A mistake that swelled completely out of proportion within half an hour of consuming the painkiller and anti-swelling combination prescribed over the counter. As it turns out, I am in fact allergic to the painkiller Ibrufen.
[space saved for picture - coming soon]
Aaron who swiftly ran down to the pharmacy for advice returned saying, "They said sucks to be you. You're allergic. Wait for it to go down." Grrrreat.
So a trip to the family clinic that evening, an injection and a good scold from the family doctor later - and I was passed out on a pink fluffy cloud of chemical induced bliss for the rest of that Friday right through to.... well, Sunday. By which time I looked almost human again and was able to wean myself off the anti-allergy medications.
But then my toothache, which still had not been remedied, began to fill my world with blinding rainbow-coloured pinpricks of pain.
Monday saw me at the dentist's office where good old Dr Eng pronounced me to be too full of wisdom. So to prevent me from becoming unacceptable to my peers *snigger*, proceeded to extract it from my lower right jaw.A surgical procedure was called for because my wisdom was apparently quite attached to me and stubbornly refused to cooperate with the good doctor.
I would now like to apologise to Dr Eng for mistakenly grabbing his crotch instead of the armrest when he jabbed my puss-filled gums with a needle and enquired ever politely, "pain ah?"
*cough* I think I answered his question rather eloquently without having to utter a sound.
Fast forward 2 hours. With gauze in my mouth, a sick leave certificate for 3 days and another pile of medication in my hand, I was able to stagger to the office for a quick-stop before heading home.
"Oh my god, Mike Tyson!" laughed my brother when he saw me waltzing in like a common punched-up drunk with an incredibly swollen jaw. Needless to say, for the rest of that week, Ian (my older brother by 10 years I should add) would suffer sudden bouts of Tourettes in my presence.
His symptoms included a physical tic which I fondly call his 'spasm-dance' along with a vocal tic that sounded like... "---- Tysen --- Taisen---- Tyson!"
When the doctor insisted that I would really need those 3 days of sick leave, I didn't quite believe him. I ended up taking about 5 days to recover because:
a) The pain was unbelievable on Tuesday & Wednesday. I was popping Voltaren (a superbly strong painkiller), Ponstan (yet another pain killer lasting only 6 hours) and Antibiotics. And when these chemicals were in my bloodstream, I could actually enjoy a few hours of normalcy in the day before I became engulfed by a feeling of dulled exhaustion and the onset of renewed aching.
b) For the night time, half a sleeping tablet ensured a night undisturbed by pain. But completely disturbed by vivid dreams. And an incredible, unexplainable... 'impulse'.
And by the following morning I'd resemble something close to a romping zombie (yeah, romping - not rampaging).
c) By Thursday, my stomach had turned upside down from all the chemicals and incredible nausea had set in along with short bouts of feeling blue.
d) By Friday, I had taken the last round of medication and was looking forward to a drug free weekend. I even felt well enough to paint the town red that night knowing I'd have a commitment free weekend to relax. And the evening was thoroughly enjoyable, marred only by a short period of self-pity that set in after supper. I distinctly remember saying to Daphne in the car, "I wanted to have a girl-talk with you because I really thought it would help me cry and get over it... but I just can't seem to relinquish the control to do it." Bah.
Then on Saturday, while settling in to relax for the weekend, I get a call that Mum's in the hospital emergency unit and Ian's coming to get me. Oh my god. Did not help that nagging fears regarding my parents' advancing age and the fickleness of life were all part of the depressing thoughts that consumed me in my depressive state during the week. I was calm though, self-control ever present & focusing only on what was to be done next.
In the emergency room, Mum seemed to be better and all didn't seem as bad as we thought. I cracked a few jokes with her to cheer her up while we waited. She got admitted for observation and further tests overnight. My brother and sis-in-law left for a prior pressing commitment & I remained with Dad handling minor details like buying toothpaste and magazines. I drove my father home to rest, have dinner and to put together an overnight bag for Mum before having to return to the hospital to deliver it.
I took to my bed for a short nap.
And suddenly, turned into a raving, blithering, weeping idiot.
I began texting friends, making calls. I was trying to find someone who'd be a reassuring & diverting presence on the other end of the phone (and someone who wouldn't be judgmental and think I was a raving loony to boot). The last thing I wanted was to be alone with my thoughts cause I know where that road leads.
Kanineh! Thanks Aaron for being more interested in your dinner than in my distress. "Damn, girl, you gotta get off those painkillers lah" was not particularly helpful. But grudgingly I admit, hilarious in hindsight. Hehe.
And Thank God, I finally found relief with Ravin. Thanks buddy for chatting with me. You joked me out of my ill-humour faster than any therapist could have psycho-analysed me off his couch, and faster than I would have done myself if I'd been left alone to just think.
As it turns out, my week-long chemical romance granted my wish for emotional release.
Crash Test Dummy meet Wall of Unexplicable Emotion. Bam!
Now, just a day later & after plenty of water to cleanse my system, with all traces of extreme emotions having dissolved like so much candy floss... I look back on the past week and marvel at modern medicine. I also seem to have regained just enough eloquence to look back on the past week and utter, "imagine that."
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