dental pain

 

I have always had a low pain threshold.  I have also been a drama queen exaggerating the results of my pain thus I didn’t always get the sympathy that I sought.  On Tuesday I had three teeth extracted from my mouth.  I was certain I would have to have surgery with at least one – being lost in the gum line and have to be removed in pieces.  That is how it was for my mom.  But then again that was over 60 years ago.  Technology has made things so much easier since then.

            All three teeth were removed within half an hour.  I thought I would be in the dentist chair for at least two hours – or close to it anyway.  I don’t hurt nearly as much as I had expected.  In fact, it only hurts on one side – mostly in the cheek area on my left side.  In time the pain will go away and I will be back to eating solid foods. But as of right now it’s been mashed potatoes, pudding and Jell-o.  Fortunately I’m not all too hungry. 

Chewing solely with my front teeth has been a weird experience for me. Yesterday I slept half the day away.  I hope I push myself to be more productive today.

Ibuprofen is a Wonder

        I remember experiencing a headache in November.  My sister gave me some Ibuprofen and my headache was gone.

        After Christmas and into January I had experienced sensitive teeth.  My daughter-in-law gave me some Ibuprofen and the pain seemed to vanish.

        This morning I woke up with a sore arm.  I took some Ibuprofen and it no longer hurts me.

 

        I marvel that after the drug has entered my body it is able to travel to exactly where I need it.  I think that is genius!

I Like That Tall Toilet – But the Bathroom Got Smaller

           I don’t bend so well anymore.  My left leg often hurts and I wear lifts under my right foot to even them out.  I got up at 1:30 this morning to take Bonnie out and noticed a pain in my right leg.  What was that all about?  So both of my legs were hurting and I decided that I would soak them in the tub.

          The knobs for the master bath broke off a long time ago and I haven’t used the tub for a while – perhaps a couple of times before Biff and his family moved in but never while they were living here.  I did not realize how tight the bathroom was until this morning.  No wonder Biff is so happy not living here anymore! I’m wondering how they were able to get along in such a tight space. 

Inconsitency

 Before Thanksgiving I had gone to the emergency room for a sinus infection – not that I really consider that an emergency, but getting into the regular doctor is like a three month wait . . .

Then again, just before Christmas.  Unbelievable pain in my mouth – but it isn’t dental.  A pain I was hoping would leave my body before Christmas – but did not.

Unfortunately the Z-pack did not heal in the way it used to.  The first dose went right through me before it had a chance.  I wondered if it would do anything to take the rest.  It didn’t.  My mouth was sore through Christmas and the New Year.  Every day I took a pain reliever – sometimes as often as four times a day, but have slowed down.  I’m now down to one pain pill and one tooth. 

I understand why people may abuse the drugs and become addicts.  I get it.  The pain is real.  I hate taking medication.  I hate the side effects, the dependency.  I hate that I forget to take meds when they are prescribed to me.  I would rather get rid of the pain or problem through priesthood and not medication.

My seven year old granddaughter is on medication.  She has to have shots twice a day – probably for the rest of her life. There are many side effects. That’s gotta be tough.

Investing Emotions and Getting Burned

             When I was younger I remember psyching myself into believing I didn’t care.  I didn’t care about boys or dating.  I didn’t care about peers or school.  I didn’t care if plans fell through.  I knew it was wrong.  I knew it was unhealthy to deprive myself of feeling any other emotion. I just knew that if I could convince myself that I believed I didn’t care it would be so much easier to handle than disappointment or rejection.  It was.  It truly was.  This heartache and turmoil is such a bunch of crap that most anybody would rather do without.  We’re told the sad/bad/hard emotions gives us strength.  Boloney!!!  Disappointment and heartache bite big time!

            When Jenna was younger we befriended a family that consisted mostly of Khonnie and her two children.  Dennis was gone for the most part driving trucks across the country.  Their children never saw the inside of a public school building as they were both home schooled.  I think her youngest was four years older than Jenna.  Oh, but they had a connection.  All of them did.  She loved them and they loved Jenna.  I thought we were good friends for a couple of years and then something happened that made Khonnie snap.

