I made an appointment with Dr. Flip-Flop, the Neurosuergon who is unfashionably concious. My face has been acting up, especially in the upper gums where it feels as though razor blades are slicing.
I told him my current dose of Lyrica (now 400 mg) and he said that we needed to add a boost and order a MRI because things should be quieting down, not acting up.
He gave me a muscle relaxer of sorts that I am supposed to take once a day for a week, then twice and day and up to three times a day. I took half and took a very long nap. That shit is powerful! It works really well because I just sleep through the pain. I need to work with it a bit more, I think.
MRI on Friday, I'm pretty sure they'll see a sinus infection, as usual.
Well, I'm thankful for the drugs and the technology and all the food I've made for T-giving.
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Friday, November 9, 2012
Can We Pretend That Didn't Happen?
I had the perfect day planned today. I slept in while the Mister fed the boys and had a nice breakfast while reading the paper. I put the hairy beasts out on some grass and shaved my legs. Of course, this took some time because this is the season to hair up, so the mowing was tough. The only reason I would ever attempt this is because I had a massage scheduled. Followed by a facial.
Aaaahh, bliss. Day at the Spa. Warm table, low lights, vague whale like soothing music and such. Fortunately, I had the same therapist (is that what they're called? I don't know) for both treatments and didn't have to do the whole, my-face-is-kinda-tender-yes-I-know-and-okay-here-is-the-story-one-more-frickin'-time spiel. Such a warm, soothing, professional manner. I enjoy it when they don't talk too much and she was just right.
I settle in and the Professional is gently massaging nicely. All is well until she does the elbow to the buttocks move. I will myself to try to relax, but really, how can you do that when a pointy bone is jabbing your butt? Looking back, I realize that I must have been clenching my butt during this move, so really, the intake of excess air is her fault. She moves on, thank God, and the remaining rub about is wonderful.
I am now ready for the facial. I have my face covered with warm towels and enjoy several applications of sheep placenta and weasel urine guaranteed to make my scars instantly disappear. I'm pretty sure that the Professional gets a commission on this stuff. Anyway, she is massaging away and I hear this loud wet ripping noise. She startles at the same time that I realize that this sound is coming from me!!! I mean really, how does this happen that I don't know that I need to fart? It was so loud that my Whoopee Cushion was a whisper in comparison. It reminded me of my mom when she does the fart walk. You know the one, every second step she just crashed them out and pretends that nobody's ears are ringing. OMG!!! I'm turning into my mom!!! All this flies through my mind during the The Silence of at least five seconds (even the crooning whales stopped in astonishment). I knew she heard me, so I just said, "Um, can we pretend that didn't happen?" She continued rubbing some grasshopper guts on my cheeks and said, "You'd be surprised how often that happens." I think we were both glad that there was a blanket covering me. Then, for some reason, I thought of my friend who was riding her horse when she suddenly farted, the noise being amplified and spooking the horse! I started laughing uncontrollably and the Professional stopped, certain that I was a lunatic. I couldn't explain how funny it is to scare a horse with a fart, so I just said, "Wow, and here I thought you had a glamorous job." I mean, really, how dumb is that? But it was the best I could do to explain my hysteria. I did for a second think, I could just get up and run, but then I remembered I was butt assed (or is it buck assed? I don't really know) naked and how would that look?
Thankfully, she places cotton balls over my eyes and says she'll step out while the mask does magic.
I know what she is really doing. She is hoping I'm fluffing the blanket and that there is no brown spot for her to see when I leave. That and she is telling her coworkers what happened.
I swear there was a "knowing" look passed between the girls up front when I was leaving. Yes, henceforth, it shall be noted on my permanent record that I am a "Farter". I'll get the lamest therapist from now on because who would want to be in the room with me? I sure wouldn't.
Aaaahh, bliss. Day at the Spa. Warm table, low lights, vague whale like soothing music and such. Fortunately, I had the same therapist (is that what they're called? I don't know) for both treatments and didn't have to do the whole, my-face-is-kinda-tender-yes-I-know-and-okay-here-is-the-story-one-more-frickin'-time spiel. Such a warm, soothing, professional manner. I enjoy it when they don't talk too much and she was just right.
I settle in and the Professional is gently massaging nicely. All is well until she does the elbow to the buttocks move. I will myself to try to relax, but really, how can you do that when a pointy bone is jabbing your butt? Looking back, I realize that I must have been clenching my butt during this move, so really, the intake of excess air is her fault. She moves on, thank God, and the remaining rub about is wonderful.
I am now ready for the facial. I have my face covered with warm towels and enjoy several applications of sheep placenta and weasel urine guaranteed to make my scars instantly disappear. I'm pretty sure that the Professional gets a commission on this stuff. Anyway, she is massaging away and I hear this loud wet ripping noise. She startles at the same time that I realize that this sound is coming from me!!! I mean really, how does this happen that I don't know that I need to fart? It was so loud that my Whoopee Cushion was a whisper in comparison. It reminded me of my mom when she does the fart walk. You know the one, every second step she just crashed them out and pretends that nobody's ears are ringing. OMG!!! I'm turning into my mom!!! All this flies through my mind during the The Silence of at least five seconds (even the crooning whales stopped in astonishment). I knew she heard me, so I just said, "Um, can we pretend that didn't happen?" She continued rubbing some grasshopper guts on my cheeks and said, "You'd be surprised how often that happens." I think we were both glad that there was a blanket covering me. Then, for some reason, I thought of my friend who was riding her horse when she suddenly farted, the noise being amplified and spooking the horse! I started laughing uncontrollably and the Professional stopped, certain that I was a lunatic. I couldn't explain how funny it is to scare a horse with a fart, so I just said, "Wow, and here I thought you had a glamorous job." I mean, really, how dumb is that? But it was the best I could do to explain my hysteria. I did for a second think, I could just get up and run, but then I remembered I was butt assed (or is it buck assed? I don't really know) naked and how would that look?
Thankfully, she places cotton balls over my eyes and says she'll step out while the mask does magic.
I know what she is really doing. She is hoping I'm fluffing the blanket and that there is no brown spot for her to see when I leave. That and she is telling her coworkers what happened.
I swear there was a "knowing" look passed between the girls up front when I was leaving. Yes, henceforth, it shall be noted on my permanent record that I am a "Farter". I'll get the lamest therapist from now on because who would want to be in the room with me? I sure wouldn't.
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