Busy Day After a Busy Weekend
Spent the weekend trying to exhaust a puppy more energetic than myself and Acacia combined. Today, took her (the puppy, not Acacia, though she was present also, and actually more responsible for the taking) to the vet for a preliminary check-up, secured custom-molded orthotics and a prophylactic to thwart my nocturnal bruxing, put in six hours at the office, finally connected my desktop computer for the first time after moving in October in order to utilize its card reader which is the only means I currently possess to extract digital images from my camera's flash memory card, and endeavored further to exhaust the aforementioned juvenile canine.
There are frustrating and disgusting (respectively) stories to go with the orthotics and the night guard, so I'll proceed in that order (and stick the night guard story behind a cut for those of faint heart as well as those who've recently eaten).
First, the orthotics. Several months ago, I developed knee pains, such that whenever I bent my left knee at sharp enough angle, it felt as though some invisible demigoblin was pressing an open flame against it. One x-ray, one MRI, and thousands of milligrams of ibuprofen later, we determined that every bone and muscle directly involved with my knee was undamaged, so the pain must have been caused elsewhere. A podiatrist agreed with my theory that my flat, pronated feet were responsible, and so put a plaster cast on each of my feet for all of fifteen minutes in order to record their shape.
The orthotics would arrive, he prophesied, in approximately three weeks, so to be safe, we made an appointment one month to the day later. I arrived then, fifteen minutes early (taking time, as was necessary, from work). The next forty five minutes of my life bought me one portentous question: "Sir, did you only come here to pick up your orthotics?"
"I did."
"Ah. Yes. Well, they're not here yet. Let's arrange another summit, shall we? How does one week's passage of the moon 'round the Earth in its ceaseless solar orbit suit your convenience?"
The ritual words we then did utter, and stole I a vow that telephonic heralds should harbinger the arrival of my fucking shoe implants before I wasted any more time heating their waiting-room chairs. "Oh, yes, we always call the day before to confirm your appointment*. I'll write down a note here so that whoever makes that call remembers to tell you whether or not your orthotics have arrived."
*They had not called to confirm my appointment that day, nor have I ever received any phone call from their office to confirm an appointment any day since that day.
Since I didn't receive a confirmation call the day before my next appointment, I didn't go. That was enough to produce a call. Happily, I was at work, and didn't notice my phone vibrating in my pocket, and had time to calm my wits before responding to the voice mail berating me for missing my appointment. Of special interest here is the fact that the angry man in the recording included, angrily, "your orthotics are here," as if to convey that I really screwed up this time because they hadn't messed up again. Except for the part where they forgot to call me, which this person should have known about if he knew enough about the significance of the presence of my orthotics to emphasize it in his lecture.
At any rate, we rescheduled for today, and I went in and got them today, and my first reaction was, "Oh, so this is what it's supposed to feel like to walk." Really, it makes much more sense this way.
And now, a disgusting story about the inside of a mouth.
So, a while ago, I had this earache. Only the ENT couldn't see anything wrong inside my ear (this is becoming the story of my life). I postulated TMJ, since my mother has TMJ and my jaw always hurts. The dentist confirmed TMJ, and placed a slimy mold up against the roof of my mouth. The slug-like mold slithered back until it oozed over my gag reflexes, and gag I did, ejecting the entire contents of my mouth in the process. So the dentist applied a numbing agent to the back of my throat, and took a second mold without a hitch.
Afterward, I felt as though perhaps a small piece of the mold had split off like so much overstretched silly-putty and lodged itself in my throat, so I filled my cup with water, gargled, and spat a few times. The sensation didn't go away, and the dentist said, "That tingling won't go away for a while." I decided to leave it alone, and we proceeded with the tooth-cleaning.
About half an hour later, I coughed, and it was as if someone had pulled a plug in my throat. Water rose (yes, it slowly rose) up out of my throat and half-filled my mouth. Water, and mold. It wasn't painful, and it brought on no further coughing or gagging; however, there were people around, and I had no polite way to dispose of it. Someone was speaking to me and required a response. I panicked and swallowed.
And now you will be thankful the next time I go years without really posting in my livejournal.
There are frustrating and disgusting (respectively) stories to go with the orthotics and the night guard, so I'll proceed in that order (and stick the night guard story behind a cut for those of faint heart as well as those who've recently eaten).
First, the orthotics. Several months ago, I developed knee pains, such that whenever I bent my left knee at sharp enough angle, it felt as though some invisible demigoblin was pressing an open flame against it. One x-ray, one MRI, and thousands of milligrams of ibuprofen later, we determined that every bone and muscle directly involved with my knee was undamaged, so the pain must have been caused elsewhere. A podiatrist agreed with my theory that my flat, pronated feet were responsible, and so put a plaster cast on each of my feet for all of fifteen minutes in order to record their shape.
The orthotics would arrive, he prophesied, in approximately three weeks, so to be safe, we made an appointment one month to the day later. I arrived then, fifteen minutes early (taking time, as was necessary, from work). The next forty five minutes of my life bought me one portentous question: "Sir, did you only come here to pick up your orthotics?"
"I did."
"Ah. Yes. Well, they're not here yet. Let's arrange another summit, shall we? How does one week's passage of the moon 'round the Earth in its ceaseless solar orbit suit your convenience?"
The ritual words we then did utter, and stole I a vow that telephonic heralds should harbinger the arrival of my fucking shoe implants before I wasted any more time heating their waiting-room chairs. "Oh, yes, we always call the day before to confirm your appointment*. I'll write down a note here so that whoever makes that call remembers to tell you whether or not your orthotics have arrived."
*They had not called to confirm my appointment that day, nor have I ever received any phone call from their office to confirm an appointment any day since that day.
Since I didn't receive a confirmation call the day before my next appointment, I didn't go. That was enough to produce a call. Happily, I was at work, and didn't notice my phone vibrating in my pocket, and had time to calm my wits before responding to the voice mail berating me for missing my appointment. Of special interest here is the fact that the angry man in the recording included, angrily, "your orthotics are here," as if to convey that I really screwed up this time because they hadn't messed up again. Except for the part where they forgot to call me, which this person should have known about if he knew enough about the significance of the presence of my orthotics to emphasize it in his lecture.
At any rate, we rescheduled for today, and I went in and got them today, and my first reaction was, "Oh, so this is what it's supposed to feel like to walk." Really, it makes much more sense this way.
And now, a disgusting story about the inside of a mouth.
So, a while ago, I had this earache. Only the ENT couldn't see anything wrong inside my ear (this is becoming the story of my life). I postulated TMJ, since my mother has TMJ and my jaw always hurts. The dentist confirmed TMJ, and placed a slimy mold up against the roof of my mouth. The slug-like mold slithered back until it oozed over my gag reflexes, and gag I did, ejecting the entire contents of my mouth in the process. So the dentist applied a numbing agent to the back of my throat, and took a second mold without a hitch.
Afterward, I felt as though perhaps a small piece of the mold had split off like so much overstretched silly-putty and lodged itself in my throat, so I filled my cup with water, gargled, and spat a few times. The sensation didn't go away, and the dentist said, "That tingling won't go away for a while." I decided to leave it alone, and we proceeded with the tooth-cleaning.
About half an hour later, I coughed, and it was as if someone had pulled a plug in my throat. Water rose (yes, it slowly rose) up out of my throat and half-filled my mouth. Water, and mold. It wasn't painful, and it brought on no further coughing or gagging; however, there were people around, and I had no polite way to dispose of it. Someone was speaking to me and required a response. I panicked and swallowed.
And now you will be thankful the next time I go years without really posting in my livejournal.