            We had been out walking and Jenna was in dire need of a nap.  Khonie's youngest wanted to play with Jenna and kept on prodding her.  I kindly asked him to leave her alone.  But he kept add it. I did not feel it my place to discipline but Khonnie was not doing anything to discourage his behavior.  Perhaps I raised my voice at him?  I don't remember. I had told the family earlier that I was taking Jenna to the aquatic museum and they could accompany us if they’d like, my treat.  But Jenna would have to take a nap first and perhaps if she had been left alone she would fall asleep.  Khonnie saw this as a threat, decided to no longer walk with us and took her children home. 

            When I cry I like to keep my emotions to myself because when I try sharing, I blubber more, I go through more Kleenex and I tend to lose huge amounts of sleep (not that I have ever had the best sleeping habits to begin with).  Khonnie evidently called Roland to tell him how mean I was and he brought home some flowers and tried to comfort me.  I felt bad that I was being comforted with a doting husband when hers was rarely even around – and I doubt that he ever doted at that.

            After that it was off again on again with her flippant behavior and attitude.  I finally had to say,

 

“Enough!  My heart can’t handle this.”

 

Roland, Jenna and I had moved to Oregon the summer of 2015 – about six to eight weeks before two of our granddaughters were born.  Both daughters-in-law seemed supportive about the move.  However once the babies came my eldest daughter-in-law turned into Sybil (a case of multi-personality for those who have not seen or read).  She unfriended me on facebook at least twice and would block me each time.  The second time she blocked herself she had also gotten a hold my son’s account and blocked him from my facebook account as well.  I went through a whole array of emotions during that entire ordeal.  What I didn’t make a connection to was her on meds  (here).  

I had never considered how drugs can have major side effects that while possibly taking care of the problem at hand may have empowerment over one's mind that isn’t controlled.  When I think about it, I have been disoriented due to lack of medication or the medication itself.  I would think that kind of rationalization might help the situation – but it doesn’t.  It still sucks to be treated with such an ill manner by someone – even if it’s not intentional. 

Not only did I feel emotionally scarred by Jeanie’s actions but had unwillingly allowed myself to relive my days with Khonnie.  The emotional stress I felt with Khonnie did not prepare me for any heart-bleeding turmoil I would feel with Jeanie.  Jeanie’s flippancy only added fuel to the fire.  I took sleeping medicine but it didn’t help. I was emotionally drained inside and out.  And I don’t want to be an emotional wreck in front of Jenna.  She is positively happy.  I don’t want this anguish I have felt to bring her down.

Seven years between the two and now (five years later) I have just experienced the latest attack.  I knew it was the meds talking.  But there were so many parallels between the latest (nice way to wrap up 2020) and Jeanie that I had gone from hurt to angry within only a couple of days.  I had gone into more detail with this initial post created on December 18, 2020 but have removed the details after three months.  I don't need to remember the details.  I need to forget.

Help Me . . . I’m Sorry

          For the most part I turn off my phone before I go to work.  I leave it in my bag and do not carry it around with me.  I’m in class, after-all.  It’s not like I can answer it or have a conversation.  On Tuesday morning I went into Roland’s office to tell him that I was leaving to go to Canyonville.  Only he wasn’t in his office.

         

          The front door had been left open indicating to me that he must be outside.  I still couldn’t find him.  I called out his name but he did not answer.  As I pulled out of the driveway I saw him on the hill wearing a blue shirt.  He must have fallen shortly after I pulled out of the driveway – long before I got to Canyonville.  Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately as I did not allow myself time to freak out) I did not get his message until after I had returned home from work.  He had already been taken to the hospital by then.

          I found him in bed.  He explained what had happened – though it was very hard for him to get the words out as he was still short of breath.  Not only had he landed on his back during the fall, but had the wind knocked out of him as well.  It could have gone so much worse.  He could have hit his head on a rock or a cinder block but didn’t.  He was conscience and stubborn and determined to get up – though I don’t know what he used to pull himself up.  He had ripped out the clothesline during the fall.

