Chew On This

I have bruxism. And apparently it is way worse than I thought.

I just got back from the dentist, and basically I am going to be spending a lot of time in her office over the next six months to a year or so. From grinding my teeth plus overzealous brushing plus drinking soda by the bucketful, I have basically worn almost all the enamel off almost all my teeth. The only tooth in my entire head that appears to be fundamentally unaffected is the one that isn't even "factory equipment" any more -- it's the tooth that had the root canal and now has a crown.

I'm pretty sure this is nothing to be embarrassed about -- this isn't like the last time I went to a new dentist's office, when it had been more than 5 years since my last cleaning. Then I ended up having to have my bottom two wisdom teeth pulled, and I needed a gum debridement, which was maybe the most awful thing ever, mostly because for weeks afterward I needed to use this awful special mouthwash that tasted like black licorice and made everything taste funny.

I am not kidding when I say that black licorice is NOT a good flavor for mouthwash.

I guess I am going to have to have a bunch of teeth bonded, two cavities filled, and eventually I will have the other two wisdom teeth extracted, because basically they aren't doing anything except making it harder for me to keep the rest of my molars. I'll need to change the way I drink my soda -- smaller volumes, use a straw, only at mealtimes -- and then I will need to swish with a flouride rinse immediately afterwards. I have to get prescription toothpaste, too, which is something I didn't even know existed. Oh, and my new toothbrush? Is the same size as the toothbrush my kid uses.

I will say this about the new dentist: she is quite wonderful. She is the same dentist who takes care of Shae, and she is practically an old pro at the office, even though she's only been there twice. I am a complete wuss when it comes to dental work. I know it needs to be done, and I actually think that poor dental hygiene is one of the unforgivable sins, but there is something about getting needles in my mouth that I will never be 100% comfortable with.

I understand that this office also uses nitrous oxide, so maybe I will be okay.

WSJM Public Access Presents Coffee Talk

I'm at home dying of plague and consumption -- okay, strep throat, which is totally treatable thanks to modern medicine, but you have no idea how bad it is unless you have it so whatever -- and I slept until 11:00 so by the time I woke up there were no good daytime TV shows on any more -- haha like there are any good daytime TV shows to begin with -- so I am making up my own entertainment from some Skype screen shots from over the weekend.

WSJM Public Access Television in Pottstown-Des Plaines-Bethlehem presents "Coffee Talk with Joey Burger."

Good morning everybody. Beautiful day outside, not snowing for a change. Nice and warm here inside the studio. Thanks for joining us. Remember, if you want to be a member of our studio audience, call the switchboard at 777-GO-2-WSJM. Only 10 seats available for every taping, and the first three people who arrive at the studio will get to work the cameras. Ha!

So let me tell you about what happened yesterday after the show. You won't believe it. I went home for lunch and instead of getting my usual chocolate milk, my mommy made me chocolate MALT milk. Can you BELIEVE it? Chocolate MALT milk! What is this, 1950? What is she giving me, Ovaltine? But let me tell you, that chocolate MALT milk was DELICIOUS. Absolutely delicious. So I'm a new convert. Pour me some Ovaltine!

We're going to have a great show today. I'll be drinking my chocolate malt milk with our guests. Up first, we're going to talk with one of the Wonder Pets. That's right, Tuck the Turtle is going to be here. Give it up for Tuck!

Then we're going to joined by our musical guests, here to talk about the diss of the century at the Grammys, ladies and gentlemen we have Justin Bieber! [hollering] And he'll be showing off his NEW HAIRCUT!

And finally at the end of the show we're going to have our very favorite segment: snack time! Today my mommy is serving graham crackers, applesauce, and yes, CHOCOLATE MALT MILK for everybody. It's going to be great! Stick around after the commercials!

What Day Is This Anyway?

