Monday, 15 December 2014
The Dentist-lovers amongst you might think this post demonstrates why you should go to the dentist (regularly), where as I think it demonstrates why you should NEVER go to the dentist. EVER. Nothing good can come of it.
So. When I finished my last full time contract in July, I told myself I would finally have time to go to the dentist and get a checkup and make sure everything was ok and perhaps get that chipped tooth looked at. So I did, and got it all sorted out and that's the end of the story. Except I actually didn't. Because I hate going to the dentist, it's expensive and it hurts. And then when you do go, they find lots of other things they want to do to you which will also hurt.
So I didn't go, and then I didn't go some more, and then I continued to not go.
And then I woke up at 3.15am on Friday covered in sweat and with a throbbing tooth. Dang. So being the courageous and brave and very responsible person I am, I booked an appointment with the dentist that morning.
After a few hours at work I headed to the dentist and explained my woes (including explaining my tendency to ignore dental issues). So he took a look and an x-ray and um-ed and ahh-ed (I prefer to think that he didn't gasp, but maybe he did) and then he explained that I had two options.
Option 1: Attempt a root canal, which would be tricky as there was already a filling in the tooth, and it would take a number of weeks/months, and cost $1500 bucks.
Option 2: Remove the tooth. He recommended this option as it was the very back tooth and said I wouldn't notice it, nor would it be visible. It would cost $200 bucks and be done straight away.
So I was happy to go along with option 2 as the last thing I wanted to be doing was returning to the dentist heaps of times and forking out heaps of bucks for the pleasure.
Now I had always imagined that pulling out a tooth would take 10 seconds and be very straight forward (just like in cartoons except without the bit where they attach the string to a horse). Turns out it's harder than that. It took almost an hour of yanking and jiggling and pushing and pulling and cracking (it broke into three) and then worst of all, in order to get purchase on the remaining bits, he had to drill into my jawbone. It was awful - the smell of burning bone was terrible and I thought I was going to spew. In the end it came out but it certainly was a lot harder than both of us were expecting and patients were queuing up outside in the waiting room as a result (I bet they just couldn't wait to get inside that surgery for their own fun). I'd had to get two local anaesthetic injections and consequently I was numb to my eyeballs and in shock at the sheer amount of force that was used. So I abandoned the thought of going back to work and went home and straight to bed.
As Jon was working I only had a couple of hours before I had to drag my still-numb face off to pick up the kids from school then take Zali to horse riding. It was while she was riding that the anaesthetic wore off and I was hit with the full force of the pain. It was pretty bad but luckily her lesson was only 1/2 an hour long so I was able to speed back home and take my one remaining Panadene Forte tablet I had left over from my ankle surgery a few years ago. It did the job magnificently and fifteen or so minutes later I was super relieved it was all over and even ready to go out for dinner with friends.
Unfortunately it wasn't all over and 2 hours later the pain was ramping up and my mood was spiralling downwards - we drove home via the supermarket where I grabbed a few different sorts of painkillers, none of which did any good at all, unless I doubled the dosage. And so the night and next day blurred into a pain and painkiller fuelled cycle. I didn't get one single minute of sleep on Saturday night as the over-the-counter tablets weren't doing anything and whilst I had some Endone (like morphine), which was really pleasant, it kept me awake and only lasted 90 minutes, after which I was right back where I started from.
So by Sunday morning I was a wreck. Thankfully my brother-in-law Rob, who is no stranger to pain himself, having suffered multiple sporting injuries and tooth trauma, had a supply of panadol forte and other good drugs. So first thing Sunday morning I collected his stores and finally got some good pain relief. The only thing was that the relief only lasted for about 2 hours, while packages said to take four to six hours between dosages. There was no way I was able to wait that long, so by the end of the day I recon I'd consumed more Panadol Forte than I had food, which is not at all good, especially coming off the back of the large amounts of over-the-counter stuff the day before. It really hurt though, so I didn't feel I had much option.
As well as providing the good drugs, Rob also recommend a nice combination of tablets for sleeping which thankfully worked a treat on Sunday night.
All this time I thought the pain was normal after an extraction - after all it was too soon for there to be any infection, and the Dentist said it had all gone ok in the end. So I just couldn't understand why on earth he had sent me home, on a Friday (thus with no access to him over the next two days), without a prescription for painkillers. So the first thing I did on Monday was ring up and ask for one (and complain about not being given one in the first place). The receptionist said I should get the dentist to take a look just in case while I was there so despite sitting in a dentist's chair being the last thing I ever wanted to do, I went down there and let him take a look.
