I had the enormous pleasure betwixt Friday and Monday of developing what is known as a dry socket. After two days of no pain pills last week, I began craving them badly Friday evening, and then started drinking heavily on top of the pain pills because nothing worked. The lower right corner of my jaw--formerly home to an ingrown toofus--had become an angry gremlin digging at my skeleton with a pickaxe. Every breath was an adventure!
I had a pre-scheduled check-up with my oral surgeon today, and told him I'd developed a bit of pain in my jaw. He peeped in, said "Oh my Lord! How did you get through the weekend? Most people with a dry socket are knocking at my door at 3am begging for drugs!" He numbed the area with some pink goo, then inserted a disgusting packing material with the color, consistency, and flavor of rotted pesto soaked in licorice into the wound.
Within ten minutes I was dancing happily at the Cross Keys optometrists', visiting Pork Heaven at work and shooting the shit. He and his latest gal are getting serious; she's a reconstructive surgery tech at Walter Reed (imagine what she sees daily!) and a marathoner, and she participates in a sect of runners who drink beer and then run and drink beer again and run again. I find this bizarre, being both a runner and beer drinker myself. The two activities have no possible relation to each other. Pork Heaven said his gal wanted to watch a porno and he asked me for a recommendation.
My entire body and spirit feel infinitely better after the pink and green goo treatment today. I lifted weights, ran three miles, and ate solid food before work. I feel human again.
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