punkwalrus (punkwalrus) wrote,

All bleeding eventually stops...

Let's see...

Okay, when the numbness finally started to wear off, my jaw felt like a bad bruise, but luckily it doesn't show on the outside of my face. I know I wasn't supposed to chew for 24 hours, but I did end up chewing last night because I was so starving, I was going insane. I found that "do not chew" didn't really mean "you'll hurt your temp crown" but meant "you have an open sore in your mouth, and it will hurt like a mofo." Pizza sauce, no matter how delicately chewed on the other side of the mouth... burrrns. I didn't care, though, because I needed food with all that blood loss.

Yes, the blood loss. Right now I am okay, it's stopped for the most part, but sometimes I'll sneeze or cough, and then it rips the wound open again ... bleah. At least each time the wound bleeds less and less. I woke up with my mouth caked with dried blood, and then it tasted so bad, I rinsed with Scope... WTF was I thinking? WAAAAGHHH!!! That hurt like HELL! But hey! My sore throat went away! So it's an even trade, I figure. Maybe it's just in shock. Maybe the germs went, "F**k, they are coming at us with DRILLS! Run away! Run away!" So, through all this, I haven't felt sick on top of it.

But then, of course, Fran is staying with us. Fran was in the hospital this weekend, and it was our job this time around to pick him up and take him in. Fran means well, but when you take a 50 year old guy with a long history of alcohol abuse (although, he's been sober even since this ordeal started), poor education, bad living conditions, terrible friends, heavy medication, and who isn't expected to live to see the end of this year due to Hep C and liver failure ... he's a bit out of it. And so already we've had to deal with a few senile effects, like him wandering around in his underwear, leaving doors open, spilling things and not cleaning them up...

.. and then slipping on them. Last night, Christine slipped on a puddle of Strawberry juice Fran spilled on the floor, on her bad ankle, and twisted her knee. She didn't break it, and it's not terribly swollen, but it's badly damaged nonetheless and so she's mostly bedridden. So through this, we have to keep an eye on him. Which brings back old memories of taking care of my alcoholic mother; even when she was sober, she used to do this crap, too. And I had to clean up after it. This is just been lovely to relive, and there's nothing I can do because it's not like Fran can help it. My blood pressure is really high, and I am wincing a lot.

I want my blankie...

This entry was originally posted at http://www.punkwalrus.com/blog/archives/00000527.html
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