"And That's Why I Almost Fainted At The Dentist's..."

I totally blame the show "Bones" for this...

I went to the dentist today to have a molar pulled.  It was one of those so-called "twelve year molars" because they tend to come in when we're twelve or so, the last to come in before the wisdom teeth.   Second molars, I think, is the official name.

My second molars were crooked and very hard to clean, and thus, they had issues.  I had the second molar on the upper right pulled four years ago because it had a cavity that went nuclear, to the point of needing a root canal.  My dentist poked and prodded around the tooth for some time before finally sitting up and saying, "Well, I could do a root canal on this thing, but... I should probably send you to an oral surgeon for that."

Now, you have to understand, I am a huge chicken when it comes to dentists, for a very good reason.  My first introduction to a dentist was the Dentist From Hell when I was four.  It was very traumatizing, to the point that even to this day, I break out in a cold sweat just thinking about him.  My parents found a kind, gentle, non-threatening dentist after that who worked very hard to help me overcome my fears.  When I hid under the dental chair from him, he plopped down on the floor and talked quietly to me, singing and telling me stories until I came out again.  He's the only reason I can even contemplate going to a dentist now.

And the dentist I'm seeing now is AWESOME, he totally understands that I'm a huge chicken about dental matters and why, and he does an awesome job at making sure I don't feel a damn thing when he works on me, and his work is faultless.  I trust him completely, because he's really good about warning me before he does something, and understands my thing about needles and works to accommodate that.  And really, that's all I ask.

So when this dentist that I trust told me he may have to send me to someone else, you can imagine my dismay.  So I asked why.  And he said, "Well, the thing is, I'd have to put you under anesthesia and dislocate your jaw just so I could have a hope of getting back there," he said frankly.  "And even with that, there's no guarantee that I wouldn't break your jaw, your mouth is just that small.  An oral surgeon would be a better bet for you on that front."

So I thought about it and asked, "Do I need this tooth?  I mean, is it necessary to keep my teeth in line or do I chew on it?"

"No," he said, after checking it again.  "In fact, I can safely say you've never chewed anything with that tooth.  There's nothing under it, either.  It can come out if you want."

So that's what I did.  He pulled it out, and after all the pain meds wore off, I suddenly realized a neuro-facial pain I'd had for years, so long I'd hardly noticed it anymore, except when I had a migraine, was gone.  The roots of that tooth had been pressing on nerves and I had no idea.  I still get migraines, but they haven't been so bad since that tooth came out!

So, recently, I started having pain in the upper left second molar.  Mostly just low level pain, but every once in a while, something would fire off the nerves on that side of my face and that tooth would hurt!!  It would cause major pain that would fade to minor twinges, then back again.  So, I went in to have it looked at in September and again, he found a cavity.

"I could fill it," he said with a frown.  "But..."

"Let me guess," I said, "you'd have to dislocate my jaw just to get at it?"

"The cavity is on the back of that tooth right where you're having a hard time cleaning it," he said.  "It could be filled, but I'd have to send you to an oral surgeon to have it done, because I can't get to it without hurting you, and I refuse to hurt you."

So, after some discussion, we decided to pull it.  And that was what we did today.

Oddly enough, it wasn't as difficult to take out as the other one.  In fact, he sat back a lot sooner than I expected and said, "Okay!" and I frowned and said, "What?  That's it?  You're done??"

"Yep!" he said with a grin.  "And you came through it beautifully!"

Now, I almost fainted three times during this visit, which is unusual for me.  I usually manage to stay pretty calm, despite my anxiety.  My philosophy is this is something that needs to get done, there's no use freaking out, crying, or fighting because that just makes it harder for everyone involved and makes it take longer. I'm all for keeping it quick and efficient!

But today?  *sigh*

The first time was because of the needles.  This dentist uses a gel to numb the gums before giving a shot, which works most excellently.  And that was great, except on the last shot, I was very much aware of the fact I had a needle in my gum because he had to lay the syringe across my lip while the needle was still in my gum.  So after it was all over, I got all woozy and light headed and the dental assistant was quick to set the chair so my head was lower than my feet.  Yay.

