I guess this story starts at a panera bread, where I sat with a friend eating broccoli and cheese soup washed down with 1/2 an ham and cheese sandwich. MMM, mmm, good, except now my mouth feels funny, some kind of lump.... Oh, CRAP, I broke a tooth.
Must have been that crunchy soup.. oh, maybe the crunch was my tooth part going down..
Hey, calcium for the day, right? I spent the rest of the weekend trying not to slice and dice, and consequently, eat my tongue on the sharp edge of what remained of my tooth.
Fast forward about 850 miles, (I broke the tooth on an away trip for Easter), sitting on the edge of Mom's bed in the nursing home. Telling her I broke a tooth and have an appointment the next morning so I might not make it in to see the the next day.
Response?
"Bring me some more books on tape." "The food is horrible here, I haven't eaten in days, bring me food." "Bring me batteries for my radio"
MOM, I'll be feeling like CRAP tomorrow, I might not make it!! Answer? "Take a nap in the car before you come here, and don't forget my books on tape..... Bring me some hot soup, too".
OHHHH! Yeah, dummy, THIS IS WHY SHE IS IN A NURSING HOME!!! The woman has no heart for other's needs. I don't think she ever has... Ok, maybe that's harsh. But being awakened at 3am to change the channel on the tv makes a person a little rough around the edges. Grrrr.
So I went to the dentist this morning, quaking in my brave truck-driver boots. (please don't hurt me, Mr. Dentist, please, please??)
Mr. Dentist was so nice, he told his assistant to give me some gas. (Is that why they all wear masks? Oh, wrong kind of gas..)
The mask goes on and I hear the assistant say something like "better you breathing this stuff than me." What The F*** Does That Mean??? I don't care, I'm scared, I'm scared and I'm scared. I have a terrible allergy to pain, needles and the little drilling sound in my mouth that translates like a oil rig digging 7 miles deep. So go ahead, gas me, if I die, I won't have to get my tooth fixed.
I started to relax, and my mind went to Kirsty Alley in the movie "Look Who's Talking". She is laying on the birthing table (I'm laying on the torture table), she's in pain, (I'm in pain), she wants the pain to stop, ( well, DUH!) and they give her something for pain. (Me too, don't forget about meeeee!)
Her eyes get dreamy, her body relaxes, "Ah, " Kirsty and I say together, "that's so much better".
I thought for a moment I would be able to sleep through the whole thing, 3 and 1/2 hours of drilling, grinding, more shots, shivering cold from the gas, open wide, a little pressure, turn right..... The words are far away. Is the buzzing I hear in my head or around my head? I don't know... I think I dozed, not sure. Now I'm home, had my extended nap, I haven't found my face yet but I'm sure it's there....
Mom left a message for me to bring her batteries. Sorry Mom, you have batteries in your drawer there, I'm in my pajama's and staying that way.
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Awww, I'm sorry you had to go through that scare. Its never fun, is it?
ReplyDeleteAnd GOOD for you for standing your ground. That IS why she is where she is. All her needs are being met, remember that. The rest is just HER being SPOILED. Did they ever give in to OUR every whim??? No. So why should they get everything they want?
Yeah, I'm kinda hard hearted about stuff like that, I guess. Having been raised by wolves and all...
I hear ya about being raised by wolves, more like wolves in sheeps clothing.... ( I wonder what our kids are gonna think of us in our old age!??)
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