I Resort To The Needle To Kill The Pain

My abscessed tooth, which I felt I had gotten under control by having done yoga stretches,

acupressure, visualizations, deep breathing and even strenuous exercise lifting the 65 pound weight that I have, came roaring back in its intensity later that evening, after I had stayed in from busking, due to concerns over trying to play the harmonica with one side of my jaw swollen up like my cheek was full of chewing tobacco.

 Until you can get to the dentist, one of the best things you can do is swish warm, salty water around in your mouth. A good mix is 1/2 teaspoon table salt to 8 ounces of water. Spit it out, don’t swallow it. -From webmd.com

I made macaroni and cheese, the 89 cent a box kind, which I ate and then, I think my kidneys were overwhelmed by multitasking between keeping my blood clean from the infection and from whatever that shit is that makes that stuff orange. Orange milk?

So, early this (Wednesday) morning, I was in about as excruciating a pain as I have ever been. The side of my face where the tooth was was throbbing in time with my pulse and I was trying to time my perception of it to fall in between the throbs, thinking I could throw it out of rhythm.

I went to the bathroom mirror where I was able to see the situation better and I reasoned that the pain was probably coming from pressure built up by, well, by the damned abscessed tooth.

What Was My Point?

I remember having picked up a syringe on Decatur Street about 2 years ago that some heroin addict had probably dropped. I wasn't sure what I was going to do with it, but teasing heroin addicts cruelly by having it "accidentally" fall out of my pocket in front of them, just to watch them grovel and beg of me that, if I had any heroin at all, to "please, please, please, dude..." And then going on to tell me how sick they are.

I think I have a morbid and probably hostile fascination with that dark side of human nature...look at yourself, on your knees on the sidewalk of Decatur Street, like you're praying to me, as one junkie to another, (man...).

"No, I just found this laying on the sidewalk, I was just messing with you..."

I went and got the needle out of the drawer where I keep it handy for teasing junkies, and found that, compared to the pain from the abscess, a needle piercing my gum was like a drop in a bucket. 

I was only able to draw a bit of blood, maybe puss is too thick to traverse a needle hole, but it seemed to have a had a positive effect. Maybe I chanced upon the correct acupuncture points with my needle stabs.

I was actually waiting for the pain to subside some this morning, after having swallowed 4 Ibuprofen, because I didn't feel like cycling to the emergency room in such pain. Cycling is supposed to be pleasurable. It is enough of a pain to have to ride past all the skeezers on the way there, without the side of my face throbbing at the same time.

But, the pain subsided by mid day, and the swelling went down and I have put the emergency room on the back burner, once again.

Just Put Everything Through A Blender...

It seems clear that I need to make an appointment to have, I guess the remainder of my teeth, pulled.

Some of them are teeth which have broken in half, which have some wiggle room in the socket. How much chewing action am I getting out of them?

Teeth have been an enigma to me my whole life.

My sister, Mary had, I think one or two cavities all the way through high school.

I was already setting metal detectors off at airports by then.

This, despite having had such an otherwise healthy diet that had sucrose cut out of it from the age of 19 all the way up to just a few months ago*, and featured fruits and vegetables, fish for protein, and for a while everything coming out of the GNC in a bottle containing 40 grams of protein, 110 grams of carbohydrates, and all the vitamins and minerals, right down to magnesium, zinc, copper, plus testosterone boosters, you name it.

But, apparently not even shark cartilage, co-enzyme Q, ginseng, glucosomine, white willow bark nor chitin could retard the progressive decay of my teeth. It is as if they have ironically been my "soft spot."

So, that is where I stand today. Just as the tuning machines on my guitar could go any day now, I am perhaps postponing the inevitable by leaving my teeth in my mouth.

Of course, I am postponing in case I strike it rich and suddenly have, oh, at least $10,000 to throw at the problem, at which point I would be glad that kept my teeth, because now they can be "saved."
I have said before that teeth are a status symbol, from the ghetto, where just having them is cause for holding your head above the rest, to Hollywood, where people learn how to smile in such a way that you can see all 32 of them...

Howard Gets Me A Bike

Howard Westra, over the river in Gretna, had been talking about getting me a bike for some time. He and Berta, the lady of the house, had told me that they were going to get me one for Christmas. They spoiled the surprise so that I wouldn't spend my hard earned money on one in the meantime.

After I bought the Specialized brand bike that I now ride off of Ester the Israeli lady who works at the coffee and cigar store in the Quarter for 40 dollars; I guess I might have called Howard to tell him to call off the search for a bike for me.

I couldn't, in light of all the time and patience he had put in in locating one, tell him that I had already bought one when he called last week to tell me that he had gotten a bike for me and that I could go over there any time "to see what we've got."

He described the bike as being "a low one." I'm thinking it's a Beach Cruiser, and Howard just doesn't know that "beach cruiser" is what those "low bikes" are called.

Rose (of Rose and Ed) has recently said that she is in the market for a bike.

I could sell the thing to her, along with the stipulation that I be allowed to borrow it whenever I go to see Howard.

Or, I could show up at Howard's on the Specialized bike and tell him that, someone had shown up wanting only 20 dollars for that 100 dollar bike and, though I loved the beach cruiser for sentimental reasons, I couldn't pass up an investment like that.

Or maybe tell him that I had already given a lady a down payment on the Specialized bike at the time that he called to tell me about the beach cruiser; and that the lady had reneged upon returning me the down payment, so I had to buy it or forfeit that money.

Or, I could tell him the truth that, after he had worked so diligently in obtaining a bike for me, I didn't have the heart to disappoint him, thinking that he might blame himself for having taken 3 months to procure one after having told me: "Berta and I are gonna get you a bike..."

Specialized Rockhopper like mine

"Yeah, we dragged our heels for so long; I don't blame you. I'm sorry for having led you on all that time..." type of thing.

Or, he could say: "Alright...well, now I can give it to that poor little boy at the church where I go who prayed out loud to God for a bike last Sunday."

Or I could tell him the truer truth that I really want the 25 bucks or so that Rose will give me for the thing...

Then Rose will be able to ride to the store and be back in a jiffy, in front of her TV, without Ed having to catch her up on the plot of the whole first half of a Simpsons episode.

It is almost 9 PM on this Wednesday night. I think the swelling of my jaw has gone down enough so that I can play the harmonica. Lord knows the balance on my debit card has done likewise.



*I am in danger of becoming addicted to sugar. I bought the first bag of it in my life about 3 months ago, when I was in my baking phase. Soon, I was putting some in my coffee. Then, under the guise of being too tired to cook and wanting to eat in a hurry; the whole box of Frosted Shredded Wheat entered my life...It starts with a little bit in baked goods and some in your coffee and before you know it, you're going down the road that leads to a pint of Haagen Daas Heathbar Crunch before bedtime each night.

Maybe I'll wind up having to eat the words that I wrote about Louise Helton, the "over eater" who crashed at my place a couple years ago. "Oh, you're one to talk about me, Mr. Pint o' Heathbar Crunch Every Night!"