Not so clean cut this Wednesday.
I had been sitting in my office earlier in the week wondering if I had a tooth ache. You know how that goes: it hurts, it doesn't hurt. You wiggle it, press on it, chomp with it and then you assess. Yes hurts. Maybe not.
I call the dental office. How about coming in sometime in March? -- the receptionist asks.
In March? That's weeks from now! And suddenly the pain in my mind grows to something big.
The receptionist reconsiders. How about tomorrow (Wednesday) at 7 (she means a.m.)?
Well alright. You can't say no to someone who's trying to do you a favor. Even if the dentist is a half hour drive from the farmette.
There is a long story in the series of events that then unfurled, but surely dental stories are the least interesting stories on the planet, so I'll short cut to the punch line. Root canal. Now, today, soon. Over at the endo guy. After that, in a few days, a crown.
Don't think this is news to me. I have postwar Polish teeth. It's like being raised without childhood vaccinations: it stays with you for the rest of your life.
So in between appointments I go home to gather my papers for work and yes, I pause for breakfast, because this day surely offers few other delights...
...and then I go back and spend hours in a half reclining dental chair.
When we pass the noon hour, I start to get nervous. I have a class to teach at 1:20, I tell my excellent and wonderful endo guy. You think I'll be able to get there on time? He is reassuring. We continue. And at 1, he proclaims he is done (for now).
I fly out of there, numb, drugged, a bit wacky really. But I am before my Property class at 1:22.
I apologize profusely for being late. And for having a face that really isn't all that functional.
I survive, they survive.
After, I work hard to make up the time lost this morning. No Paul's cafe after classes. And you're asking about lunch? No, not that either.
I come home to the farmette completely wiped. No new photos for you. Wipedness doesn't lend itself to photography.
Well, maybe this: as I am about to turn in toward the farmhouse, I think -- this is so us! A long, slick, impossibly slick driveway. Framed by pools of ice to the side.
After, I reheat the soup, make the usual salad and admire the little icicle just outside the window.
Since I like a glass of wine with dinner, I've not bothered with the prescription for pain killers. You can't have both. I choose a very full glass of Cava.
There you have it, that's my day. And yours?