          He made his way back into the house though he was in excruciating pain.  He managed to change his clothes and call me on his phone – only I didn’t answer.  He had left two verbal messages and one text message.  I got his text message first.  Could I pick up some Aleve on the way home.  I did not get the message until I walked into the house.

          I noticed a tightly packed pharmacy bag on the fireplace.  I wondered where it came from.  When I found him in bed, laying on his back, he explained that he had called our home teachers and had them take him to the veteran’s hospital in Roseburg.  He said he had felt every bump in the road.  And then I listened to his messages.   I would have driven home in a panic if I had heard them earlier as I could hear his gasping for breath between each word.

          I called another member in the ward to make arrangements for Jenna to be picked up in the morning as Roland was (and still not) in no position to drive and I cannot see in the dark.  Thus our household is down to just half a driver for now.  Like Jenna, Roland makes for a lousy patient.  He is an eternal optimist and is not in his nature to complain.  But he is still in pain and his pride hurts just as much as he does.  He is not healing quickly enough and has had to take time off work.  That has been hard for him.  Asking for assistance has been hard for him.  He has tried so hard not to complain, but he is in pain.  I know he’s in pain.  I get it.  I’ve been there.  I know what it’s like to feel helpless.  He must have forgotten how often he’s waited on me.  Now the roles seem reversed somehow, and he doesn’t like it.

          On Wednesday the wind blew.  I could see the trees dancing.  And the chimes were playing their tunes.  It didn’t seem like a very huge wind – but it somehow knocked the power down – in quite a large area.  The high school still had power but the middle school was without longer than we were.  It was just a little scare.  I haven’t minded when we have lost power but knew that it would be devastating for Roland.

          I cancelled the assignment which I had accepted for Thursday.  I didn’t want Roland falling again and felt I needed to be here when he’d be on the phone with social security.  I didn’t know if he’d be able to answer all questions without running out of breath.  But he did fine.  I had assisted a little, but not much.  I went back to work yesterday.  When I returned I found him in bed again.  He was proud of himself because he’d been sleeping on his side.  He can’t sleep on his back.  He has tried sitting up.  Sometimes he will nod off, but never a deep sleep.

          He said he doesn’t know if he will make it to church tomorrow.  I had expected that he wouldn’t.  I really don’t even want him to drive right now.  If we were going to put him in the car as I passenger, we would have to take him out at least 20 minutes before we need to leave so that he would have time to walk to the car and we could load him in.  And I suspect it would take 5-10 minutes getting him out and across the parking lot of the church.

          He doesn’t wish to be dependent.  I think there’s a lesson that he needs to learn.  Perhaps many different lessons for each of us. Yesterday I had my phone with me.  I checked it between each class.

Day 14 That is a Long Time

          It’s been two weeks since I went to the doctor.  I had worked three hours on Thursday which maybe I shouldn’t have.  On Friday I developed a headache that just seemed to get worse with each day of the weekend.  I have never had a hangover before, but I have had brain freeze – which is how I felt when the headache started.  Progressively it got worse and I imagined that is what a hangover must feel like.  Especially yesterday when a sensitive stomach decided to contribute to the pain.

          While Roland was delivering his talk in church, I was on our bathroom floor experiencing dry heaves.  Perhaps I was dehydrated.  I gulped some water.  Of course, I threw that up.  I wore myself out throwing up and holding my head and crying because I hurt.  I did manage to make it back to my bed and listen to my deep breathing get softer until I eventually fell asleep.

          The process repeated itself during the night when I wanted to sleep.  I was sweating with each spew.  Roland asked if I wanted him to drive me to the hospital, but at that point, I couldn’t sit upright and would have destroyed myself along with the car.

          Once I finally drifted off, I did sleep.  I decided perhaps this is not part of the healing process after all – that somewhere between the bronchitis and after the z-pack, I must have developed a sinus infection. My head is still throbbing, but not like it was.  I think I may have strained my throat last night trying to get the stuff out.  Today is Memorial Day.  I would just assume forget this one.

Sing Me To Sleep

                         

                Before it started to rain in March,

I had a dry cough. 

A very annoying

dry cough

as though I had swallowed

a hair ball and couldn’t get it

out of my system.

 Then the rains came and

gradually my cough left me. 

