(Phaysis)

Two weeks ago, I slipped a disc in my back while I was seated. Been nursing it back to health and getting better. This morning, while getting ready for work, I pulled a muscle and slipped the disc again.

Worst birthday ever.

I feel you.
I stretch and reach, push forward
And straight for the gut you punch, pinch, jab.
I completely feel you.

Once, we were in harmony.
Now, you complain of my years of abuse.
Feed back the pain I fed to you.
Harmony went dissonant.

The moment I think of our unsteady peace,
You strike out at me.
Relief comes in waves; hope, in unsteady moments
Punctuated by twists, pangs.

What can I do to make things right?
What can I take?
I bow down, double over, hug you in some kind of embrace.
Will you accept my apologies?

I noticed that my journal has been really quiet this year. So far, 9 entries total since January. Nothing in the past month and a half. And you’ve most likely noticed too; I apologize.

You see, I’ve had a bad month. Really bad. July started with a wimper, went out with a sigh. The 4th of July wasn’t kind to me; it was raining pleasantly, but I stayed inside instead of watching the fireworks downtown. Had coffee, got a migraine, went home early. The rest of that week, I started hurting in my lower abdomen; thought it was gas pain, so I lived on a diet of simethicone and wheat bread. No luck. That friday, I started hurting worse at work. I went home after work and stayed home instead of going to the usual friday night gathering I do. Tried laying down, sitting down, standing up, walking around, nothing I did could alleviate the pain in my lower-right abdomen. It was then that it struck me: that’s where my appendix is. I knew I needed to go to the ER, so I cleaned up, prepped some things in case I needed to be hospitalized, and my roomate took me there.

A urine test, blood test, CT scan (complete with having to drink a half liter of barium sulfate on a nauseous stomach), a prostate check, and two shots of morphine later (because of the worst pain I’ve ever experienced), the doctor sent me home with a prescription of Ciprofloxacin (an antibiotic) and a treatment plan for…prostatitis. I had a prostate infection. How? I don’t know. But it hurt.

My fever came and went that weekend, and the infection started going away. In my followup appointment with my regular doctor, he cut my four-week prescription regimen down to three, stating that the extra week is really just overkill. So, after experiencing the bad side effects for a few days, I didn’t argue the point.

Well, the side effects are thus: stomach pain, depression, fatigue, susceptibility to tendonitis and tendon damage, and in some extreme cases, paranoia. Basically, I sat like a lump from the time I got home from work until I went to bed, where I laid like a lump and had fitful sleep broken up by extreme dreams, another side effect.

I knew I had stuff I could do. I knew I could have been writing about it, getting it all off my chest, putting out the painful personal truths that I was seeing in my lowered state. But I lost my motivation, lost my drive. Nothing mattered, nothing meant anything. I just sat there at my desk and watched TV. Tuned in, dropped out. For a month. I knew the depression was due to the Cipro, but at times I could not be sure.

Well, my last dose was the last friday of the month, almost a week ago. I felt fine and was glad to have finished the regimen. Except I felt a tenderness in my middle back, near my kidneys. A secondary infection? I dunno, but by monday I was fine. Until this morning when I started feeling more pangs in my lower abdomen again. So, I’ve been taking it easy, pushing the fluids, taking the cranberry pills, loosening my belt. I put myself back on the Cipro tonight; already feeling the twisting of my stomach. If nothing is better by monday, then I’ll see the doc again.

Seems every time I make a journal entry, it’s bad health news. Maybe I’m turning the corner at the old age of 34. It’s all downhill from here. I dunno, it’s just that I have things to say, but no will to post them for the world to see when really they’re kinda personal thoughts. I have some further issues to deal with there, and now that I’m back on the Cipro, it won’t get any easier.

Well, here I am writing a log with four new holes just four days old in my mouth where my wisdoms used to be. It’s something different, I’ll say that much. Had the procedure done on wednesday; decided that I had enough money to get all four removed at once, so I did. The aching left wisdoms on monday helped in that decision.

Don’t remember much from the procedure; remember being beside-myself nervous before, and the slight freaking out when I first felt the sedative take hold, but after a few seconds I just didn’t care anymore. I vaguely remember at least two of the pulls. Vaguely remember the oral surgeon using a drill or something similar on a right wisdom, but I don’t know which. I remember stirring after a pull, grabbing my pen from my pocket and scribbling on my hand what i knew read “KEEP TEETH”, and I remember the doc and his assistant saying, “Woah, what’s he doin’? Heh.” and “It’s ok, Michael, just relax, we’re almost done.” I remember coming around after the procedure while the assistant was cramming more gauze into my new holes, and remember looking at my hand to verify that I wrote correctly only to discover I gained a new language resembling sanskrit during the procedure. My requesting effort was fruitless: the teeth had already been placed in the biohazard bin.

After filling my prescription for hydrocodone and (oddly) amitryptaline (an antidepressive drug sometimes used for pain), I went home, changed the gauze, took my drugs, and proceeded to crash out for the rest of the day and night, waking up to redose and change gauze. Around 8am the next morning I knew I wasn’t able to work that day, so I called in. Slept and lazed around. Attempted to eat some yogurt and drink a meal-substitute shake. Still weak, I got a call from work asking for help in setting up a job, so I volunteered to go in, helped set it up, then left and got some mashed potatoes and mac & cheese from KFC on my way home. Rented “Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle” and “Napoleon Dynamite” (why haven’t you watched these yet?). Watched “Harold and Kumar…”, laughed a lot, and went to bed.

