I am *such* an awful mother.  Seriously.  It’s embarrassingly appalling.

So here’s the whole story…

Bobo and Dippy decided to play cops and robbers outside in the dark.  First of all, what sort of mother lets her kids play outside in the dark? 

But wait, before I go on, my husband specifically told me that he did not want to let the kids get a trampoline because Dippy *always* gets hurt when we have one.  So even though the trampoline wasn’t directly involved, I think it may still be to blame somehow because this happened two weeks after bringing that thing home.

ANYWAYS, I was in my room trying to figure the odds on whether Julie Austin will come to the Bloomin’ Fun Bluedorn Ball or not, when all of a sudden I heard shrieking and crying and wailing coming from the cage (that’s what we call the closed-in porch).  So amidst all the shrieking, my kids all start yelling at me, “MOM! STAY IN YOUR ROOM, YOU DO *NOT* WANT TO SEE THIS!!” 

So my elbows and knees went all oogelly gooogelly and then finally Coie came in and pronounced, “Ok, we need to take Dip to the ER.  He’s gonna need a bunch of stitches”.  Shudder Shudder.

This is when I learned that during Cops and Robbers, the Robber, i.e. Dippy, fell backwards into a big bush and ‘got it in the end’.  Literally. Which just goes to show that crime doesn’t pay.  He fell right onto a sharp stick and gashed his little butt cheek.  Good heavens, I’m feeling woozy thinking about it. 

So Coie – in her moose jammies – and I carefully laid Dippy on his stomach in the backseat of her car (Bo sat back there with him to hold the towel and ice in place) and we zipped over to the hospital.

They were pretty crowded and we had to wait.  The check-in lady said, “Just take a seat”.  Easy for her to say.  We went around a corner and had to lay Dippy on his stomach. Poor little fella.

So then they finally called us back (we all sorta had to take turns dragging Dip along because he wasn’t able to walk).  The nurse who checked us in chewed her gum like a camel.  I’ve seen camels in real life, and I tell you the truth, she chewed just like a camel.  Gross.

When we got back to our little room they realized that there were no hospital gowns in kid sizes, so instead of letting Dip swim around in an adult sized gown, they brought him one for toddlers.  Ok, this is where I lost it.  I thought she was kidding when she brought it in.  It was tiny…TINY, and not only was it tiny, but it had fluffy teddy bears and colorful beach balls on it.  Dippy was in too much pain to notice at the time, but when Coie pulled off his shirt and slipped it over his head, he looked down and was absolutely stricken.  The boy is EIGHT YEARS OLD.  Granted, he’s very skinny, but good grief, no eight year old boy should ever be forced to wear a teddy bear beach ball gown six sizes too small.

So, like I said, I lost it. I exploded.  I couldn’t help it.  I absolutely could not stop laughing.  And then the doctor came in – and I could literally not stop laughing. Believe me, I tried.  He kept trying to talk to me about my poor injured son but I was shaking and gasping and had tears streaming down my face, so finally I had to just flee the room and hide in the bathroom down the hall until I could get myself under control.  Good heavens.  The doctor must’ve thought I was a monster.  I still can’t understand why he wasn’t laughing.  I’ve never seen anything so comical in all my born days. Bad! Bad Mother!

In my defense, even Coie and Bobo couldn’t help laughing their heads off – they were just better at choking it back than I was.  Coie used her cell phone and got a picture of him in his little mini gown but my son absolutely put his foot down and refuses to let me post it. 

So anyhow, I came back before all the stitching commenced (EIGHT stitches!).  Thankfully I was able to stop cackling like a loon and was able to feign sanity for the rest of the procedure.

And the nurse was cool. When they were all done she asked if I needed her to write a note to excuse him from school.  I told her that we homeschooled so I’d just write a note and give it to myself in the morning.  And she actually laughed.  Finally, a nurse with a sense of humor; I’ve found that to be a rarity. 

Dippy is doing well.  But he has to forgo all of his chores and lay on his stomach all day and play Nintendo 64.  Poor kid.

I am not the only girl in the world who looks forward to long waiting room intervals at doctor or dentist offices.  Where else does one get a good chunk of uninterrupted time to read?  Not even being locked in the bathroom compares, because when you’re in the bathroom you can still hear them clawing outside the door to let you know: “James just licked my bowl of oatmeal and when I told him to stop he just laughed and started running in circles and now he’s outside with the cat and he says he’s gonna give it a bath in that one bucket you told us not to touch but I think maybe he’s trying to drown it because he’s just being naughty today so are you almost done in there because I need some toilet paper cause our bathroom ran out and bobo won’t help me find my pencil.”  My eye is twitching.