Dear family: I have not blogged in almost a week, but I am not dead. Rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated, mostly by me, because I have strep throat right now and you know what a frickin' drama queen I am. Of course, that doesn't really explain why I didn't write anything on Thursday or Friday of last week, or over the weekend, or yesterday when I had the day off, but the important thing is that I AM NOT DEAD. Even though my throat hurts too much for popsicles right now, and basically the only solid food I've eaten all day has been a grilled cheese sandwich soaked in tomato soup, and I didn't even eat all of it because IT HURTS SO MUCH YOU GUYS. I want my mommy. And some ice cream. And maybe some morphine.

Anyway: I have something lined up for tomorrow. Okay?

Proof of Life

It occurred to me last night that with all the thankfulness and the whining about suddenly up and moving to one of the wings of Naxxramas and all, it's been a few days since I posted any pictures. Not that anyone is keeping track except my sister and My Anonymous Mother, of course. (Ba-dum-DUM.) But I thought it might be a good idea to offer up some photographic evidence that we are all still alive, if not necessarily well.

Here we are, rocking out as much as it is possible to do so on command, and also enjoying our butter bread and water, which is the only thing she wanted to eat for dinner last night. We got her to eat a few bites under threat of calling Santa Claus, but she's smarter than we are and would have none of it.

I won't lie: these pictures are terrible, because neither she nor I really felt like taking any pictures, but I thought it was worth confirming that rumors of our death have been greatly exaggerated.

Fifth Element

As I previously reported before, I am a notorious hypochondriac. If I so much as hear about the hot new disease, I convince myself six ways from Sunday that I have it. Swine flu, shingles, echolocation (which is not actually a disease but it sounds like one, doesn't it?) -- if it exists, I've convinced myself that I have it. Having once worked for a doctor's office in a position that allowed me to read other peoples' diagnoses probably exacerbated this problem. And of course the Internet and "The Hypochondriac's Guide to Life. And Death." do not help.

After that adventure I had over the summer where I had that weird case of contact dermatitis that caused some kind of underlying secondary infection -- or, as I like to call it, the "Really Bad Hot Itchy Boob Poison" -- I am particularly wary of (and suggestible to) rashes and itching. Like, right now my face is SO ITCHY that I feel like I am going to have no choice in a few minutes but to SCRATCH ALL MY SKIN OFF WITH A BENT PAPERCLIP just to keep from slowly going insane.

Now, probably it's nothing -- just dry skin from the weather changing. But this has been going on for a couple of days and it doesn't feel like it's getting better, even though I've been using my fancy expensive moisturizers every day and my special exotic treatment gels every night and washing my face with Cetaphil and sacrificing virgin baby unicorns during a lunar eclipse with a blade made of fairy wings and titansteel. Nothing has worked, so I went to WebMD, and simply by filling in that my symptoms include itchy or burning skin on my face, with nothing else going on (no foreign travel, no eating fish, no dancing with the devil in the pale moonlight), I have helpfully been informed that I probably have lice, or poison (again!), or hives, or alopecia, or narcotic abuse.

NARCOTIC ABUSE. Son of a bitch, I knew those two Vicodin that I took when the dentist YANKED TWO WHOLE TEETH RIGHT THE FUCK OUT OF MY HEAD were going to come back and bite me in the ass eventually. I didn't think it would take two and a half months, but there you go -- those 10 mg of Vicodin have turned me into an ADDICT and soon I'll be living on the STREET doing GOD KNOWS WHAT for money so I can buy cigarettes and alcohol and more drugs and it will just all be a bad scene and this is ALL BECAUSE THE INTERNET TOLD ME I HAVE ITCHY SKIN ON MY FACE! Because it's almost winter. Those bastards.

Oh, my point? My point is that Shae is sick, and she ALSO has a weird rash:

Except when little kids get a head cold with weird rash on their face (now it's more on her cheeks than around her mouth -- the mouth and nose redness is because she has been blowing her nose for three straight days), they get to have something called "fifth disease" and not, you know, a DRUG PROBLEM.

WTF!? Friday PLUS Trivia: Bring Out Yer Dead

So ... swine flu, eh?

