Tuesday, November 12, 2013

Taking two shots...

All I did was take a bite of salad one night and the next two weeks were miserable!

Hubby and I were enjoying a few days away in the Smoky Mountains...staying at the home a friend loaned us...shopping at the outlet malls...eating delicious food. Something we’d been looking forward to that came at a really good time in Joe’s busy fall schedule. He was able to keep those days open for ‘just us’ and we enjoyed every moment.

Until I ate that salad.

Let me back up. I’m a grinder. For some reason, I have been grinding my teeth in my sleep for a very long time. I’ve worn one of those night-guards to prevent it, but haven’t used it in a long while. It doesn’t fit anymore (unlike my clothes, which don’t fit because for other reasons) due to new crowns, bridge-work, etc. I’m such a grinder that I’ve worked my way through two crowns on the same tooth.

The day of the salad incident, I’d just had the second crown re-attached until I could have a new one made. Instructed by my dentist not to eat anything on that side of my mouth for an hour, I was obedient and waited four hours or more. That evening, as we sat in a restaurant overlooking our beloved Smokies, I took a bite that sent horrible pain shooting in my mouth. Joe said that my face went completely white and he thought I was going to pass out. My eyes filled with tears. I have a high pain tolerance, but THIS pain was nearly intolerable! No Advil, no Aleve...no pain reliever of any kind was in my purse, so Joe went to find someone who might have something I could take. When he returned with four Advil, his food had arrived. (I’d had the waitress box mine up earlier.) I insisted that he go ahead and eat his meal while I excused myself from the table.

This wasn’t my first time to order a drink at a bar. (Thanks be to God, I don’t need that anymore.) I think the last time was when I was a chaperone on a choir tour with my daughter’s elementary school. Her fourth grade teacher had ‘the crud’ and couldn’t enjoy her meal for all the coughing she was suffering. After the children went to their rehearsal and the adult chaperones were alone together in the restaurant, I took Teacher to the bar...ordered a straight shot of whiskey and had her sip it. Voila! Her cough let up! (Yes, I took my daughter's teacher to a bar...but for good reason!)

Don’t get judgmental about me using whiskey. Over-the-counter cough remedies contain alcohol. My mother may have once been president of the Women’s Christian Temperance Union, but momma never heard a cough like Teacher had!

In TV westerns, cowboys would be given whiskey to kill the pain before a bullet had to be removed. That logic came to mind when my tooth felt like a shot had gone through my whole body! I went to the bar and ordered a straight shot of whiskey. No water. No ice. Just whiskey. Telling the bartender what my problem was, he recommended I have something smooth, so poured me a shot of Crown Royal (not Royal Crown, ‘cause then I’d have needed a Moon Pie, and I wasn’t in the mood). I paid the barkeep, took that shot and let it roll around in my mouth a little bit to ‘medicate’ the tooth. Then I swallowed. It was smooth. $7.50 worth of smooth. 

I went back to the table and sat quietly while my sweetheart finished his meal. He felt bad eating in front of me, but I told him I was just happy he could chew! He paid our bill and we started out of the restaurant when I decided to buy one more shot. Joe probably thought I was going to the restroom when I told him I’d be in the car in a few moments.

The restroom was the furthest thing from my mind. I wanted to get back to the bar! This time, I told the bartender I didn’t want to pay for expensive, smooth whiskey. I just wanted cheap, straight whiskey to roll around in my mouth one more time for the pain. Yes. The pain. And that shot helped. A little.

Two weeks and many peanut-butter milkshakes later my dentist informed me the tooth under that hole-y crown was abscessed and needed to come out.

Fast-forward. The tooth is out. Stitches are in, and I’m feeling much better. And I may be sick of peanut-butter milkshakes for the first time in my life!

And I haven’t been back to the bar since then. Remember, don’t judge me.

Just because the preacher’s wife made two trips to a bar in less than twenty minutes isn’t that big of a deal. The fact that she was wearing her Asbury Theological Seminary sweatshirt representing the place where her hubby was trained to be a minister? Well, that kind of is...

just sayin’

“If you have a pulse, then you have a purpose. Make your life count!” 

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