So anyways, on Wednesday I was looking forward to my dentist visit so I could finish my book.  But first some background… I told you a week ago that I went in and the dentist said I needed a cavity filled, right?  And then they said I’d have to wait until August because they were going on vacation.  I thought I could make that work, but nope, I couldn’t.  My jaw has been KILLING me.  So I made an appt with a different dentist, Dr Robert Self.  I am not kidding.  That’s his real name.  I went in at the appointed time, and then sat in the parking lot for over a half hour and started getting opposite of happy and gracious because the doors stayed locked and all the lights in the bldg were off.  I went home to call them, full of Self-loathing, and even their line didn’t pick up.  So then I got online and found the confirmation email they had sent – in order to send them a sweet little note in return about how hot their parking lot is – and I saw that my appt was scheduled for *Thursday*. Not Wednesday.

Ok, so since I was no longer appalled at the lack of professionalism on their part, I went ahead and kept my Thursday appt.  And guess what the new dentist said?  He said, “You don’t need a cavity filled… You need a ROOT CANAL”.  And all these nurses in black frothy funeral gowns floated in and they twisted up their green faces and chanted, “You’re gonna die.  You’re gonna DIE.  YOU”RE GONNA DIE”

So after the first two hot flashes passed, I mustered up some pretend sanity and told the guy:  “Nuh-uh, the other dentist just said it only needed to be filled”.  So he pulled out the X-ray and proved it to me.  And the reason I knew he wasn’t lying, is because he said, “It hurts all the time, right?  Cavities don’t keep you up at night, but what you have certainly would do that.  Root Canal”  

I told him, “Fine, I’ll come back, but I need to warn you, I have an inordinate fear of anything medical – seriously.  I feel like I’m gonna have a heart attack just thinking about it”  So he said, “No problem, we’re gonna give you some valium and then hook you up to the gas machine and you’ll sleep thru the whole thing”.

So the next morning (which happened to be yesterday) I took the little valium pill that he told me to take an hour before my appt.  And boy did that thing kick in fast.  Dippy came in to show me a letter that he got from Mr. Grand, but all the letters kept hop scotching.  Geoff the Great drove me over (I remember little of the drive), then he took me into the waiting room, and then they brought me down a hallway – boy was I feeling dopey – and then they put me in that diabolical chair and immediately – and I mean immediately – I snapped right back to my normal self.  No dizziness, no loopiness, no giddiness.  It was gone.  GONE.  When the nurse came in and asked me how I felt I told her, “Well I was nice and doped up, but, uh.  I, uh. I’m too alert.  I can’t do this. I think I need to go home”.  So she patted my arm (which normally would have really irritated me, but didn’t this time) and said, “Let’s talk to Dr. Self, first” So he came in, and by this time I was shaking and sweating and my heart was galloping, and he said, “Here, put this on and breath deep and you’ll be out in a couple seconds and everything will be fine” 

So I nodded and let them strap this elephant trunk over my face and started breathing.  After about three minutes I looked over at the nurse and said, “When’s this stuff sposed to kick in?”  and she sort of laughed and said, “It’s supposed to start working as soon as you breath it”  So I told, “I think your tank is empty”  and she said, “Nope, it’s full” So I said, “I think somebody accidentally filled it with regular air” and she said, “Ha ha”.  Then I asked, “Do you have it turned up?  Maybe you should turn it up” And she said, ‘we’ve been turning it up this whole time and now it’s going full blast – are you breathing thru your nose?”  Am I breathing thru my nose?  I was snorting my head off trying to get that gas to do its dumb job.  So we all just kept sitting there staring at each other and waiting for me to pass out – the Dr. was a lot more patient that I would have been with a panicked lunatic in my chair. 

After about three more minutes I said, “How bout you give me another one of those valium.  It worked earlier… maybe I just need a higher dosage”.  I felt pretty doctor-ly-ish because they all thought that was a good plan.  I ended up taking THREE, and the last one they told me to chew.  Ok… first of all, don’t take valium.  Second of all, don’t chew valium.  That stuff tastes like burnt sewage. 

The nurse said, “Honey, you just need to calm down –that stuff is sure to kick in”. 