I was able to go on stage to

perform with the choir on Easter.  

I had forgotten that the primary had

been invited to join us. 

The song was “Gethsemane” (see here).

Our primary kids sound like angels

whenever that song is performed.

My eyes leak whenever

they’re performing. 

I was too choked up to

sing with them. 

After Easter my dry cough returned. 

Gradually it became a wet cough. 

On Tuesday I was sore from head to toe. 

Pain in my cheeks 

pain in my teeth  

terrible pain. 

I shouldn’t have gone to work

 at the school on Wednesday. 

A lot of children commented that

I sounded funny. 

I was feeling better than on Tuesday. 

The coughing and congestion are

not the worst part. 

I know there are some woman who

will relate when I mention that

the cough and bladder somehow

seem to be connected. 

Shooting out the other end

and having to change myself    

It reminds me of the many times that

I have changed baby diapers amazed

at how much the pad will hold.  But still . . .

The last couple of days

I have gone through one and a half

boxes of tissue.

I have missed the Mother’s Day brunch

which I was supposed to conduct and

take part in the program. 

I called the organizer this

morning and said

I wouldn’t be there. 

My right cheekbone feels bruised.  

I feel worse than I look. 

I hope Roland doesn’t get it this bad. 

Thus far Jenna’s been able to dodge

getting this nastiness. 

I pray that she will remain free of this. 

I think this is the worst cold

that I have ever had

in my entire life.

Falling Apart . . . Too Sore To Be Dead

I'm sore

I don't know why

I'm feeling muscles that

I didn't know I had

They're crying, "You

never pay attention to us.

We want to be known!"

And I say, "Not if you're

going to treat me with such

disrespect that I can't get

comfortable.  I don't remember

ever feeling so sore.  Why are

you so against me?"

I don't even know where the

sores came from.  I felt

fine when I left the

pool yesterday.  The pain didn't

start until I stood in line to

get my lunch.  Maybe I just

slept on it wrong.  Maybe

my body just wanted to stay

in the water and was

slow about realizing that

it had been out for some time.

I'm not a graceful ager.  I

hate it.

Medication: Often Trading One Problem for Another

               It's been a year since Jeanie passed - not that I dwell on dates when people died.  Her mom does.  She's always posting the birthdays and death dates of those who have passed on.  Some days are better for her than others.  I think some days may be worse for her than they were for Jeanie.  I can't say for certain since most of the correspondence I've had with them has been through facebook.  I didn't even have that with Jeanie those times that she not only unfriended me but blocked me as well.  Apparently, it was the medication disrupting her otherwise rational mind.  It not only shattered her own emotions, but I had allowed myself to become upset as well.  I may never know the entire scheme of things; I did learn so much more about her at her funeral than I had ever known about her before.

          Biff had tried to explain it to Roland who either misunderstood Biff or perhaps Biff hadn't explained it well enough or really hadn't understood it himself.  By the time it got to me,  there were things lost in translation or miscommunications and until the day of her funeral, I did not know, wasn't aware, hadn't understood that Jeanie had been molested as a child. 

          One of her brothers had announced it over the pulpit.  It was shocking and seemed out of place for a speaker to make that the topic of discourse at a funeral - and yet I understood his emotions and the pain of the entire family.  Jeanie had been traumatized.  It left some thick emotional scars that still have not healed.  It was both disturbing and extraordinary at the same time - not the topic itself but for the love and concern that the speaker not only had for his sister but several generations of children and adults who have also been traumatized by one they should have been able to trust.  A person who should have been there to protect her and care for her.  It was sickening and so much of what he said had a profound ring.  I wondered if their other sister had been molested as well.

          Jenna had chosen to assist in the nursery, which I was truly grateful for as the subject was uncomfortable to me - I knew it would be for her as well.  And yet his talk was truly from the heart.  It was still disconcerting to learn what had happened and his plea to talk about it.  

