Another endless string of bliss at Casa Kate. No real events this week; in fact, the noteworthiest bit of all is a nonevent.
Tuesday morning, I was supposed to have a permanent crown installed, replacing the temporary one that leapt out of my face during Friday’s dinner. True, having something permanent meant I was going to have to stop threatening to “pop a cap on yo ass,” but because I am approximately as gangsta as Miley Cyrus, it’s a line I wasn’t getting much mileage out of, anyway.
I started getting revved up and anxious about it on Monday night, because I knew they were going to do it without anesthesia. I could have all of the sedatives I wanted, but I would basically be awake – so to speak – throughout. The last time, when they fitted me for the temporary crown, I woke up too early and spent the next week having nightmares about some man’s hands in my face, forcing my jaw open. Good times. They swore up and down that this would be a 20-minute procedure, so I agreed that it didn’t seem worth the effort to pay for and recover from general anesthesia. Right.
By Tuesday morning, I had taken four Ativan pills. Normally, one is enough to “take the edge off,” and two is enough to hop directly on the nearest Nap Train. I’d taken two before dinner and two more at bedtime, and slept very soundly that night. The next morning, I asked Emily to bring me my purse as she left for school (“asked” is such a euphemism, but “mumbled incoherently” just seems wrong, somehow). Two more pills to try and let me stop literally shaking the whole bed as I twitched and jittered, even in my sleep. That worked; by the time Willem came in to say, “The dentist’s office just called; they never got the new crown delivered so they can’t do the procedure today,” I was mellow enough to just roll right back over and go to sleep.
For five more hours.
I surfaced, briefly, around 2:30, just long enough to use the bathroom, grab something to eat, and grunt at Emily when she got home. I believe I also called and left an unhappy message at the dentist’s office, but I was sedated enough that I probably sounded like a sales call.
Back asleep before 4:00, a few hours of semiconsciousness in the evening, and in bed again by 9:30… don’t bother doing the math, I’ll just tell you: in a 40-hour period, I was asleep for 36 hours.
Thirty-six hours. I never had a sleep-bender like that, ever. Even in college, I would surface regularly to eat Fruity Pebbles and water and Tylenol.
The crown wasn’t delivered Monday, as agreed, or Tuesday. An attempt was made on Wednesday, but the dentist had closed for the day and there was no one to sign for it. Oh, bliss! So when I woke up this morning – now happily unsedated and ready to kick some ass (I had a fight with the bus garage for Emily’s school, too; that’s for another day) – I called right away and promptly went on the warpath. No, I was not willing to reschedule until next Tuesday. I have a job interview that morning, and in the meantime I’m going to my mother’s for the weekend and would like to be able to, you know, chew my Easter ham instead of drinking it. They have already screwed up the majority of my week, so it seems like they could spare a half an hour to work (*gasp*) after 3:00 someday to get this thing in and send me on my way.
The poor, addled, defenseless secretary and I went a few rounds, and, of course, I won. Poor woman has only ever seen me deeply sedated and on my way in or out of a procedure – she had no idea what I’m like when I get on the warpath. (And, truly? It felt good to have a fight and to have the energy to fight it. It’s been a long time since I have felt remotely formidable.)
They just called. The crown has arrived, and my appointment is at 2:00. So, in the next half-hour, I need to jump my husband, take my big-guns sedatives (Halcyon, much stronger than Ativan but should – I sure hope – wear off faster), cram a sandwich down my throat and get on the road.
Never a dull moment…