Ten minutes later, now being totally doped up on enough valium to knock out a large elephant, and nearly hyperventilating as I furiously sucked that gas through my nose, I looked over at the nurse and said, “uh… what else do you got?”

Then Dr. Self said, “Look, you can come back some other day and we can try this again if you want, but seriously, the longer you wait the worse that tooth is gonna get”.

So I started maniacally inhaling that non existent gas and told him, “No, that’s ok, I’m ok, I think I’m ok, just get it over with” and then I started shaking so hard that my flip flop fell off.

I have to hand it to Self, both he and the nurse showed extraordinary patience.  So he told me to open my mouth – that was not easy.  As ridiculous as this sounds, I almost started crying.  After about 15 minutes I asked the nurse, “Could you please turn up that gas?  Please?”  And she told me again that it was all the way up and I should be knocked out cold”.  And then the doctor told me, “This is gonna take about an hour and a half, but you won’t feel anything because I’ve completely numbed up your mouth” 

That’s when I *really* panicked, and I told them, “Ok, listen, this will sound weird, and I’m sorry for being such a pain, but I can’t do this unless you bring my husband back here and let him put his hand on my head”.

So about 15 seconds later they were all making introductions and my husband had his thumb pressed into my forehead and was winding locks of my hair through his fingers.  And within about thirty seconds I was in this lovely, dreamy half conscious state.  Every time I opened my eyes my husband was standing over me gently pulling his fingers through my hair.  That dental procedure was the fastest 15 minutes of my life – at least it felt about 15 minutes.  Geoff the Great stood there for almost two hours through the whole thing.  When we left, the nurses and the dentist kept repeatedly telling him how glad they were to have him back there. Then we went home and I slept like a cow for the rest of the day and all thru the night.

In a week and a half I need to go back in to get a crown put on, which, naturally, means I’m a princess. 

First of all, I just want to say (while I remember), that there is nothing so cozy, nothing so comforting, nothing so ‘safe’ as the feel of my husband’s big hand on top of my head.  It has carried me thru all sorts of crisis and non-crisis alike.  And the only thing better than that, is when he is also praying out loud for me while he’s got his big ol’ hand on my head.  I hope he is around for awhile.  I don’t think there’s another hand out there that could fit my greasy head like his does.

Ok, so my field trip to the UT Medial Blasting Zone was, um, entertaining.  I guess it would have been fun except for ‘pain’ was involved.  And any sort of pain, in any form, negates any level of potential fun.

So first thing I saw (as I checked in late) was a lady in an orange jumper, complete with handcuffs and ankle chains, escorted by a policemen filling out paperwork.  I wondered at my chances of getting her as a roommate, but as it turned out, I didn’t get a roommate.  That would have undoubtedly made things more interesting.

I got checked in and then after an x-ray (done by three overly chipper blonde girls who must’ve been 13 and 14), I made my way up to the surgery room.  Room. Ha.  It was a little cave in the wall with a curtain pulled across the front. The whole hall was full of other little caves.  Most of them had their curtains open.  I kept mine all the way closed.   The nurse told me to put on a ridiculous purple gown and then when I was halfway thru changing she flung open the curtain of my cave and asked some dumb question. Unpleasant.

She was nice enough to come back when I was fully concealed in the ridiculous purple gown and then she asked a billion questions. 

“Hello again…. Mrs. Ug-sha-wishuh?” 

“Sure”

Do you smoke?  Do you have a tumor?  How many cats do have?  What’s the square root of thirty six? Are you able to stand on your head? And so forth.  My answers were ‘no’ to all, and happily, my husband did not contradict me when she asked if I had a history of mental problems.  

Then she asked if I had any fears or anxieties over the surgery.  And I told her “Yes, actually, I do”.  Which is the truth.  Anything hospital related gives me a beastly fright.  She looked concerned but I assured her that they were all unfounded and unreasonable. 

Then she asked, “Well how do you cope with your anxiety, is there anything you’re able to do to pull you thru stressful situations?”  So I told her, “Yeah, I panic.  That’s my approach to pretty much anything scary”.  And she said, “ha. ha. ha.” and left.

The next thing I knew a creepy guy with a white coat, decorated with sharp shiny needles, came shuffling and hobbling over holding up a large spike filled with smoking, bubbling yellow liquid. 

“Are you Jenefer Eshu-ee-mushga?”

“Sure”

Then he aimed that spike at my IV.  Panic struck, I asked him, “Uh…. What the heck is that?” 