          I knew Jeanie had been seeing a psychiatrist.  I knew it was for some kind of abuse - though I had thought it had been inflicted on by her ex-husband.  He was never even mentioned. I didn't realize it had stemmed all the way back to when she was five.  A time of innocence that she had attempted to live out again.  How difficult it must have been for the family when she would ask why her parents looked so old.  And where were her siblings?  And who was the stranger named Biff?  And where did the baby come from?  Of course, if she thought she was only five, she wasn't going to believe that Biff was her husband or that she had given birth to the baby girl.  Two of her sibs had already passed on before her and the other two were living in other states.

          We had a few family get-togethers when we would see Jeanie. Twice I remember her feeling flushed and excusing herself.  Two other times I remembered when she genuinely seemed happy. That is who she really was.  Happy.  Full of life.  Unfortunately, we didn't get to know that person.   She would cancel appointments with us.  Sometimes Biff would show up by himself.  He wasn't allowed to take Ally her first year.  Jeanie was quite possessive of Ally.  She would get verbally abusive towards Biff and her mom.  That was the person I saw.  The one that was sick.  The one that had become violent through medication.  I think when she realized who she had become, it wasn't worth taking the medication.  And so she chose to suffer as silently as she could and tried hard not to upset the rest of the family.

          I was included in that "rest of the family" and did not understand what demons she'd been dealing with. I was aware that there had been demon's in Biff's life but did not know to what extent.  I admire Biff so much for putting up with it.  He knew that the outbreaks were not her fault.  He stayed with her and blamed himself for not being there to catch her when she fell.  It wasn't his fault.  It wasn't medicine's fault.  We don't know if it was her death that caused the fall or if she died when she landed or on the way down.  The autopsy revealed that there were seven clots in her lung. 

          Some days her mom is accepting and knows that Jeanie is better off in another world where she doesn't have to take medicine to overcome emotional or physical pain.  She is free.  And she is with a brother and their sister.  But there is still a hole.  A void.  A longing.  An emptiness.

          Biff moved on with his life.  He moved in with Claire and they are raising Ally together, although Jeanie's mom would still like to be involved.  She remains in touch with Roland's sister who is a retired nurse and has been in contact and has had a better handle of the situation than either Roland or I.  Jeanie may not have unfriended or blocked Roland's sister.  They stayed in touch. 

          Our youngest son recently texted a family photo or all three boys and their families.  They are with Roland's sister and her husband and two youngest children.  Even after Biff's outbursts with behavior at times and seemingly lack of gratitude,  I was taken aback to hear that it was Jeanie's parents that were providing room and board for Roland's sister and family as my own boys were unable to make room for them.  (Randy lives in the largest space of the three - our old house in WV - which is teeny) I'm happy to hear that they are well liked and that bridges may be mended.  

        For family home evening the other night, we wrote letters to each of the boys.  I finished my thoughts yesterday and mailed the letters along with Jenna's most recent photo from school.  I am so happy to see all of my boys together again.  Jenna's been a little sad that she is not sharing their lives in person.  I guess we all are.  If only we could get all of them to come to Oregon. 

Somewhere Between Eden and Gethsemane

        A garden, by definition, is either a cultivated plot of ground or a gathering place such as a park which is generally adorned with plants and trees.  I guess I have never considered the definition until quite recently.  We had our Stake Conference this weekend, and one of the speakers mentioned two specific gardens found in the scriptures and discussed the symbolic differences between them.

          The Garden of Eden, as mentioned in Geneses,          is outlined as a paradise.  We see paintings of fruit and vegetation, peace and waterfalls, a beautiful place where everything is tranquil.  I guess it represents a kind of perfection.

          The Garden of Gethsemane, as portrayed by each of the gospels, does not have the same appeal.  Paintings often depict a drab setting with perhaps a few barren-looking trees, a hard rock or boulder, uncultivated dirt - it appears to be the opposite of the Garden of Eden.  There is no tranquility.  It represents hardships.  It represents trials.  There is sadness in Gethsemane and it takes faith to endure just being there.

          My youngest son seems to live in Eden for the most part.  He allows discouraging thoughts to roll off his back.   He tries to coax others to come into Eden by waving to them and showing them what the garden has to offer. Sometimes I have questioned whether he has been to  Gethsemane.  I know he's seen it. I don't know he's willing to leave his comfort zone to physically pull others out of Gethsemane.  I could be wrong.

