Holy cow! It's October 1 already. September pretty much kicked my butt. It was a good month (no one died or was arrested), but a crazy, wacky one.
1. I'm working full-time. Yes, I've already reported that. Yes, I started working full-time in August. But it was in September that the reality hit and boy, oh boy am I one tired pup.
2. In one week's time I had a mammogram (all clear!), an MRI (more on that in a minute), and a root canal (I hate dentists, but I LOVE nitrous oxide!). Seriously, I should get a medal for that.
3. As I was in the waiting room to get the root canal, my
family doc called and said she had the results of my MRI and I needed to
see a neurosurgeon about the pain in my neck and the numbness in my arm.
4. Six days after the root canal, the dang tooth pretty much crumbled and ended up having to be pulled anyway. Thank God for friends who are oral surgeons and for endodontists who are willing to waive your fee. (The man is no dummy. He's seen my x-rays. He knows I'll be back.)
5. My car got a flat tire. Somehow I managed to drive over a nail in just the right way that (of course) the tire couldn't be repaired and had to be replaced.
6. The neurosurgeon said I have a herniated disk and should have a discectomy. I opted for a round of steroids first. The symptoms (a numb arm) haven't improved much, but I'm hopeful maybe a second round might do the trick.
7. Charlie got a concussion at the ONE soccer game all season that neither Mike or I were at. And of course it was an hour away. That was 10 days ago. He's feeling better, but is still on physical and academic restrictions.
8. The day after Charlie's concussion, we got rear-ended. We were all ok, with the exception of Annie who had some mild whiplash. The other driver has Progressive insurance. They have been terrific to work with.
9. If you read #1-8 and thought that even the most sane person on Earth would have been driven to drink over all that, you would be right. I've picked up the Diet Coke habit again. Not to the extent I once drank it, but one or two a day. Being a Diet Coke brand ambassador might have had something to do with that, too.
10. I survived the in better (mental & emotional) shape than I expected. I've been investing some time in myself and in my own sanity and it is paying off. I find myself better equipped to handle unexpected occurrences and able to sidestep chaos to take a minute to take a deep breath and get a grip. That's not to say I don't lose it from time to time, but still, I'm pretty happy with myself.
Showing posts with label root canal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label root canal. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
Monday, May 9, 2011
The root canal that wasn't
Today was the day I've been looking forward to for the past two and a half weeks. Today was root canal day! Ordinarily, I wouldn't be so happy about a root canal, but over the course of the wait, my tooth had gone from bad to worse, so much that 600 mg of ibuprofen every four hours was not enough to keep the pain in check.
My appointment was scheduled for 1:40pm, but I got a call asking if I could come in earlier. You betcha! So by about 12:45pm, I was sitting in the chair, Facebooking a few last remarks about the occasion.
The dental assistant asked if I wanted nitrous oxide or just local anesthesia. Have I mentioned how much I dislike dental procedures. My legs get all tense and I feel like I could climb right out of the chair. So, yes, nitrous oxide, please. In fact, make it a double.
The endodontist came in to talk to me. He wasn't sure if he could save the tooth, but he was going to try. I didn't hear much of that because I was busy trying not to look at the booger hanging from his right nostril. Fortunately, when he returned to start working on my tooth, he had a mask on so I didn't have to worry about looking at the booger or about whether it was going to fall out of his nose onto my face.
Soon, I was lying under the warm and fuzzy "blanket" of nitrous oxide and I didn't even seem to care that they had jammed something in my mouth to keep it open or that the endodontist was drilling away on what was left of my broken tooth. Instead, I was enjoying the feeling that my legs were floating in the air. I was distinctly aware of my back and my rear end being up against the chair, but my legs looked and felt like they were loose, noodly appendages waving in the wind.
It wasn't all fun and games though. At one point, I became aware that I wasn't breathing. I tried to breathe through my mouth with no luck. Calmly told myself to breathe through my nose and couldn't come up with the air then either. Mild panic swept through me, which I must have indicated in some way because the dentist asked if I was ok. Suddenly, the air returned and all was well.