She also distracted me with a cooking show that was on the Food Network, which worked excellently well because the cook (I have no idea who she was) was completely incompetent and doing things WRONG and I couldn't help pointing it out!

The second time, the dentist raised my chair a little too quickly, but you know, he was trying to reduce the risk of excess bleeding, and I'm totally cool with that. I'm just not cool with, you know, face-planting on that hard, hard floor they have in the treatment rooms!  I remember telling the dental assistant that my chair needed to be lowered before I pitched face-first off it and went SPLAT!

The third time was all "Bones" fault.

See, I could hear the moment the tooth released from my skull, could hear the faint crackle and cricks and thought, "Huh, wonder what the micro-fracturing looks like, and how long it'll take 'em to remodel?

And that's when my brain went, "Holy crap, are you actually analyzing micro-fracturing of your own friggin' skull???"

The world went kind of wobbly at that point.

I'm fine now, and recovering somewhat comfortably.  It's sore, but the pain is steady and bearable, as opposed to stabbing and acutely uncomfortable.

At this point, I'm ready for a glass of ice tea and maybe to take another nap, because the pain meds are kicking in and... oooooo, lookit all the pretty colors...

Internet Censorship Billl...

You know, most of y'all have been awfully silent about this, and... I'm kind of shocked. But then again, it may be very well that none of you either know about it, or care about it, but... you should. Because it's going to affect you. It's going to make doing what you love here on your blogs almost impossible. It'll make what you do on Facebook, YouTube... whatever blogging site, video site, music site... whatever you love to do on the internet, this is going to make it nearly impossible.

And possibly illegal. And therefore... expensive.

Internet Censorship. Today, Congress is holding hearings on the first internet censorship system. And it looks like a wrecking ball. Are you going to just let this go? Are you going to just sit there, shrug, and browse on and not worry about it? Because... you should. You really should.

Read THIS. Then do a Google search. See if this is something you can live with, or something that makes you want to spit nails. Roofing nails.

If you can't, get on the phone and call your representative. Express your disapproval. Tell him or her exactly how you feel, and that you don't support this. Tell your friends to call their representatives, their Congressperson, and complain. Mention that you are a registered voter that takes your civic responsibility seriously (and gods, I hope you do, I really do) and that you will use that vote to express your feelings about this.

Read THIS, too. Read everything you can find on it, but do it today. And act on it. Don't sit there. Do something.

I'll admit it, I didn't realize the hearing was TODAY, and I went to my Tumblr, planning to put up some more lunch notes when I got the shock of my life. Every single picture I had put up was blank, with a "Censored" stamp across it. Which kind of freaked me out. So, I logged in to find out WTF was going on and saw the link and said, "Oh, it's today. Wait... today??? I thought it was next week!!"

So... educate yourself. Find out. And take action. Because I have a feeling this will slam fanfiction writers upside the head. Hard. Think about it.

And do something about it!

Because the bully blues just go on and on...

Y'all must be getting sooooo tired of me writing about bullies. I know I am.

*sigh*

Okay, so... the Impossible Son comes home and announces that he never, ever wants to go back to "that school" again. And I just knew... I just knew.

"What happened?" I asked.

Oh. My. God.

Okay, first, before I go on, let me assure you all, he's fine. Just some minor scrapes, sore muscles, and shock. And he doesn't want to go back to school. And what little trust he had in the school is... well, shot.

So... they didn't have P.E. today, they had music. So after lunch, they were allowed to go out to the playground. However, the second graders have the lunch period before the fifth graders, so the big kids have to wait in line behind some orange safety cones until the little kids clear the playground, and then they're allowed out. A new kid in the Impossible Son's class, we'll call him "Lug," had been in class long enough to know this rule, but was impatient to get on the playground, I guess.

Now, the Impossible Son's class teacher wasn't out there. Her class was being chaperoned by the school counselor and another teacher, Miss C.

