Shitty summer cold

July 3rd, 2014 | Posted by Mush in Health | Work - (0 Comments)

In which there are germs and self-pity.

Last night around eight I started to feel really icky. By ten I was passed out under three blankets on the bed. By twelve-thirty my beloved was force-feeding me Alka Seltzer cold formula. (Orange flavored and nasty. Like angry Gatorade.)

This morning I felt awful and called in sick to work. They were bummed because I was scheduled to close and they’re eternally understaffed, which is apparently deliberate and part of the business ‘model.’ Now my next check will be even shorter than it always is, because I make poverty-level wages. All of this sucks, but most of the other service desk associates have already called in sick on me, and I actually am sick, so I guess it’s a wash.

My throat itches. My sinuses hurt. My body aches. I’ve decimated a box of Kleenex. UGH, SNOT. Weirdly enough, my sense of smell is annoyingly strong and everything stinks. I thought I was going to have a fit when the grounds were mowed this morning and the scent of fuel wafted in through the open windows.

It’s beautiful outside. Green and mild and fantastic. Really gorgeous. And I have a malady better suited to October! I’m a huge baby and I want my money back.

I’m tired but can’t sleep. I’m hungry but feel too wiped out to cook. There are pans in the sink that need to be washed but the idea of standing there for 15 minutes makes me woozy. I want a mug of tea but there’s no milk. Somebody shoot me: I’m clearly made of stupid complaints.

My beloved came home on his lunch hour to check on me, and I only have a cold. He’s awesome.

I guess I’ll go try to read on the couch for awhile. Ugh. COLDS.

In which it’s the time of year known as ‘omfg i HATE the dread!!!’.

About once a year or so, usually around this time, give or take a few weeks, my panic and anxiety gets really rough and I get so incredibly miserable I finally consider going into the family clinic and begging for enough pills to get my crazy ass back on an even keel.

I never do it, though, because all the bullshit goes back into remission right after I consider saying uncle, and then I pretty much forget about it until the next year. I mean, I’ll have an occasional isolated day of The Dread here and there, but nothing I feel compelled to medicate. And, to be completely honest, one of the ‘features’ of my little condition is that it makes me utterly paranoid of pills even though my mind knows perfectly well that meds are cleaner, safer, and better-regulated than all the street drugs I did back in the day.

Yes, my anxiety has made me afraid of pills. Fucking fuck.

Anyway, so this is historically the worst month of the year for panic and anxiety and I’ve been having attacks of varying degrees of fucking awful pretty much daily for a month or so. On top of that, I just naturally happened to choose this month to move two thousand miles, so there’s an added level of disassociation and stress.

This is not the normal kind of move, where you put your shit into your car and escort it yourself by driving it to your new home. This is a move where I’m putting my things into the care of UPS and hoping they’ll deliver my life semi-intact to my new apartment.

My new apartment which just happens to be a security building, so the stuff can’t even be delivered. LDBF will have to go pick it all up somewhere.

So it’s panic season, plus moving with its attendant stress of quitting of jobs and bands. There’s also the pre-menopausal acne, which is insult to injury, and on top of all that I woke up this morning with what I think is a stye in my right eye. And I got fat this winter, eating all the white things I know better than to eat. (Sometimes, you just want to order a fucking pizza. (Where “sometimes” equals “like once a week or so.”))

Seriously. I’m, like, the least pretty girl on the planet. Which causes LDBF to tell me I’m the prettiest girl on the planet about every twenty minutes or so. He’s amazing about The Dread, too, listening carefully and saying wonderful safe supportive things and threatening to hug me for a whole month.

There’s been a lot of other support, too, for all my bitching, which I think is in part keeping me from having a total meltdown. Someone I don’t even really know has offered to drop moving boxes off at the house this weekend; the sun is shining; my newsroom co-workers are going out for a beer with me the Friday after next; my brother has a truck for getting boxes to UPS. I’ll get through it, but mostly I’d rather curl up in bed than pack boxes or haul crap to the growing Goodwill pile in the basement.

Honestly, I just want to be moved, past tense. Moving sucks. And on that note, I’m going to figure out how to pack my file box, once I remove the things too important to ship such as my passport and father’s POA paperwork. Ciao.

Crown. Tiara. Whatever.

July 11th, 2012 | Posted by Mush in Health - (1 Comments)

In which there’s a little sculpture of a tooth!

I had my crown installed today. It was a short and pleasant appointment. It’s just like a tooth, except it’s not a tooth. (The crown, not the appointment.)

My temp crown

This is a picture of my temporary crown, which spent two weeks in my mouf. I made them give it to me because, well, it’s basically a custom sculpture of a tooth. There are many like it, but this one is mine.

Root canal.

May 10th, 2012 | Posted by Mush in Health - (1 Comments)

In which I had a dental appointment today.

Okay, so, all I wanted to do was pee the entire second hour I was in the chair. Really badly. But I couldn’t, because I was getting a fucking root canal.

1. Two and a half hours at the dentist.

2. DENTAL. Motherfucking. DAM.

3. Temporary filling: same texture as wet toilet paper.

4. My face hurts.

Moral of the story is that you should pee twice before any kind of long procedure you might embark upon after drinking coffee.

My very first filling. And my second!

April 30th, 2012 | Posted by Mush in Health - (8 Comments)

In which I need a fucking root canal?!

My appointment was at two o’clock. I naively expected to be out of there in about an hour, but I didn’t get back to my desk until a quarter past four.

First of all, nobody told me about the smell. The drill wasn’t that loud nor did it hurt, but that burnt smell is weird, you guys. Srsly.