After what seemed like 10 minutes, but was in reality about 90 minutes, the dentist said "Amy" and I popped back into reality. Bad news. He wasn't able to save the tooth, but he had the nerve all exposed and thought it would be in my best interest to go have it extracted right away.
I had immediate commiseration for my friend Valerie, who when in labor with her first child, pushed for 3 hours only to finally be taken to the OR for a c-section. An hour and a half of drilling and poking and the dang tooth had to come out anyway.
Within 10 minutes, I had the referral to the oral surgery group, a copy of my x-ray and the endodontist's wishes for good luck.
Now, they will tell you that nitrous oxide wears off in about 3 minutes. I will tell you that nobody should think about driving anywhere if they've been under the laughing gas for an hour or more. I creepy crawled my way home -- thankfully the office is located across from my neighborhood -- and had my friend Jane drive me to the oral surgeon's office.
They informed me that my insurance wouldn't cover IV sedation. I could have the extraction done under local anesthetic, pay $75 for nitrous oxide, or pay $495 for the IV. The $75 hit of nitrous sounded good to me.
So the assistant got me set up and the surgeon came in to get started. He numbed the area around the tooth with a couple of shots, which I didn't mind because I was already starting to get that wonderful floaty leg feeling. He said he'd be back in a few minutes to do the extraction.
"Ok," I said, " But first, who are you?" He hadn't introduced himself to me yet.
That's when things got interesting. He told me his name, which I recognized right away. He was the ex-husband of a friend of mine from church. I'd never met him, but I'd heard plenty about him. Given that he was going to performing a potentially painful procedure on me momentarily, I didn't really think I should share that information.
Instead I said, "Can I tell you a secret?" (That was the nitrous talking.)
"Sure," he said.
"My daughter babysits for your kids." I breathed a sigh of relief that my relaxed state did not induce me into mouthing off and I think he breathed one that my "secret" wasn't anything scandalous.
We talked a bit about what we should do with the gaping hole that would be left in my mouth once the tooth was gone. He suggested a titanium implant screwed into the bone (triple nitrous, please). I asked about whether my insurance would cover it and he said he would check and we could work something out. I suggested perhaps I would qualify for the "favorite babysitter discount." He laughed and said that might be possible.
Things were great from there. He knew Annie and talked about how much his kids like her. I talked about how cute the kids are and how much Annie enjoys babysitting for them. And then it was showtime.
Do you know how they extract a tooth? Basically, they take a pair of fancy pliers and pull and pull until the darn thing pops out of your head. It wasn't painful, but I certainly felt a ton of pressure as he yanked and yanked on my tooth. In my altered mental state, I could see my head detached from my body, rolling from left to right. It kind of looked in my mind's eye like one of those PBS Kids characters.
In addition to literally pulling, I recall him banging on my tooth with some kind of hammer and I just envisioned the thing cracking off right inside my mouth. Just after he asked the assistant to prepare the hand blade -- they really should come up with a much less scary name than that -- so he could cut the tooth out, the stubborn thing popped out under the force of the pliers. Thank goodness for small favors.
Mike picked me up from the appointment, got me a Frosty, which was actually written on the post-op instructions -- and picked up my pain medicine, which I am now overdue for but I was trying to hold off so I could get this post written.
My new-friend-the-oral-surgeon told me to expect to feel pretty sore tomorrow. The fact that I was lying in a chair with my mouth open for 3-1/2 hours, plus all the tugging and pulling on my tooth, will make me especially thankful for the pain meds. Since coming home, I've slept in fits and starts and expect the night will bring more of the same. Too bad I don't have any nitrous oxide to take at home.
My appointment was scheduled for 1:40pm, but I got a call asking if I could come in earlier. You betcha! So by about 12:45pm, I was sitting in the chair, Facebooking a few last remarks about the occasion.
The dental assistant asked if I wanted nitrous oxide or just local anesthesia. Have I mentioned how much I dislike dental procedures. My legs get all tense and I feel like I could climb right out of the chair. So, yes, nitrous oxide, please. In fact, make it a double.