Okay, so Lug decided to run out onto the playground, and the Impossible Son caught his sleeve gently (and this is the counselor's word, not mine) and said, "Hey, you can't go out there yet, Lug."

Lug turned and backhanded Mr. Impossible, then grabbed him by the arms, twisted them, and took him down to the ground. The counselor said she was shouting at them, but they couldn't hear her, and she got there as fast as she could. By the time she and Miss C. got there, Lug was about to stomp Mr. Impossible in the face.

*pause*

Yeah, I'm still shuddering over that part.

So, they pulled Lug off of my 4' 3", 66 pound son and hauled him to the principal's office. This was around 1 p.m. and the counselor said that she, the principal, and the assistant principal were dealing with him from then until 3:15 p.m.

But they never called me... and they didn't inform his teacher, either.

And guess who Lug's teacher is? I bet y'all can't. Yeah, she's the Impossible Son's former second grade teacher, the one who started us all on this lovely little round-about of bullying and denial. Yay.

So... when the Impossible Son told me about this, I was... livid. Though I managed not to audibly snarl. So, as soon as I sent the Impossible Son on to grab his things, I turned to the phone and put a call in to the school, demanding to know why I wasn't called when my son was attacked on the playground.

Oh, yeah, that took them aback a bit.

I was transferred to Mrs. S., his main teacher, and I left a voicemail, then went back to the main office and asked to speak to the counselor, "since I understand she is a witness."

Yeah, that shook them up, too.

She was on bus duty, though, so, I gave my cell phone number and waited for the call back. And she did call back, within ten minutes, and I got the story from her. At least, the part about the actual attack. What happened to Lug after wasn't so clear, though the counselor hastened to assure me that my son didn't have to worry about Lug again. She said, "There were some other issues, the longer we dealt with him, and the fact of the matter is, he won't be allowed back into this school until his... er... issues have been dealt with."

That didn't sound very encouraging, and the longer she went on, the worse it sounded. Finally, I said, "Okay, so... do the Husbandly One and I need to file charges for assault and battery? Because I have to tell you, I am not liking the sound of this at all, and the fact that you're telling me absolutely nothing isn't exactly inspiring confidence in me."

"Oh, no, no, we are dealing with this, Mrs. J, I assure you!"

"I also have to tell you that what little trust he had in you and the rest of the staff at your school is completely shot. You assured him last year that he would be safe, and he was extremely upset when he got home. He doesn't feel safe and he is begging us to transfer him..."

"OH no, there's no need to do that, Mrs. J.! Really! This boy will not be a problem, and your son will be safe..."

His grades are dropping, and he's having trouble focusing. I know he's been having bully problems again, but he's been telling me he's been dealing with it. I was planning on stopping by after school this week, or waiting for the conference I'll be having with his main teacher on the 20th to sound her out, but... no, I don't think it can wait now.

Oh, and after the call with the counselor, the phone rang again, and it was his main teacher, and that's when I found out that she hadn't been told, either! Nor did the Impossible Son tell her when he got back to class, which really puzzled her. "He didn't seem upset or anything," she said when I told her. "He just came in,grabbed his book, and started reading!"

I sighed, wondering how she could be teaching this long and not know this. "Look, Impossible has been having bully issues since second grade, and that was because Mrs. Oblivious Teacher, who is now teaching fifth grade with you, basically ignored it. She told him to stop trying to get attention for himself. And he's had ongoing bully issues since then. And every single time, it's taken a major effort by myself and his father to get your school to deal with it. He has no trust in the teachers, and no trust in the staff. He doesn't trust you on principle. It has nothing to do with you personally. Let me put it this way, if he ever actually comes to you and tells you someone is picking on him, or hurting him, or making fun of him, you can take it as read that it's bad, because if it wasn't, he wouldn't say anything to you, because he fully expects you to ignore it."

I could tell that shocked her, but... she has been ignoring him over the last week. Which was why I was planning on stopping by after school, so I could ask her why. And find out what she thought was going on (the answers to that are always so illuminating... and depressing).