Wait, wait, back up! So, this was my very first filling ever, right, and I told the nurse1 so. She was amazed because every single tooth in her head is filled, and some more than once. I was kind of excited because, hey, it’s a new experience and how many 43-year-olds get to experience their very first filling? Having survived not one but two planing & scaling experiences and four extractions, I’m no stranger to needles, so it’s not like there was anything to be nervous about.

We discussed my tooth as the topical soaked in and we waited for the doctor. The nurse showed me three tiny little discolorations on my x-ray, and read my chart to me. Lingual! Distal! Tiny cavities, all on the same tooth — tooth number 15, for those of you counting along at home.

Then my hip dentist arrived and I told him it was my first filling ever, and he smiled and said, “Ever?” and I said, “Ever!” and he sat down and picked something up and said, “Ever ever?” and I said “Ever!” and then he stuck a needle in my gum — he’s left-handed — and we sat there in the companionable silence you can only achieve with a relative stranger who has several digits in your mouth and is massaging anesthetic into your jaw.

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In which I get some bad news u guise! I have to get holes drilled in one of my teeth!!!!1!

I

have never had a cavity IN MY LIFE*. 

I’m that one person who can say, “I have never had a filling. Ever!” (I have bad skin and have to wear glasses, not to mention the horrible tartar, so I figured I deserved it.) UNTIL NOW.

Now I have not just a cavity, but two! In the same tooth! And an appointment to get a filling! In April! No shit!

When I went for my exam yesterday, the dentist, whom I’d not previously met, asked me what I do. “I’m a rock star,” I said. “I play blues festivals all summer.”

He quizzed me a little more and of course I revealed that one doesn’t live on gig money, that I’m a sysadmin by day, blah blah blah. He apparently made the leap that I must understand electronics.

My cavities, such as they are, are very small and going weird directions and failed to show up on the films, so the good doctor took another couple because I said I wanted to see them, my very own cavities, but still no joy. So he brought out an oral wand camera thing, stuck it in my mouth, and took a picture.

My cavities, such as they are, are two little brown spots on my upper left rear tooth — not very dramatic at all, but I guess one gets them drilled and filled to stop them getting worse. Whatever. (I thought it’d be this Terrifying Black Nastiness that Clearly Needs Intervention to keep it engulfing my entire brain pan, and not a boring little brown spot. I mean, sheesh.) (more…)

Mock chowder.

March 19th, 2012 | Posted by administratrix in Health | Recipes - (1 Comments)

In which there is a recipe that takes the place of potato-based, flour-thickened chowder.

Behold, one of my favorite meals of all time: the humble soup ‘n’ sandwich combo.

Yum.

My version is a creamy veggie chowder with a creamy brie-and-avocado sandwich. (more…)

In which I selflessly offer these observations to the innerwebs for science!

On alcohol, blood sugar, and adipose tissue:

Step 1. Drink alcohol literally every day for months on end.
Step 2. Get the flu and stop drinking ’cause you’re sick.
Step 3. Gain two inches around your waist without otherwise changing your diet.

On low-level infection and the ability to fight disease:

Step 1. Have the kind of mouth that requires prophy every four months just to keep your gums from receding and your teeth from falling out.
Step 2. Lose your job and don’t go to the dentist for a very long time.
Step 3. Get the flu. Get it again. Get it again.
Step 4. Get your teeth cleaned.
Step 5. Notice that your lingering flu symptoms are completely gone within hours.

Nicotine.

February 29th, 2012 | Posted by administratrix in Health - (2 Comments)

In which I’ve quit smoking. Yet again.

W

hen you get a lung infection severe enough your doctor gives you an asthma treatment five minutes after you present with what you think is just a bad cold, you pretty much quit smoking on the spot.

Quitting is pretty easy, really. You just screw up your self discipline and you ignore every single cell in your brain when it suggests a smoke. You avoid all your normal behaviors entirely. You pretend you’re someone else, someone who doesn’t smoke. Easy peasy!

For awhile.

Actually staying quit is the hard part, if you’re me, because you associate smoking with everything enjoyable: drinking, gigging, even reading. Having great conversations with friends. Road trips, coffee breaks, picnics. Good things, fun things. Happiness in general.

I can not-smoke on my lunch hour for awhile, sure. But eventually I’m so exhausted by not smoking that I just buy a damn pack already and have a cigarette. I can not-smoke at the wine bar for a few weeks, but then I just bum a few smokes off of people because it’s so much easier than constantly fighting the urge to smoke. I can not-smoke at gigs, I can not-smoke at home, I can not-smoke for months and months on end. I can not-smoke under a lot of circumstances, but it’s just so relentlessly, endlessly uncomfortable I just… give in, after awhile.

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Fuck yeah Albuterol.

February 24th, 2012 | Posted by administratrix in Health - (6 Comments)

In which there’s a trip to the clinic.

T

hursday night at the gig, someone asked me if I had walking pneumonia.

Today I googled it, and yeah, I have all the symptoms — but it was already Friday afternoon and I didn’t get the impression I was going to drop dead from it and sure, I should probably see a doctor but it’s not like I’ve been so sick I couldn’t work, I mean, I worked over 40 hours this week and did a gig and even went out a couple of times —

— but after spending a couple more hours coughing constantly, I called the Family Medical Center to see if there was an appointment I could have. I explained I was on Day 7 of a cold that wasn’t getting any better, that I was waking myself up at night coughing, and that my cold symptoms weren’t going away.

She scheduled me at 7 o’clock. I got off work at six after a long, busy afternoon full of weird support problems I couldn’t solve and rode my bike down Rose street to the clinic.

My nose ran and I coughed like I was dying during check-in, while sitting in the lobby, and while being led to the exam room. My nose ran and I coughed like I was dying while I sat there waiting for the nurse.

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