The endodontist came in to talk to me. He wasn't sure if he could save the tooth, but he was going to try. I didn't hear much of that because I was busy trying not to look at the booger hanging from his right nostril. Fortunately, when he returned to start working on my tooth, he had a mask on so I didn't have to worry about looking at the booger or about whether it was going to fall out of his nose onto my face.
Soon, I was lying under the warm and fuzzy "blanket" of nitrous oxide and I didn't even seem to care that they had jammed something in my mouth to keep it open or that the endodontist was drilling away on what was left of my broken tooth. Instead, I was enjoying the feeling that my legs were floating in the air. I was distinctly aware of my back and my rear end being up against the chair, but my legs looked and felt like they were loose, noodly appendages waving in the wind.
It wasn't all fun and games though. At one point, I became aware that I wasn't breathing. I tried to breathe through my mouth with no luck. Calmly told myself to breathe through my nose and couldn't come up with the air then either. Mild panic swept through me, which I must have indicated in some way because the dentist asked if I was ok. Suddenly, the air returned and all was well.
After what seemed like 10 minutes, but was in reality about 90 minutes, the dentist said "Amy" and I popped back into reality. Bad news. He wasn't able to save the tooth, but he had the nerve all exposed and thought it would be in my best interest to go have it extracted right away.
I had immediate commiseration for my friend Valerie, who when in labor with her first child, pushed for 3 hours only to finally be taken to the OR for a c-section. An hour and a half of drilling and poking and the dang tooth had to come out anyway.
Within 10 minutes, I had the referral to the oral surgery group, a copy of my x-ray and the endodontist's wishes for good luck.
Now, they will tell you that nitrous oxide wears off in about 3 minutes. I will tell you that nobody should think about driving anywhere if they've been under the laughing gas for an hour or more. I creepy crawled my way home -- thankfully the office is located across from my neighborhood -- and had my friend Jane drive me to the oral surgeon's office.
They informed me that my insurance wouldn't cover IV sedation. I could have the extraction done under local anesthetic, pay $75 for nitrous oxide, or pay $495 for the IV. The $75 hit of nitrous sounded good to me.
So the assistant got me set up and the surgeon came in to get started. He numbed the area around the tooth with a couple of shots, which I didn't mind because I was already starting to get that wonderful floaty leg feeling. He said he'd be back in a few minutes to do the extraction.
"Ok," I said, " But first, who are you?" He hadn't introduced himself to me yet.
That's when things got interesting. He told me his name, which I recognized right away. He was the ex-husband of a friend of mine from church. I'd never met him, but I'd heard plenty about him. Given that he was going to performing a potentially painful procedure on me momentarily, I didn't really think I should share that information.
Instead I said, "Can I tell you a secret?" (That was the nitrous talking.)
"Sure," he said.
"My daughter babysits for your kids." I breathed a sigh of relief that my relaxed state did not induce me into mouthing off and I think he breathed one that my "secret" wasn't anything scandalous.
We talked a bit about what we should do with the gaping hole that would be left in my mouth once the tooth was gone. He suggested a titanium implant screwed into the bone (triple nitrous, please). I asked about whether my insurance would cover it and he said he would check and we could work something out. I suggested perhaps I would qualify for the "favorite babysitter discount." He laughed and said that might be possible.
Things were great from there. He knew Annie and talked about how much his kids like her. I talked about how cute the kids are and how much Annie enjoys babysitting for them. And then it was showtime.
Do you know how they extract a tooth? Basically, they take a pair of fancy pliers and pull and pull until the darn thing pops out of your head. It wasn't painful, but I certainly felt a ton of pressure as he yanked and yanked on my tooth. In my altered mental state, I could see my head detached from my body, rolling from left to right. It kind of looked in my mind's eye like one of those PBS Kids characters. In addition to literally pulling, I recall him banging on my tooth with some kind of hammer and I just envisioned the thing cracking off right inside my mouth. Just after he asked the assistant to prepare the hand blade -- they really should come up with a much less scary name than that -- so he could cut the tooth out, the stubborn thing popped out under the force of the pliers. Thank goodness for small favors.