Mr. Impossible is supposed to talk to the counselor tomorrow morning, but I'm planning on dropping by to talk to the principal myself and ask what the hell's going on, what is going on with Lug, and do whatever is necessary to shake the fog out of their brains. This is RIDICULOUS.

Man, oh, man, do I wish we could afford private school!! Or to transfer him to a better district!!

As Jo's Family Turns...

You know, my blog is beginning to look like the synopsis of a very bad soap opera! No, seriously!

Okay, so... two weeks ago, the Husbandly One came down with the shingles. Which... is weird, because it makes it sound like he was covered in roofing tiles, right? I even had a dream about that, that he was covered in roofing tiles and he was blaming me for it, and I was all O_o???

Anyway, he had the shingles, which is a variant of the same virus that causes chickenpox. It was painful, we both lost a lot of sleep, and he's getting over it.

How is this significant?

Well, last night, the Impossible Son came to me and asked me to scratch his back and get him an ice pack.

I frowned. "Um... sure, I'll scratch your back, but... why do you want an ice pack?"

"I have such a bad headache, I need an ice pack," he said, grimacing and squinting at me in a very familiar way. "I think I have a migraine."

Oh, crap.

So, I got him an ice pack and he said, "First, scratch my back?" and pulled up his shirt, and I started to oblige and stopped. "Um... Little Man... where did you get all these bites? Did you fall into an ant bed or get into a lot of mosquitos or something?"

"No," he said, frowning. "There's no mosquitos. Drought, remember?"

"Yeeeaaahhh," I said slowly, and the Husbandly One came in and went, "Uh-oh... that looks like chickenpox."

Crap, crap, crap, crap....

So, we inspected him and took his temperature, and he had a fever, and he had spots popping up, and yeah, lots and lots of fun.

Here's the thing: he's had the chickenpox vaccination. But not the booster, which he's due to get next year. And... it's only about 90 percent effective, anyway. However, having the vaccine is supposed to reduce the severity of the virus and also reduce the time he'll have it.

But... it's the second week of school!!!!

*sigh*

So, Dr. W. checks him over, and as she's examining him, little spots are popping up!! She brings in Dr. R., who has lots of experience of chickenpox over his years of practice and at first, he said, "Oh, these are insect bites! There's no fluid in these spots!" And then... he notices more popping up in places where there were not spots as he is looking at him and says, "Um...hmmmmmmmm... this perhaps is chickenpox. Has he had his shot?" And when I said yes, he frowned and said, "Let's get bloodwork, to be sure."

At which point the Impossible One howled, "NO!! I DON'T WANT TO!!!" and every variant in between. Both doctors were rather shocked because Mr. Impossible has always been very cooperative for them, and I had to explain why he was so upset over his protests.

And just to make things even more interesting, Mr. Impossible did have an insect bite on his forearm that the doctor looked at, because it was swollen and red, and I was worried about it being infected. She frowned and said, "Um... how long has it had this red circle around it?"

o_O???

I looked at it and said, "That wasn't there last night."

"Have you been camping recently? Hiking in the woods or the state park? Had any deer munching on your bushes?"

I knew where this was going. "Not been camping or hiking, and if there are deer munching on our bushes, I haven't seen them. I find droppings, but deer droppings and rabbit droppings kinda look alike, you know?"

"Uh-huh," she said, frowning even more at the red ring around the bite. "Just to be on the safe side, let's do a Lyme titer."

O_O!!

"Can we just cut to the chase and go on doxycycline now?" I said, remembering my own close call with Lyme disease and four weeks of doxycycline. Woo-hoo!! All kinds of fun!!!

"Let's just see what the titer shows. I mean, I'll probably put him on it, but let's get him through the chickenpox first!"

Okay, cool...

So, he's home, ensconced on the couch, playing Halo, and asking for something to drink every five minutes.

The good news is... exposure to my son having chickenpox is supposed to reduce my chances of getting shingles later. That's perfectly okay with me, because seriously, shingles looks very painful, and I don't want it!

Now, to prepare for the Impertinent One to come home from school. Yay, whoopee, yay!