It started off on a high and ended with a few thuds.
Dubya is doing really well. No trauma, no hurling, and we're on post-op day 10, so I'm moving from cautiously optimistic to just plain old optimistic. An occasional complaint of ear pain (it gets referred from the throat), probably some weight loss, but he's happy as a six-year-old prone to emotional lability can be because he's gotten no fewer than five new Lego sets during his recuperation.
Now, we catch up on his homework. This brings out that abovementioned lability, but it must be done! That's one of the thuds.
And, as a sort of capper--ha...ha...ahem--to the week, the tooth I had crowned in December got "hot"--as in sensitive to hot and cold and pressure kind of hot--and, yep...ROOT CANAL. Went in yesterday, they poked around, and then said, "Well, let's do the root canal." Every time I have a tooth crisis, I have not eaten in hours. I don't know why that is, but then I get to sit through the five shots in the mouth and the incessant drilling and poking and scraping sounds (eek!) as they gouge around in four tooth roots to extract the nerves, all the time with the lowest possible blood sugar a woman can have. Seriously. When I get up, I'm staggering around like my blood alcohol level is 0.4, grabbing the walls for balance. The assistant was literally dancing around behind me, ready to catch me if I fell.
At least they saved the stupid crown. I paid $1200 for that thing, and I didn't want to buy a new one. That's another thud. On a slightly higher note, the endodontist actually said, "I'm gonna need a Hedstrom over here," which really made me laugh in the middle of a root canal. In spite of the dam and clamp having been installed, I almost tried to ask, "Does it have a teardrop cross section?" If you're like us and have watched 6 million iterations of Finding Nemo, that bit of dialogue is now playing out in your head in its entirety. If this does not describe you, you may consider yourself lucky.
So what was the high? Need you ask? During the inaugural, I was at home with Dubya (T&A boy), Little (reactive airway boy), and then, right as Obama moved to the podium for the swearing in, a nurse named Veronica. She was there to take my vitals and some fluids for my life insurance application. [As a side note, I'm almost 41 years old, but as I completed the phone interview about my medical history--which they promised would take 20 minutes and took almost an hour--I began to think that I sound more like a centenarian. ] Anyway, Veronica sat and took my blood pressure and blood and weighed me while we waited for the swearing in to begin.
And then, as the swearing in took place, and then as President Obama (PRESIDENT OBAMA) began his speech, Veronica stayed. She was finished with her work, she had another appointment to make, but she stayed. And she and I and my two younger sons stood and sat--I gave her a chair but my excitement kept me on my feet--and watched this moment happen, in its entirety. And it seemed like a fitting microcosm of what we were seeing on the screen, the four of us, some strangers to each other and some closely known, watching this breathtaking moment in history unfold.
That, my friends, was a high that no number of week-ending thuds could bring down. I'm still riding on it. That, and some Motrin, but I think it's the moment in history that really has me feeling no pain.