You may remember way back to the uncharted backwaters of time, when I wrote about the swine flu before. It's gotten worse, of course -- people are going batshit butternuts crazy over it now. Not sure why exactly, as most reasonable, reliable metrics show that seasonal flu is far more likely to turn you into a flesh-eating zombie than the swine flu. Sorry, "H1N1 Influenza A."

But then again, it is kind of fun and exciting to cook up a bunch of bacon and ham and pork BBQ and Spam-infused foam reduction served three ways* and make up little canapés and hors d'oeuvres and other foreign words and throw a "swine flu party," so maybe people are onto something.

Oh ... you mean that isn't what a "swine flu party" is? Wait, what? People are deliberately exposing themselves and their children to an unpredicable, uncontrolled, rapidly-mutating, potentially fatal pathogen in the comfort of their own homes? For real? Hmm. Maybe we sort of all deserve to be turned into the eternally hungering undead scourge.

Anyway. Look, get the flu shot and the H1N1 vaccination, or don't, I don't care -- it's a personal choice. There are always risks, and there are always rewards, and it's a cost-benefit analysis that everyone has to make at one time or another. Like, I can't get tetanus shots any more, because I am allergic to something in the vaccine, so I make it a personal goal to get through each day without stabbing myself (intentionally or inadvertently) with rusty nails. Q.E.D., or quid pro quo, or something in Latin.

I can't tell you what to do, and I wouldn't want to. Be careful out there, is all that I am saying. As The Refreshments sing: "Everybody knows the world is full of stupid people." Don't be one of them.

= = = = =

Oh, the trivia portion? It's all about sickness and health. You're welcome. Can you name ...

• Three diseases (besides influenza) that killed a lot of people at one time
• Three over-the-counter medicines that once required a prescription
• Three vaccinations that many people receive as kids
• Three non-medicinal treatments for flu-like symptoms
• Three generic symptoms of no particular illness at all
• Three antibiotics (brand name or chemical name OK)
• Two diagnoses that once appeared on "House (hint: it's never lupus**)

Standard trivia rules apply: no Google, no cheating, no calling your readers who are pharmacists and/or infectious disease researchers and/or nurses for hints, etc. I'll post my answers on Monday night after 5pm. Good luck!

* Guess who watches "Top Chef" and rolls their eyes right out of her head whenever anyone serves "infusions," "reductions," "foams," or anything "three ways"?

** Except when it is.

Pigheaded

This just in from the CDC and the WHO: we're fucked.

Stories about the swine flu are everywhere, of course, what with half the world suddenly dropping dead all around us, and the other half developing a bizarre and inexplicable unquenchable zombie-like hunger for baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaacon!

I don't really watch the news any more, but I do listen to NPR on my way into work, and Morning Edition spent a good chunk of today's broadcast covering the developing pandemic; on their homepage there are eight different stories about it, covering everything from school shutdowns, Kathleen Sebelius and the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, and an uptick in crime in relation to the outbreak.

So in case you've been living under a rock, I reiterate: we're fucking fucked.

As a hypochondriac, this is possibly my worst nightmare. Do you know what the symptoms of swine flu are? According to a handy webpage from the CDC cheerfully entitled "Swine Influenza and You," like they're trying to sell you on the benefits of a new deep freezer or something:

What are the signs and symptoms of swine flu in people?
The symptoms of swine flu in people are similar to the symptoms of regular human flu and include fever, cough, sore throat, body aches, headache, chills and fatigue. Some people have reported diarrhea and vomiting associated with swine flu. In the past, severe illness (pneumonia and respiratory failure) and deaths have been reported with swine flu infection in people. Like seasonal flu, swine flu may cause a worsening of underlying chronic medical conditions.

Let me repeat that for emphasis: "The symptoms of swine flu in people are similar to the symptoms of regular human flu." So, basically, that plague I had for the past week or so? The coughing, congestion, upset stomach, tiredness, and general malaise? SWINE FLU. I could be dead in a week. I hope my life insurance is paid up.

