March 23, 2015

I Didn't Blog Last Week Because I Was Being a Not-Quite-Hot Mess


Last week was a rotten, terrible, unforgivably and unnecessarily crummy week.

Physically and mentally, I was just an all-over-the-place mess. And not a hot mess either; just a messy one.

The messiness started Sunday and progressed steadily until its culmination on Friday afternoon at 2PM, where I was lying on my couch (having left work early for fear of throwing up on my keyboard). From the time I had left work at 1, somehow my regular old nausea had turned into a full-on body chills, achy everything, hot headed fever nausea.

And the worst part was that I had a dentist's appointment at 2:45.

I knew that, for the sake of everyone at the office, I should cancel. But the reason I had scheduled the appointment was because of a mysterious hole at the back of my mouth that was getting bigger and whiter every day, and as an ironically self-diagnosed hypochondriac with a background in microbiology, I was afraid that somehow that hole was an infected hole, whose infection was now eating away at my brain.

So I went to the dentist, who promptly took a few X-rays, poked me with that sharp dentist thing a couple times, and told me that he "didn't like tooth number 2." (For the record, tooth number 2 didn't like him either.)

Finally, he told me that the hole in my mouth wasn't a flesh-eating bacterial portal, but actually just my gums making way for one of my four wisdom teeth that was trying to come in (but is blocked by my jaw bone). But he told me I should get them taken out before the hole does become a flesh-eating portal. (To paraphrase him slightly.)

So I thanked him, went home, and contemplated my impending tooth surgery as I lay in the shower listening to Blake Shelton on Pandora. When I ran out of hot water, I swapped my shower for my couch and Blake for Shailene Woodley dying of cancer. (I.e., A Fault in Our Stars.)

I only got up two times Friday night: once to charge my phone so I could order a $20 minimum of food using GrubHub, and one other time to answer my door so I could eat the $4.00 chicken soup I ordered and look at the other $16 worth of orzo salad and pita chips I neither wanted nor needed.

Basically, I was sick, alone, with an inconveniently placed jawbone, and feeling quite sorry for myself.

But as they do, my mom came to my rescue. Saturday morning, she arrived at my apartment with a fresh bouquet of flowers, ten bags of groceries, and a lavender vanilla candle. She had bought all the ingredients to make me homemade chicken noodle soup, so we spent the rest of the day watching movies, chatting about things other than tooth number 2, and eating the kind of food only moms can make.

I'm feeling a lot better this Monday, physically and mentally. It could be that the sun is finally shining, or the antibiotics I'm taking. But most likely, it's just the lingering effects of Mom's homemade chicken noodle soup.

Because moms, God bless them, I don't know what sort of magic they have but it sure tastes good in chicken broth.