Thoughts After 24 Hours of Pain Meds

My brain frequently likes to work against me. I have an over active imagination that takes any situation to an extreme, in my head.  Waiting, is therefore, brutal.  Sometimes, it is fine. Waiting for traffic on the way to work usually leads to lesson planing.  Waiting at the bridge on the way home spurs a great fantasy life on a beach. Yesterday was a day of waiting, and my personal Hell.  I say this now, because today it is funny to me.  I can look back at the situation and chuckle. (Laughing still hurts) Yesterday, however, it was torture.

Why did she include this
random flower picture?
Because this part is gross
and I wanted you to see
something pretty. It also
relates to the end of the
entry, so be patient. 

I was scheduled at 9:30 for my second gum graft surgery. The first one was awful, so I woke up at 6:30 dreading the day.  I don't like knowing that is coming, because my brain over works it.  In the 5 months since my first surgery I have changed the procedure in my head to include chainsaws and drills ripping apart my mouth as I am screaming that the pain killer didn't work.  The rational side of my brain knows that this was because there were problems with the numbing agent, but it was solved quickly within the first cuts.  The other side really believes chainsaws were involved.  


Anyway, not getting called back to the room for a solid hour after my scheduled appointment did not help the anxiety. Thank God I brought my father along for entertainment and distraction.  (Which he is always able to provide!) The hour long procedure was as expected.  My numbing was increased to the point that I wasn't sure I had a mouth... maybe something went wrong?! Maybe they have paralyzed my jaw and that is the reason they continue to exchange looks? Probably not, but you can never be too sure. I was told frequently what a good job I was doing, for what I'm not sure. Laying there, I suppose, because I sure wasn't performing the surgery.  


Finally I am done, and yes, this might be too much information.  As I feel my mouth literally filling with blood I am sure a stitch has popped.  Something didn't hold and I am sure that blood is gushing out and I am going to bleed to death.  Dad hands me a couple paper towels that are smashed in the pocket of the door (see, Brent, it is good that I don't keep my car clean) and looks the other way.  Clearly he doesn't think my life is ending, so it must be ok.  


Once I am home I've taken my pain killer, Tylenol 3, which I find out does nothing for me. It makes me sick and doesn't touch the pain.  (I've finally reached the point of the blog entry, thanks for hanging in there!) I've been on the couch crying for 3 hours, my mouth is throbbing, and I'm developing frostbite from the frozen peas stuck to my face.  I can't turn to liquid medication because the alcohol and tylenol do awful things to your liver/kidneys and I'm pretty sure I've reached the end.  I grabbed my vase of flowers, sketchbook and pencil and took my apple juice outside. (I downed two bottles in one day, heck yeah!) It was the best hour of my day.  I turned my brain off and just drew.  It was the best form of medication and held me over until it was time to start a different pain reliever.  If felt good to sit outside and draw, and I wondered why I don't do it more often. (Other than the obvious time answer.) My students are required to sketch 10 minutes a day, what not me?

Blog entry wrap-up for those of you who are still lost in my rambling, or looking for the point --> 


Yesterday was torture, but I got to draw.  Today will also be rough, but I plan to draw again because it made me happy.  Maybe I'll keep it up, maybe not. But it is a good weekend goal.