That's what makes the combination of hypochondria and internet access so dangerous. I made joking references last week to possibly having emphysema and West Nile virus and Legionnaire's disease and asbestosis and an aortic aneurysm, knowing full well that I didn't actually have these things. What I had, I thought, was a bad cold.

Until I found out that I actually have the fucking swine flu. I don't know how I got it -- I haven't been to Mexico lately, I haven't been around anyone who's been to Mexico lately, and I don't even think I've been around many Mexicans. Well, my husband, but unless he's been doing something he isn't supposed to have been doing, he didn't give it to me. Maybe it's been dormant since we visited Tulum? Back in 2006?

In any case: I just want you all to know how much I love you. Please make sure that Shae is well-provided for; the insurance money should more than cover her tuition at Berkeley in 16 more years if it is invested well. My favorite flowers are peace roses, purple irises, and Gerbera daisies (especially pinks, peaches, and yellows). Bury me in red, and play lots of loud and inappropriate music at my funeral.

Until then, if you need me, I'll be over here in my hole, whimpering and eating BLT's.

Martian Death Flu

You can't really tell from this picture, but Cupcake hasn't been feeling well for the last few days, so yesterday we took her to the pediatrician's office to get checked out. (Family doctor, actually -- and an osteopath, to boot!)

You also can't really tell from this picture, but we did NOT have a good time at the doctor's office. She wouldn't cooperate and get on the scale, she freaked RIGHT THE HELL OUT when they tried to take her temperature with the underarm thermometer, and when we got to the part where the doctor tried to look in her ears and throat? NUCLEAR MELTDOWN.

Long story short: not RSV or leukemia or asbestoisis, as I feared. (Oh, have I mentioned I'm a hypochondriac?) Just an ear infection, some "crackling" in one lung but nothing major, and possibly something going on in the throat but we're not sure because of the gnashing of teeth. Amoxicillin. 10 days of the joy and bliss of coercing a toddler into taking antibiotics that Mommy is allergic to. FUN TIMES.

PS -- G is sick too. He has the scourge that I had over Christmas. Martian Death Flu doesn't really figure in anywhere, except that it's one of my favorite Dave Barry columns ever.

How To Save A Life

Helpful parenting tip of the day from me, your pal, lovable furry old rockle: When the county tells you that they have changed your foster child's insurance so that she is now covered under < insert name of plan here >, make sure to ask if < name of plan > is HMO code for "Ghetto Health Plan."

Bonus helpful parenting tip of the day from me, your friend, although not quite as lovable at the moment, thanks for asking: When the county tells you that you need to select a new primary care pediatrician for your foster child, even though there was absolutely nothing wrong with the other one, he was really awesome in fact and we liked him very much, make sure to ask if "Ghettoville Regional Medical Center" is PR code for "disgusting public clinic."

Additional bonus helpful parenting tip of the day from me, your buddy, who is growing increasingly pissed with every passing moment, now that you mention it: When your case worker tells you that the county forwarded her a letter stating that the original pediatrician -- whom you painstakingly selected from all of the maybe five available physicians covered under the Ghetto Health Plan -- no longer accepts the insurance, maybe it is time to start freebasing the Valium.

Extra additional bonus helpful parenting tip of the day from me, who is not going to continue this conceit any more because it's just getting retarded at this point: When you arrive at the clinic that is supposed to be a regular, normal-old doctor's office for your foster child's 15-month well-child visit and all the forms they give you to sign are written in another fucking language, just give the hell up and run the fuck away and maybe sit in your car for a while, weeping and drinking white zinfandel straight from the bottle.

Mondo extra additional bonus helpful parenting tip of the day from me: When the receptionist at the clinic tells you that they are handling emergencies in the morning and that the doctor is running a little behind schedule, and that they don't know how far behind the doctor actually is, per se, but it shouldn't be long before you are seen, make sure to ask the receptionist to define "a little behind schedule" and "shouldn't be long," and when you get a vague noncommittal answer, try very hard not to punch her in the mouth, even though you really really want to, partly because she is lying out her ass, but also because she did that thing with her lip liner that makes you completely batshit crazy nuts.

