... and dying for the cause.
Last week I caught a quite virulent cold and was miserable for a couple of days (if you follow me on Twitter you know how much I whined). I've felt significantly better since the weekend, but I'm still throwing off toxic snot like you wouldn't believe.
First the Enforcer bends up one wire and jams it against my teeth so hard I wince. Then he says, "we're getting close to the end of treatment," just to get my hopes up. Then he won't commit to exactly how many more months of braces I get to enjoy. Then he has the assistant (who ordinarily does most of the in-mouth work) strap on not one, but two rubber bands. The second one in front, where a) it really hurts, and b) everyone can see it. I have a photo of it, but good God, it's too terrifying.
I swear it makes me talk funny. If I still had to work in an office and go to meetings and supervise people and shit, I would really have a problem with this. But he totally got me with the "we're close to the end" bait. I damn well have to wear it, and hope that it's just for a month.
And last week I gave up what, for me, is the equivalent of lifeblood: coffee and red wine. The two things that have been my main fluid intake for the past 20 years. Now, I enjoy a nice cup of jasmine-green or lemon-ginger tea, but they just don't give you that morning kick in the pants or taste nearly as good as coffee. I admit that this morning I had coffee, then brushed my teeth directly. Strangely, switching to white wine hasn't been as hard. I guess you get nearly the same kick in the head from white wine as from red. And this is all because of my teeth. After I get my braces off, and get my teeth whitened, I want to give them a fighting chance to stay white. Why? I don't know--I have this vague idea that I'll scare small children less if I have nicer teeth.
I got a rather larger dose of radiation last week than usual. Maybe that 's not the most auspicious way to start off my blog, but that's how last week went. First, I got back from a lovely quick trip to NYC to find a letter stating that I needed a followup to my inaugural mammogram. I thought the first one was mildly painful, but the second one, where they really wanted to zoom in for a closeup, made me wince and whine. No, I don't have films you can see--and no, the subsequent ultrasound was not kinky fun. I was stifling giggles because I was nervous and ticklish. That rubber-gloved thumb anchored on my nipple was not a turn-on, believe me.
Then later in the week, I got my second set of panoramic X-rays at the orthodontist's office (ever seen an X-ray of your whole skull?), and based on them the enforcer decided he needed to pop off not just one bracket, but three, and glue new ones in different places--all the better to wrench my teeth around. At least no metal files were involved this time. Four days later, I'm still gumming soft food.
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