Thursday, July 30, 2009

Whiskey in the jar


Or there was, anyway. Most of it's gone now. I generally recommend against Posting Under the Influence, but here's the deal:

I've been up all night with a toothache and the standard non-prescription analgesics aren't getting the job done, so I've turned to strong drink. I'm committed to two posts every weekday ... might as well let good 'ol Jim Beam ghost write one of them.

I've mentioned this before, and anyone who's seen me in the last couple of years knows: My teeth are going to hell in a handbasket. I brush twice a day, etc., as I always have, but they're just literally falling apart. Some of it's genetic, some of it's old US Navy dental work finally disintegrating after lasting for far longer than it was supposed to, but man, my mouth is ugly.

I've heard rumors that what I have going is a case of "meth mouth." Those rumors are understandable, but please allow me to put them to rest. For the record, no, I am not a habitual, or even casual, user of methamphetamine. I tried it one time, more than a decade ago, to see what it was like. I had my reasons -- among them, a woman who had pretty much destroyed her life with it for reasons I wanted to understand, and a town (the sleepy, rural, "family values" town that I'd grown up in) that was literally awash in meth and meth-heads for, I say again, reasons I wanted to understand. Quick review: It wasn't unpleasant, but neither was I impressed enough to be interested in using it again, especially given the possible legal and medical ramifications.

So anyway, that's that -- I'm not a meth addict or even a casual meth user. Believe it if you want, don't believe it if you prefer not to.

Anyway, the stars finally aligned correctly, the chicken entrails revealed the right omens, and Tamara nodded without knitting her brow and hesitating when I asked if the money was there ... Huzzah! So, last week, I visited my dentist, who agreed with me that the top teeth have to go ASAP and that a denture is in order (the bottom teeth he thinks he can work with). X-rays were taken; insurance was discussed; some time next week I should get an estimate of how much cash on the barrelhead is required, after which we'll do impressions for the denture and the yanking of teeth shall begin in earnest.

In the meantime, though, one of those teeth has kicked up a fuss. It hurts, in the way that only a tooth can hurt (I've been stabbed; I've had broken bones; this is much worse). I'm going to call the doc and see if I can get a prescription for something that will kick its ass today, but until then I'm eating aspirin like candy. And chasing it with Kentucky Tavern®. And bellyaching to you.

And that, my friends, makes one post down, one to go for the day.



Update: The alcohol worked as a stopgap measure, but now I've got painkillers (propoxyphene plus acetaminophen, a/k/a Darvocet®, which worries me a bit) and antibiotics (cephalexin, a/k/a Keflex®). Much better! The sooner we make with the pliers, though, the happier I'll be.

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