Friday, March 3, 2017

It's good to be Queen (a dental crown is still a crown!)

Sometimes, you get home from work at 3:15 on a Friday afternoon and you pour yourself a tiny (uhhhm, enormous) glass of wine and then you just feel like writing.  (And, OK, if we're being technical, you're normally home at 3:00 but today you were late because you made a little side trip to Ye Ol' Liquor Store and bought yourself a box of white and a bottle of red.)

It's been a week.

My kids were sick.  Fevers, ear infections, etc.  Good times.  Everyone's fine now.  WHEW.  Because as much as I love my kids, being home with them when I should be at work makes me a little stir crazy.  Also, clinics suck.  They just do.  They smell horrible and the magazines are from like 1996 and everyone is sick and coughing all over the place and the other patients look at you all judgey-like when you crack open your can of Diet Coke.  I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR LIKE AN HOUR PEOPLE.  I NEED THIS, SO NEVER MIND!!!!

Also, I needed to get a crown.  And NOT the kind of crown I deserve, either.

You may remember how I am with anything dental or medical...if not, you can read back through this blog for the dirty details, or just ask me in person about that time I had babies, or had to have my appendix out.  I have been known to tell nurses to F-off, to question the ability of trained professionals, and there is a chance I've told poor sweet innocent dental hygenists that I don't like them and that they need to get their fingers out of my mouth RIGHTFUCKINGNOW.  Let's just say I'm a shitty patient, and leave it at that.  I'm sorry.  IT'S A SICKNESS YOU GUYS.  I DON'T LIKE PEOPLE DIGGIN' AROUND IN MY SHIT.  IT TURNS ME INTO A GIANT BITCH.

So, obviously, I couldn't go in to a two-hour dental appointment that involved pain and needles, sober.  So I visited my family doctor for a hefty dose of Ativan.

My doctor, I should mention, is awesome.

When I said "I'd like enough Ativan to tranquilize a horse, please", he totally came through for me.

The trouble is, there is a TINY chance that I MAYBE, POSSIBLY, didn't follow instructions appropriately.

I couldn't really feel the first Ativan.  So, I took a second.  Then I thought...OK, my head keeps flopping to the side and I'm finding this hysterically funny so...maybe it's kinda working and I feel it a bit?!  MAYBE...BUT...NOT QUITE ENOUGH.  Soooo, during the car ride to the appointment, I knocked back a third.

Yeah, I think that one put me over.

I wasn't driving, obviously, my BFF took me to my appointment, and when she laughed and said "you're talking and moving like you're underwater", I probably should've taken that as my clue that a third Ativan wasn't necessary, but I totally didn't.  And since she's my bestie, she's completely supportive of my decisions even when they're stupid, so I made my way into the dental office with three Ativan in my system, higher than a kite and feeling no pain.  I made it through the appointment like a boss, my husband picked me up and took me home, where I promptly fell asleep and woke up two hours later with no pants on wondering where the hell I was (in my bed) and how I got there (I put myself there) and what time it was (yeah I still don't know the answer to that, it's all a total blur) and if I would ever, ever feel normal again (nope, spent the rest of the day with double vision, texting indecipherable nonsense to several lucky recipients, crashing in to walls and falling over at random moments and laughing hysterically over nothing.)

Ativan.  For the win.

And now??  I HAVE A CROWN.

Please.  Call me Queen.

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