And whaddayaknow.. turns out I had this thing called dry-socket, which occurs in 2-5% of patients where (stop reading if you feel queasy) a blood clot doesn't properly form over the site of the extraction, to cover the bone and allow healing behind it, so the bone and nerves remain exposed to everything, causing a lot of pain.
And I've just read on the internet that this is more likely to occur if you have a 'traumatic' extraction. tick. The website describes the condition as leading to 'severe pain'. tick tick and double tick.
So I got my panadol forte prescription and the wound got re-dressed and hopefully things will go better now. I can at least almost last from one recommended dosage to the next which is a big improvement.
So I think we've all learnt something from this experience. I certainly have, and as such I have cancelled my appointment for later in the week for a general check-up and clean. Just to be on the safe side.
Saturday, 4 January 2014
I'm generally the one doing the booking of the Spirit of Tasmania and I booked the Christmas trip a long time ago so we could get the best prices. Since I was flying back I booked all four of us on the Spirit of Tasmania on the way to Melbourne, and just the three of them in a cabin on the way back to Devonport. And whilst I don't remember it, I must have been feeling stingey when I booked their return fare as I apparently booked them in a non-porthole cabin (and thus saved about $30).. the reason I know I must have done this.. see below...
Followed shortly by this..
Is that an 'I heart Tasmania' shirt Jett is holding? And a family pack of malteesers bought at gift shop prices??? and a glass of red wine (presumably not for Jett but who knows what goes on when I'm not around)..there goes the savings..
and yup.. that's them on the pay-massage chairs. The ones we don't normally let them go on. They look extremely relaxed. That reminds me of the last time Zali and Jett used those chairs at Sydney International Airport, their rapturous expressions caused the creation of a queue of people waiting to have a turn..
Anyway - hopefully by now Jon has run out of money and/or forgotten his atm number thus curbing his non-porthole compensatory expenditure.
I'm looking forward to seeing them all again tomorrow. And not just to be able to more closely supervise their spending..
Thursday, 23 September 2010
Lately I've been inundated with email questions from my readers. And strangely, they've all been asking the same thing.. 'Cathy, what would happen if I dropped some reasonably priced electrical equipment into a meerkat enclosure?' Well dear readers, because I am the intrepid journalist that I am, today I have the answer. ..
The first thing that happens is that the owner of the camera (in this case me) gets angry with the camera dropper (in this case Jett) because it is exactly the thing that I told him not to do thirty seconds earlier.. (the actual training session may have been a little brief) however this is just for a moment as for journalistic reasons we really need to see what is going on in the enclosure. The second thing that happens is the meerkats all rush, and I mean stampede, to the site of the exciting new yet slightly threatening addition to their environment. As a group they then frantically inspect it with their teeth and claws. Once it's confirmed to not be a threat, they all assist with carrying the bounty off to their burrow. Once safely ensconsed they take a few photos of their own and then, using the projector that someone dropped a few weeks ago, they hold a wine, cheese and photography evening and award prizes for the most arty shots (collectively voted of course).
Ok - so maybe they don't have a photography evening but they sure do drag the camera off to their burrow in a hurry. In the meantime, although it was fairly clear that the camera had sustained serious damage in the fall, and the subsequent inspection, I went to get a zoo-keeper as I was concerned that they would eat the battery and all die and then the photos would be traced back to us and we'd be forced to compensate the zoo to the value of 30 meerkats and postage from Africa. While I waited by myself (probably 10 minutes) I was treated to the comments from a great many zoo goers as they came past, noticed the camera in the burrow and commented on the stupidity of the owners. sigh.
All's well that ends well though, the zoo-keeper came and got my camera without so much as a smirk, it was duly declared broken and I'll get to upgrade to a little Canon number I've had my eye on for a few weeks.
Thursday, 16 September 2010
Long time readers may remember the time, shortly after Jett's birth, that I went to the supermarket and didn't realise until I tried to check out, that I had managed to swap my trolley of groceries with a supermarket packer's trolley full of soap. Oh how I laughed (later).
Anyways. I know this person, let's call him Yonno, who went to the supermarket today to get some feta cheese from the deli counter. He took number 69 from the queue ticket dispenser then, as his number was so far off, went to get a few items. Upon returning to the counter it seemed like the queue had not moved very far. But then suddenly the person behind the counter said (in a barely audible fashion so Yonno claims) " 69..70...". Person number 70, who had a split second response time stuck up his hand and got served, leaving Yonno, who hadn't had a chance to get a word in, fuming.
