I’m pretty sure.
It’s like a nerve has been pinched. You know when you suck in air too quickly and it feels like a drill is going through your tooth? Yeah, that’s what it feels like, except in my socket. You know, without the tooth. Is this bloody pain ever going to end?!!!!!
I look like MJ’s dermatologist with all of the meds I have in my bag. Motrin, which was the alternative to the Vicodin and Percocet I was given. I was on antibiotics until yesterday, so now there’s just an empty bottle. I also have my antibiotics for the so-called “acne” complex I have had since 7th grade. Basically I made the derm give me medication to help keep my skin clear, although I don’t need them and I never use them. They’re just for an emergency break out.
Why would I need an alternative to Vicodin and Percocet? Well because I was barfing my merry brains out.
Episode One: The day after surgery (Thursday). I ate a bowl of ice cream. I was taking antibiotics four times a day and then the pain meds accordingly. Anyway, I felt nauseous so I stayed in bed for about 24 hours straight until I got up to get the ice cream, which made me feel dizzy. I ate it all and about four minutes later I got up and vomited in the toilet.
Episode Two: Stu came into town to care for me (Friday). He’s precious. So I was all like, “Oh hey, we can go to this restaurant I worked at in high school!” It’s about 20 minutes from home. Little did I know that the Vicodin was throwing off my equilibrium, so getting in a fast moving car was not the answer. We’re almost to the restaurant when I asked Stu to pull over. Of course he does immediately, in front of an IHOP. “No! Go to the back by the bushes!” He does and I get out. It starts to rain. I barfed up more chocolate ice cream and Stu was a trooper and held my hair back. He also got to witness “Crouching Kirbie, Exposed Butt Crack” as I had four inch heels on and my bc was out for the whole world to see (damn you, low rise jeans!). Needless to say this was not one of my most shining moments.
Episode Three: This past Tuesday. Stu was driving me back to Georgetown from Dallas (I went back home with him on Sunday). I got in the car and knew I was going to barf. “Hey babis, can you pull over to a shoulder when you get a minute?” Just because I’m sickly doesn’t mean “babis” goes out the window. Well we couldn’t find a shoulder so he pulls off the highway and onto this road that seemed NEVER ENDING. I was like hello, God? I need to puke. So he pulls into a parking lot at the Infomart and I threw up an entire fruit salad. Lucky for the birds.
I guess puking incessantly is probably a factor in my dry socket mess. But seriously? How was I to know?! I mean if I wanted the pain to stop I had to take the meds. I said that if this was anything remotely close to child birth that’d I’d pass – throwing up, pains, aches, nausea and heavy pain meds. NO thank you. (It’s okay people, about eight mothers have testified that child birth is way worse.)
And thanks Stu, I feel like we’re even now. 🙂