Mike picked me up from the appointment, got me a Frosty, which was actually written on the post-op instructions -- and picked up my pain medicine, which I am now overdue for but I was trying to hold off so I could get this post written.
My new-friend-the-oral-surgeon told me to expect to feel pretty sore tomorrow. The fact that I was lying in a chair with my mouth open for 3-1/2 hours, plus all the tugging and pulling on my tooth, will make me especially thankful for the pain meds. Since coming home, I've slept in fits and starts and expect the night will bring more of the same. Too bad I don't have any nitrous oxide to take at home.
Monday, October 12, 2009
My next business venture
So I had my root canal today and I got an inspiration for my next business venture.
I was sitting in the chair, covered with a blanket, looking out the window,
when the hygienist asked if I wanted nitrous oxide. I said "Yep. I want anything that will take my mind away from what's actually happening inside my mouth."
So she brought this Apollo 11 looking nose mask out, put it on me and said that it would work quicker if I uncrossed my ankles (a nervous, at the dentist pose I tend to strike when I know sharp metal objects are pointed at my teeth and gums). Within just a few minutes, I was feeling mighty fine. I didn't care what was going on in my mouth or anywhere else.
After what felt like 15 minutes (but was really 2 hours) -- I know I slept during a few of those because I woke myself up with my own snore, the doc said "we're done." The hygienist took away my happy mask and I soon returned to my usual conscious state.
So I got to thinking, I bet people would pay big bucks to go to a nitrous oxide spa. A comfy recliner, a warm blanket, and some NO2. Nirvana to anyone who is just looking to chillax for a bit, right? We could even sell designer nitrous masks -- tie dye, leopard print, purple glitter, camoflague for the manly men. Set the timer -- 30 minutes, 60 minutes or the deluxe 90 minute special. And the beauty of it is that once the masks come off, the nitrous wears off quickly, so no "breathing and driving" liability.
I think it's a winner of an idea. I just wish they would have let me keep the nitrous mask on this morning while I was writing the check for the $537 bill. Maybe it wouldn't have hurt so much.
I was sitting in the chair, covered with a blanket, looking out the window,
View from a root canal
when the hygienist asked if I wanted nitrous oxide. I said "Yep. I want anything that will take my mind away from what's actually happening inside my mouth."
So she brought this Apollo 11 looking nose mask out, put it on me and said that it would work quicker if I uncrossed my ankles (a nervous, at the dentist pose I tend to strike when I know sharp metal objects are pointed at my teeth and gums). Within just a few minutes, I was feeling mighty fine. I didn't care what was going on in my mouth or anywhere else.
After what felt like 15 minutes (but was really 2 hours) -- I know I slept during a few of those because I woke myself up with my own snore, the doc said "we're done." The hygienist took away my happy mask and I soon returned to my usual conscious state.
So I got to thinking, I bet people would pay big bucks to go to a nitrous oxide spa. A comfy recliner, a warm blanket, and some NO2. Nirvana to anyone who is just looking to chillax for a bit, right? We could even sell designer nitrous masks -- tie dye, leopard print, purple glitter, camoflague for the manly men. Set the timer -- 30 minutes, 60 minutes or the deluxe 90 minute special. And the beauty of it is that once the masks come off, the nitrous wears off quickly, so no "breathing and driving" liability.
I think it's a winner of an idea. I just wish they would have let me keep the nitrous mask on this morning while I was writing the check for the $537 bill. Maybe it wouldn't have hurt so much.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
As if Mondays aren't bad enough
There are many a Sunday night when I find myself dreading Monday morning, wishing I had just one more day of the weekend to relax or get things done around the house. Tonight, I'm dreading Monday morning for a whole different reason -- I'm getting a root canal in the morning.
