortable discussing a mechanical problem with me....

Yeah. That's settles it. I'm off to badger the maintenance boy! Wish me luck!