About three weeks ago I developed a toothache–lower left canine. Thanks to Will and Emma, I found a really, really good dentist. Good people, good doctors, and there is an especially hot dental assistant. The canine seemed fine, but the four front teeth next to it Had To Go. I got what’s called a “flipper” (I named it Dolphin, of course) to replace them. Unfortunately, the tooth didn’t stop hurting. It’s been getting worse. Usually, it’s fine as long as I’m upright, but when I lie down, it is very very painful. This, of course, means an inability to sleep.
A few days ago it reached the point where the drugs (percoset, motrin) weren’t helping. We finally decided that Something Had To Be Done. We rejected referred pain, sinus problems, heart complications. However healthy that tooth seems, it had to go. So I scheduled an appointment with a dental surgeon. I got up to go in on Thursday, walked down the stairs, and couldn’t catch my breath. I should have known things were going to go wrong when Hot Dental Assistant didn’t want to out with me.
Fuck. The term is, “congestive heart failure,” and you don’t want to fuck around with it. The only sane thing to do is skip the dentist appointment and go into the ER. Right? Yeah, but, the tooth HURT. So I went to the oral surgeon. The oral surgeon, being smarter than me, sent me to an urgent care, where they did an EKG and decided it looked sort of marginal, and sent me to an ER, who checked me in.
I spent Thursday night at Nicolet Park Methodist Hospital. Now, you may say that Mr. Wesley and the other Methodies are over rightous, but they make a fine, fine hospital. The staff was wonderful, taking more than good care of me, and, while they couldn’t make the tooth stop hurting, they never stopped trying, or stopped caring.
So, yeah, there was fluid in my lungs. They got my heart stabilized, and let me go last night. Corwin, Dee, Carolyn, Aliera, Toni, and Martin all showed up, as did my friend Betsy, and Will. Was wonderful to feel so supported. Summer Glau didn’t call, but that was probably because she was busy. Or else because she’s never heard of me.
Last night, for no reason I can think of, my tooth stopped hurting. I got 11 beautiful hours of sleep. Today, the tooth hurts a bit, but nowhere near where it was. I dunno. I guess I’ll talk to the dentist on Monday.
I’m now on more drugs: something to keep my heart beat regular, and a mild diuretic. I’m told I could use an operation to insert something into my chest that will shock my heart if it goes into, uh, I don’t remember. Ventrical a-fib, maybe? But it’s supposed to keep me alive. I can no more afford the operation than I can pay the hospital bills I just incurred, BUT….
I met with a social worker, who seems confident she can get me heath care–enough to help with those bills, and get the operation, and fix my teeth, and even deal with the fucking polyp in my nose that’s been making life interesting for several years. This is very, very good news. I am actually feeling hopeful.
Maybe I’ll ask Hot Dental Assistant out again.