Sadly, this isn't my first root canal. But it's been quite a while since I've had one and I don't remember a whole lot about it. I remember the last time I had one, the endodontist's office had quotes written on the ceiling tiles. I thought that was pretty considerate since the patients have to lay there staring at the ceiling for hours on end.
How many hours is it? I don't remember. And I don't remember what kind of anesthesia they offer. I'd prefer to be completely knocked out. Or at least looped up pretty good. But I know I remember that I drove myself home, so I'm pretty sure neither of those things will happen.
I wasn't really surprised when my dentist told me I need a root canal. The tooth in question has been bothering me (read: throbbing) off and on for a while. But I HATE the dentist. Well, not the dentist herself, but what happens at the dentist.
First, there are the x-rays with the films that never fail to gag me. I've thrown up in the dental chair during x-rays more than once. Then the hygienist uses an ultrasonic cleaner to get at the plaque on my teeth and it's like scraping fingernails across a chalkboard. Then she starts digging at my gums with the mini pick axe. All the while, my body is tensing up, preparing for the impact in my mouth.
Then the dentist comes in, looks at my teeth and the x-rays and delivers the inevitable bad news. Last time, it was REALLY bad. And the root canal was just the tip of the iceberg. There is so much work that needs to be done in my mouth, that the dentist asked if she could confer with her billing specialist to come up with a treatment plan and to prequalify the work with my insurance. There goes the thoughts for a trip to Disney World!
So the every six months cleaning leads to a long-term relationship with the dentist to get everything fix and culminates in the next six-month check up where the whole ridiculous thing starts again.
That's why I was serious when I said I'd rather have a mammogram than a teeth cleaning.
It's not like I don't brush my teeth. I do -- at least twice every day. Admittedly, I'm not much of a flosser unless something is stuck in my teeth. But I think my genes are working against me in this battle (I have my dad's bad teeth), so I kind of feel like I don't have much control.
No matter. Tomorrow morning will find me in the chair at the endodontist, hoping for a little laughing gas cocktail and looking forward to my indulgent, post-root canal nap.
Sadly, this isn't my first root canal. But it's been quite a while since I've had one and I don't remember a whole lot about it. I remember the last time I had one, the endodontist's office had quotes written on the ceiling tiles. I thought that was pretty considerate since the patients have to lay there staring at the ceiling for hours on end.
How many hours is it? I don't remember. And I don't remember what kind of anesthesia they offer. I'd prefer to be completely knocked out. Or at least looped up pretty good. But I know I remember that I drove myself home, so I'm pretty sure neither of those things will happen.
I wasn't really surprised when my dentist told me I need a root canal. The tooth in question has been bothering me (read: throbbing) off and on for a while. But I HATE the dentist. Well, not the dentist herself, but what happens at the dentist.
First, there are the x-rays with the films that never fail to gag me. I've thrown up in the dental chair during x-rays more than once. Then the hygienist uses an ultrasonic cleaner to get at the plaque on my teeth and it's like scraping fingernails across a chalkboard. Then she starts digging at my gums with the mini pick axe. All the while, my body is tensing up, preparing for the impact in my mouth.
Then the dentist comes in, looks at my teeth and the x-rays and delivers the inevitable bad news. Last time, it was REALLY bad. And the root canal was just the tip of the iceberg. There is so much work that needs to be done in my mouth, that the dentist asked if she could confer with her billing specialist to come up with a treatment plan and to prequalify the work with my insurance. There goes the thoughts for a trip to Disney World!
So the every six months cleaning leads to a long-term relationship with the dentist to get everything fix and culminates in the next six-month check up where the whole ridiculous thing starts again.
That's why I was serious when I said I'd rather have a mammogram than a teeth cleaning.
It's not like I don't brush my teeth. I do -- at least twice every day. Admittedly, I'm not much of a flosser unless something is stuck in my teeth. But I think my genes are working against me in this battle (I have my dad's bad teeth), so I kind of feel like I don't have much control.
No matter. Tomorrow morning will find me in the chair at the endodontist, hoping for a little laughing gas cocktail and looking forward to my indulgent, post-root canal nap.
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