The world is a lonesome cup of coffee… At least thats what Abbey Lincoln thought. My thoughts on the world right now are fuzzy and dull. Similar to looking through an old shower curtain when your showering, trying to remember what you were doing there in the first place.
Ah, drugs. You make my life hell.
Last Friday I was chosen by the evil gods of pain to get my wisdom teeth ripped out from their plush rose coloured cradles a.k.a my gums because well frankly, since one is causing pain, why not tear all of them out and have a bloody party.
I was put out for the blood fest fortunately, but unfortunately I have to be awake for the recovery part.
I was lucky though to have my mother fly down from up north and fuss over me while I was still drooling and swollen up like a chipmunk. Everyone needs some motherly love. It’s the best form of healing I think.
But that ended Sunday when she flew back to the wilds of my homeland. And I was left in the rain puddles trying to remember what colour pill to take next and how many hours to wait in between tylenol doses.
I am a great example of a young adult who when is sick- becomes very much like a baby worm and loses all brain function.
I thought I had it in the bag- I really did.
But then Monday morning I woke up, missed my alarm, and had 15 minutes to get ready for work.
I should have called in sick when I found myself getting confused on how to put on my pants.
The label on the pain killers said “do not operate heavy machinery” –
Having to coach myself to put one leg in one pant leg, step into other pant leg, then shimmy up to waist, felt like operating heavy machinery. I was in a pathetic state.
I left work early Monday.
And Today as well.
“Grinning and bearing it” technique of healing is not working.
So I am resorting to “hiding from the world and licking my wounds” technique for tomorrow.
Between the pain resonating from the four empty sockets in the back of my mouth, the side effects of the drugs, and having IBS (which makes taking hard drugs super tricky- due to weak stomach and intestines) I feel like a big ball of goo unable to process anything.
I was expecting the pain from the wisdom teeth, but having my stomach and intestines throw up their arms in protest to anything with codine in it…
It is really a shame that you can’t set up a meeting with your stomach, preparing it for what is to come, for example: “Hey stomach, I am going to have t3s to help my mouth heal, life isn’t about you so don’t be so fussy”, sort of like preparing cats for when you will have a baby, you know, making sure the cat doesn’t decide to suffocate the baby, being comfortable with you not paying attention to it, and yes, teaching the cat that the play pen that cost a couple hundred dollars from IKEA is not a litter box. My stomach can be compared to a tom cat- who doesn’t give a rats ass whether I’m on a date, in class, or at work etc. to let me know how its feeling.
I don’t mind cats…
as long as I don’t have to own one.
My tom cat of a stomach also can speak english it seems, because what can be more annoying than a cat who can win a swearing match.
. Right now I picture my stomach with a thick east coast accent, yowling in protest, because for a few years now my digestive system has been pushing itself to the front- always getting the attention. I can picture it planning an “occupy wallstreet” movement with my small and large intestine, clearly not paying attention that all energy needs to be focused on the four pulsating pink sore mushy masses in the back of my mouth covered in stitches.
Again; another similarity to cats and my stomach:
They have this wild idea that my job is to serve them.
My digestive system and I have a love hate relationship.
Right now I hate it.
Maybe my intestines would have different accents.
But still rowdy cats.
The stomach definitely has some anger issues.
I don’t need the therapy- my cat.. err… stomach does.