In a rage, Yonno threw down his number 69, took his trolley and stormed off. After a few steps he heard 'excuse me?' behind him - clearly it was the counter people trying to make amends but he wasn't having it - and continued to storm off. 'Excuse me? Excuse Me!' he heard.. so, thinking that they were being rather persistent, he turned to see what sort of apology they were going to come up with. Only of course it wasn't the counter people trying to call him back, it was the shopper whose trolley he stole when he stormed off! hahhahahaha . Poor Yonno.
Friday, 11 January 2008
I have this sister. To preserve her anominity, lets call her Lenny. Lenny recently became pregnant. This story is set during the period when Lenny and her husband Lobin were trying to keep the pregnancy to themselves until the results of all the scary tests were through.
Anyway - Lenny has at least one son. Let's call him Smiley. Smiley got some fish in a fishtank for his birthday last year. Smiley was very happy about his present but generally it was Lenny who had to do all the fish-related dirty work such as cleaning the tank and dealing with all the usual fish ailments (i.e. sudden and premature death). It had been a year since the first batch of fish arrived and Lenny was getting a bit tired of it all. She began to wonder if maybe it was time to rest the fishtank for a while. At this point there were still two fish living in the fish tank. Lets call them Fish 1 and Fish 2. When Fish 1 succumbed to the rigours of fishtank life Lenny thought that the least she could do for Fish 2 (given she wasn't going to replace Fish1) was to clean the tank for him to live out the rest of his days in cleanliness. Then the tank could be retired until Smiley could do fish tank maintenance himself.
Lenny carefully put Fish 2 in a bucket. Then she began to clean the tank. Lenny was pregnant though, so tasks like this wore her out quite quickly and she needed to have quick lie down on the couch. Whilst Lenny was resting her aching legs and nursing her headache, Zug-Zug the cat came along and ate Fish 2. Thus ending the fish dynasty. Whilst it was an unfortunate and deeply regrettable outcome for Fish 2, it did mean the tank didn't need to be refilled for a while.
Smiley of course, wasn't completely satisfied with the situation and asked for replacement fish. Lenny (looking for any excuse to avoid it) suggested that this wasn't a good idea as the poor fish might be eaten by Zug Zug who had most likely developed a taste for fish straight from the tank. Smiley said 'well then maybe he could get a puppy instead'. Lenny (still scrabbling around for reasons to avoid aquiring any new pets and most likely still suffering from a headache) said 'no because then the puppy might grow up and eat Zug-Zug' (She was pregnant too don't forget). Smiley, getting upset said desperately 'Well what can I get?'. Lenny, obviously suffering from some sort of brain-fade as well as pregnancy and probably a headache said 'well how about we try and get a baby instead'. Smiley, (not thinking things through - he's only 5) said 'yes that sounds like a good idea' and went off to do something else.
And of course the very first thing Smiley said to his Grandmother when he saw her the next day was:
'Zug-Zug ate the fish so we are getting a baby'. Thus the cat was out of the bag.
Monday, 9 July 2007
So anyway - I'm at the supermarket. It's 6:15pm and I'm waiting in the checkout queue leaning on my trolley and checking out the covers of the trashy mags. There is only one person in front of me, and a few people behind me. Suddenly I snap out of my magazine induced daydream and notice it's my turn to unload all my stuff onto the conveyer belt, in fact the conveyer belt is almost empty so I should have probably started 30 seconds ago. I look down at my trolley and realise that it is filled with nothing but soap. And I mean filled. TO THE BRIM . With nothing but SOAP. Weird. Cos soap wasn't even on my list. Even if it had been, I wouldn't have needed the thousand or so bars that had magically appeared in my trolley. It was SO weird. So anyway - knowing that I could never afford all that soap I backed my heavily laden trolley out of the queue (what on earth had the other customers thought as they queued up behind me?) and went back to where I had last seen my own items. I think the chain of circumstances that resulted in my surreal experience started when I parked my trolley in the shampoo aisle and wandered up the aisle trying to find some detol. When I returned, instead of grabbing my own trolley I must have then siezed the trolley filled with soap belonging to an unpacker. I hadn't managed to find the detol so I had nothing to add to my trolley and thus I didn't notice the new contents. I'm glad the trolley parked in that position didn't contain any small children or I really would have been in trouble if I'd made it as far as I did. I'm also really amazed I didn't once glance into the trolley right up until it was time to unpack. And did the unpacker just watch me take their trolley ? I saw no signs of the unpacker where I found my original trolley - perhaps they had gone to report a woman clearly planning some large scale bubble related terrorist act that required a VERY large number of soap bars. More likely they were lying on the floor laughing their pants off.
Wednesday, 14 February 2007