Last Friday I had to drive Ladybug, our face-eating pitbull, to a dental appointment where she was to have two canine teeth extracted. "Aren't they ALL canine teeth?" I asked in that fun-loving way I have. The veterinary assistant stared at me and assured me that not all of them are canine teeth. Even Ladybug failed to see the humor in my bon mot, preferring to express her opinion by taking a truly massive dump on the linoleum floor.
She survived the procedure just fine and didn't even hold a grudge very long, no doubt because she had an inkling that hard justice was in the air. Because Monday I went to the human dentist where they popped off a couple of ancient crowns (Mesopotamian, I believe) and drilled extravagantly before deciding that one tooth was pining for the fjords and had to go. At which point I took a massive dump on their linoleum floor.
No, no, I didn't do that - because the dentist preferred that I see a dental surgeon for the actual excavation. And so I found myself in a dental chair yet again on Tuesday looking at a tray full of disturbing, pewter-colored hardware which made me wish with all my heart that I had important state secrets to reveal.
I was asked to sign a few "informed consent" forms which noted that the dental firm was in no way liable if my jaw happened to snap like dry wood when things got violent. But fortunately, that didn't happen. The snapping, that is. Because they sure as Hell got violent in pretty short order.
After about 5 really deep shots of anesthetic, the nice lady dental surgeon fiddle-diddled my lower lip up and down to check if it was numb, then went in guns a-blazin'. I remember large-bore drills, a hammer and chisel, and a lot of unbelievably hard pulling that truly had me wondering about the tensile strength of my jaw bone. The entire process took about 40 minutes, which even the dentist noted was an unusually long time.
But now that tooth is gone and, because it was all the way in the back, it's being replaced by nothing at all. So I've got a stitched-up hole back there, prescription painkillers, anti-microbial mouthwash, a "soft foods only" diet for about 5 more days, and a smug pitbull whose every look says "Not so funny now, is it a**hole?"
In other general updates, Daughter J and I keep plugging along, doing our best to heal and reinvent ourselves (spoiler alert: there's a long way to go). I've finally been able to move a nice framed photo of Kathy to my desktop for frequent, loving looks. Until now, it was too painful to do anything but steal a quick glance and then look away. So that's probably a degree of healing in progress. Or so I hope.
Despite wearing an ice bag on my jaw (no, really) I managed to plant daffodil bulbs in Kathy's little memorial garden at the side of our house, so hopefully, we'll be enjoying some Spring blooms from those if the critters don't dig them up and eat them.
Work on my fun Kathy-related writing project proceeds apace as I continue taking delivery of commissioned artwork, and I'm pretty confident that it's going to end up being a pretty nice final product. And of course, I'll let you know when it debuts and how to get it cheaply and/or free.
Just to have something new and different to try out, beginning Monday I'll be taking an online course in stand-up comedy. And do I want to be a 70-year-old stand-up comic? Well no, not particularly. But it seems like a fun thing to try and will also be a nice social event that I can enjoy without fretting about Covid, monkeypox, or drunken hecklers. Theoretically, I'll have my very own 5-minute stand-up comedy routine in about 10 weeks. Whether or not I inflict it on the world remains to be seen.
And finally, here's something (no longer very timely) that I posted on Facebook...
See you in the comments section!