And he replied, “bwwaaaaa ha ha ha ha hee hee heee… you will likey.  All people in hospital bed likey likey”

And then he squirted that stuff right into my IV tube and the next thing I knew – to my horror—I started giggling like a loon.  

Then suddenly, I opened my eyes and I was in this weird circular room with about six men in their separate beds wearing ridiculous purple gowns.  Half were sleeping but the ‘awake half’ were all staring blankly at one another. I realized I was staring, too.  And then I started shaking.  Hard.  Like I was afraid I was going to shake myself right off the bed, and a nurse came over and stared at me and started talking to me about the Olympics.  I’m almost positively sure that happened.  And then she signaled for Igor and he shuffled over and started poking around with my IV again.

Sometime later I woke up again in that weird circular room; I think there were new ‘blankly staring’ guys but I can only remember one very large and hairy man who was directly across from me who had his mouth wide open and he was snoring.  His ridiculous purple gown did not fully fit. 

I was suddenly struck with a dreadful thirst.  So the Olympics nurse came over and I told her, “Could you pl—what in the wor–? How come I can’t talk?” and she told me, “You had a tube down your throat; it’ll probably smart for a day or so”.  

So I rasped, “Please get me some water” and she told me, “No”.

No? What do you mean no?  So I repeated, “Please get me some water, I’m really thirsty”

And she said, “No.  You can’t have any water.  It’ll make you sick”.   

You can’t imagine how thirsty I was.  And then she started to walk off and I began to panic.  “Hey,” I rasped, “Then get me some ice, ok?” and she turned around and real sing-songy like she snickered, “Ummmmmm, ICE… is… *WA-TER*”. Smart alek.  So then I got mad and I told her, “Oh yeah?!! Well that’s what they give you when you’re in labor!!!!!!!!”  

Thinking back on it, that isn’t as cuttingly clever and triumphant as I thought it was at the time.  None-the-less, she came back at some point with a cup of ice a little flat popsicle stick to eat it with.

Then all of a sudden I was in a new room with a TV, and Little House on the Prairie was on.  Mr. Edwards was singing about a frying pan and brushing his teeth with a wagon wheel.  That was a very irritating way to wake up.  And then minutes later Geoff the Great was shown in and he asked me, “Uhhhh, are you watching that or can I put on FOX news?”  Which was sort of funny but I think I got offended.

And then a new nurse came in.  I think.  And I sat up a bit and GREAT JEHOSAPHAT, I felt like somebody harpooned me straight thru the side.  YEEEOUCH.  I asked the nurse if it was supposed to hurt that bad, and she told me, yes, in my case, it would.  But then she told me she’d get something for the pain, and at that point I was hoping to see my little buddy Igor again.  That guy and his magical needle was starting to grow on me.  But nope, she just came back with a big white horse pill.  

Then Geoff the Great said that the doctor told him that they put me on the machine and ended up cranking it to the highest possible level and my bowling ball refused to crack.  I’m sorta proud of the little fella.  The dr. said they gave it all they got but he didn’t think he was able to break it up enough. The rock was too hard.  SO, not only will I have some ‘minor discomfort’ (minor. Ha), but he said I will have to come back soon and undergo the exceedingly horrifically unthinkably unpleasant option number 2.

Plus, as a bonus, soon after being wheeled into the Little House on the Prairie room, I realized that I had lost an important body function vital for survival.  Alarming.  The nurse was able to help (and I use the term ‘help’ loosely) by use of a long tube and a pouch.  Ok…  GROSS and YEEEOUCH.  They said I would have to stay until my body started working again, but nope, my rebellious body refused to corporate.  But it was not practical for me to spend the night, so they ended up reluctantly giving me and Geoff and quick EMT lesson and sending us home with that diabolical tube and pouch “to use if needed”.  They told me to either do that or go into the Emergency Room if my body still wouldn’t to what it was told.  

I’m happy to report, as of this morning, my body has begrudgingly begun to cooperate again.  We had stopped at a health food store on the way home yesterday and I was able to remember a concoction that my sister once used to cure me of kidney / bladder issues and it seems to be doing the trick again.

So there you have it.  More info than you wanted or needed.  It will be fun to read this tomorrow because I’m writing this shortly after my breakfast of hot tea and a big hearty bowl of Vicodin Flakes.   And I don’t know when I’m supposed to go in for option number 2.  

I am very tired. The End.