Worked friday, still kinda weak and undernourished, and in pain but in decent spirits. Stayed home that night, watched “Napoleon Dynamite”, looked up historic photos of Austin roadways. That’s pretty much it.

Saturday started well, then continued into the foul. Dunno what happened, just got angry, depressed, mad at myself, etcetera. I had made plans to go to Eeyore’s Birthday and to my friends Ed and Mel’s baby shower, but both were scrapped. I just wasn’t worth a damn to myself or anyone on Saturday afternoon, so I did nothing. Sorry, guys. After some research it occurred to me that the small 3-pill prescription I had for amitryptaline (remember, it’s a psychiatry drug) could’ve been to blame.

With not much food and growing weaker by nightfall, I cleaned myself up, went out and had a decent meal, the first where I had actual hard food, then after the nourishment I felt fine enough to go to Spiderhouse for some tea and maybe some company. The chatter was light and I didn’t stay long, but it helped lift my mood. Went home and decided that the disarray on my desk and around my room just wouldn’t cut it, so I pulled out a sack and started sorting the bad piles into trash and good piles. Now that the desk is clean, the room is clean. Lit a votive lantern and nodded off to sleep.

Today, woke up at 9:30am to the pain in my upper teeth. The 6 fillings are still bothering me; I’m still living on tylenol. So it’s my alarm clock. After some breakfast (which required chewing), the pain numbed itself down and I was in better spirits. Chatted online, then got dressed, grabbed my bike, and rode off for the day to get some lunch and tea. Late afternoon I left the coffeeshop and rode to Cheapo’s, picked up the new Garbage album (which is good), and my bike and I caught the bus home where I still remain.

Tomorrow I return to work; so far, it’s shaping up to be an uneventful workweek. No dentist appointments. No having to cut out early. Hopefully my holes will grow closed soon; the clots are still there and it appears the gums are closing in underneath. Hopefully my molars will stop hurting soon as I get accustomed to eating harder, chewier food (believe me, if you don’t give your teeth a workout, they’ll let you down). Hopefully I can get my life back to normal soon. My biggest hope is that this season of dental despair is over.

My period of good fortune came to an abrupt end on Tuesday of last week. There I was at dinner, high on a good mood, a decent day, and a good meal when the corner of one of my nachos went sideways and buried itself between the gum and the space between two of my molars during a joyful bite (those things find the darnedest of places). So, in pain I finished my meal and went home to attend to my wound and fish out the nacho with toothbrush and floss. What came out was significantly more than just the nacho corner. In doing so, I removed the last of what was protecting the nerve of my tooth from the rest of the world. Pain shot like wildfire from there to engulf the entire right side of my mouth.

I slept that night only by the help of Tylenol, Orajel, and Xanax.

Wednesday morning I woke up early (through no choice of mine) and dug around for a dentist who was on my insurance plan; found one nearby and set up an appointment for that morning. Called the boss to warn him of my tardiness; he was understanding. I get to the dentist, fill out the paperwork, and am shuffled in to get an Xray and wait for my consultation with the dentist to examine the situation. Looking at the Xray of the four teeth on that side, from front to back, the shapes were: square, square, the letter C, square. I had a major cavity.

The dentist indicated two possible solutions: extraction or root canal. At 32, I’m too young to walk around with more holes in my mouth than necessary, plus I don’t want to go around dealing with the pain of shifting, migrating teeth. So my best option is root canal. Painful for a short while, expensive to perform (even with my insurance), but I’ll keep my tooth. I called my mother to inform her that the Family Curse, that of weak tooth enamel, has landed on me, and she agreed that my best option is root canal.

So, until I can find a dentist/endodontist to do the surgery, I’m living on Tylenol and amoxicillin. My liver is hating me. My best option, so far, is to set up an appointment with the UT dental school in San Antonio; for a low cost (due to me being a guinea pig), I can have good dental work done — that is if I can get on the roster and get in soon. I called this morning at 8am sharp for the better part of an hour to get through. Got nothing but voicemail announcements and hold music, which I kind of expected, but not this bad. Didn’t talk to a real person all that time.

Then it occurred to me that today is a damned federal holiday. So I’m kinda banking on that maybe they took the day off. I will try again tomorrow morning, 8am sharp, to get in for either an emergency appointment or some appointment this week. If that fails, then it’s Plan B (my original plan): Castle Dental (yes, I’ve heard the stories of that place — and I’ve heard good reports. It’s 50/50, just like any other random dentist). There, I can get everything done in one place without having to set up appointments everywhere just to get this done.

This pain is killing me. Of all the pains I’ve experienced in my life, dental pain is the absolute worst. When your teeth hurt, you’re just useless, in a darkened room, rolling and kicking on the bed, clutching yourself praying for relief that never comes. Nothing makes it better but more drugs, and that’s just temporary relief. I had some Tylenol just 4 hours ago, and the pain’s almost back in full force. No way to live. So I’ve got to get this root canal done this week or I’m pulling the fucker myself.

Wish me luck on a speedy resolution and recovery.