          My middle son fluctuates between the two gardens.  He seems happy and content with one, but then something will set him off and he will mope around in the other.  And then there's my eldest who unfortunately has spent too many years in the Garden of Gethsemane and continues to delve deeper into the garden instead of trying to get out.

          Often his way of thinking (or lack thereof) remind me of John Steinbeck's character "Lennie Small" from Of Mice and Men.  Lennie is sweet for the most part, is seen as uneducated and slow-minded.  He doesn't mean to be harmful to anyone, but sometimes he gets frustrated and defensive when he is unable to communicate his thoughts to others.  I don't think that Biff is quite that far gone, but he tends to forget things he once believed. 

        Often our conversations are (and have been) like beating our heads against a brick wall.  I do believe that he would become bored with Eden in a matter of time, but I don't enjoy watching him struggling in Gethsemane, and I don't know how to help him.  Nor do I know how to comfort his mother-in-law who has visited Gethsemane more times than I have.

          I understand the need for trials.  I understand the need  for peace.  I'd like to see all of my children find their common ground between the two gardens.  I'd like that for everyone.

I don't know what to call this post . . . frustration?

                I am now taking two accounting classes.  The language is foreign to me.  I do okay in accounting 108 but I seem to be reading (and hearing) binary code for the other.  I have seen the names of only two other classmates who are currently taking both classes.  What is up with that?  Just because I don't see their names doesn't mean all my other classmates are taking the same two classes but with different instructors.  I personally would rather have just one at a time - or at least one on Monday morning and not have to wait for a walk through for both classes on Tuesday evening . . . and still replay the recordings over and over in hopes that I'll understand.

                I like my 108 instructor.  He's not boring.  He is easy to follow.  I understand what he says.  If I have a question or concern, he gets back to me right away.  I am comfortable with the subject - mostly input and data.  The class has been learning how to use QuickBooks - which I believed I'd been set up for prior to my account.  Unfortunately, I had my user name as my hotmail name and my server at yahoo - which I don't have an account for with my hotmail name.  And so I spent much of the first week trying to correct that and struggled in my 213 class.  I still do.  I don't know what questions to ask because I'm just not understanding the language or following my instructor.  Fortunately there have been a few students in the class who have been able to explain things in a more watered down version that has made more sense to me.  It's still a foreign language though.

                I have NO intentions of trying to start my own business or franchise.  It seems to be Roland's dream, but has never been mine.  Especially now.  I find his classes like a thousand times more confusing than any accounting class that I've had.  I learn from entertaining videos.  There are NO entertaining videos.  Let's face it:  Accounting is a subject that is incapable of entertainment.  It is definitely work.

                My instructor reminds me of my brother-in-law, who often tries to hard at entertaining.  It's not faked enthusiasm necessarily - it's like a teacher trying too hard to be accepted of his students that he does his best at becoming one of them.  I think he might have the approval of a few of my classmates, but honestly, I am not on board.  He throws us imaginary caramels as he can't toss us real ones.  His suggestion is that we each go out and purchase our own caramels but we're not allowed to take any from the container unless he "gives" it to us.

                You know what's great about being an online student?  You don't have to get dressed to go to class.  You can eat lunch as you listen to lectures.  You can roll your eyes or make faces at the  instructor and he/she will never know.  You can make snide comments so long as your mike is muted.

                My PC doesn't have a microphone.  I have to use the laptop if I actually want/need to converse.  It certainly is a lot faster than typing (especially on the laptop - for me anyway).  Most of the time the instructor mutes those with microphones anyway.  But it is quicker to ask questions vocally than to type them out.  Laptops belong to the school until graduation.

                I started discussions in both of my classes.  I enjoy the topic more in 108.  In 213 I did some research but not enough to analyze a satisfactory answer.  I stated how foreign the accounting language feels to me, gave a couple of examples, and how in-house financing might be perceived from the customer's end, but asked a question on how it's paid off once an invoice goes to collection or if how it works on the business end if a creditor advocate is involved.

                I'm still learning.  Sometimes it feels like a painful process.  Often I make more of something than really needs to be.