Super mondo extra additional bonus helpful parenting tip of the day from me: WHO THE HELL ACTUALLY THINKS THAT THING WITH THE LIP LINER LOOKS GOOD ON ANYONE? WHO? I DEMAND ANSWERS!

Crazy super modo extra additional bonus helpful parenting tip of the day from me: When you have to take your poor 15-month-old to Ghettoville Regional Medical Center because Ghetto Health Plan says you have to, expect to spend FOUR FUCKING HOURS waiting to see a doctor because nobody bothered to tell her that there was AN ACTUAL PATIENT WITH AN ACTUAL GODDAMNED APPOINTMENT WAITING TO ACTUALLY BE SEEN BY AN ACTUAL BOARD-CERTIFIED PHYSICIAN IN EXAM ROOM FIVE. Since two o'clock. After they waited in reception since quarter to eleven, and ran out of food, and ran out of juice, and ran out of diapers, and ran out of patience, and OH MY GOD I AM TOTALLY GOING TO STAB THAT RECEPTIONIST IN THE TEMPLE WITH THAT LIP LINER PENCIL BECAUSE THAT SHIT IS JUST OUT OF CONTROL, WHO LIVES LIKE THIS, I AM ASKING YOU PEOPLE?!?

Also: at your 15-month well-child exam? Your poor kid, who has not had a proper lunch or a proper nap, and who is wearing a two-hour old diaper at this point, is going to get shots, and that is NOT GOING TO BE FUN. You may want to plan something special for dinner, like milkshakes or banana splits topped with lots of whipped cream, cherries, and Xanax.

In Sickness and In Health

So, here is the part of parenting that I most dreaded all along, even before I had kids of my own: the part where I have to take my child into the pediatrician for a well-baby visit, and I try to study up to determine if hypochondria is a learned behavior, or an instinctual one, or just annoying.

As you know, I am a lunatic crazy person who suffers from hypochondria and, therefore, every dread disease known to man except AIDS at this point. I have migraines, PCOS, "severe recurring depression without psychotic episodes," a fatty liver, and recent possible brain damage from being whapped about the head and shoulders over the last month by heavy, noisy, possibly-lead-filled infant toys.

And when it was just me, I knew I had this weirdness, and I just dealt with it, you know? Like, when I had sinus congestion, it always swirled around the back of my mind that there could be any number of things wrong with me -- brain tumor, ricin poisoning, whooping cough, nasal polyps. But usually, I just took some Sudafed, Claritin, and some combination of Tylenol and/or Advil and/or Aleve and/or vodka and called it a day.

But now, there is this wee little creature* involved, and everything changes. When something happens to her, I can't panic, because if I get upset then she'll get upset, and then we'll get stuck in a vortex of wailing and sobbing that is going to end with both of us on the floor in the fetal position, blubbering and runny-nosed and begging for a bottle. And we already have enough of that when we don't get our naps.

So I had to take her in for her 12-month well-baby visit today, and I did what is maybe the smartest parenting-related thing I could have done: I stayed the bloody hell away from the internet. I know how dangerous the internet can be for a hypochondriac, and I knew what road I might have been heading down, especially because I knew in advance that this particular visit was going to involve ... dun-dun-DUUUUN ... vaccinations.

DISCLAIMER: I am not fucking going there, OK? Kids need shots, and the state requires that my kid gets these shots, and there was not going to be an argument from me. I don't know shit about shit, but I do know that even though I've only met this doctor one time, I trust him implicitly, because his primary concern is for my daughter. So I did what he said.

What I didn't know about? Was the blood work. Pennsylvania now requires screening for lead exposure for all children under age 5. (Wonder why they didn't do this when I was a kid, and gnawed on lead paint chips for a hobby? Would have been useful, I think.) Poor kid had to be poked in the arm four times today** -- so needless to say, I am not her best friend right now. But a mom's gotta do what a mom's gotta do.

The upsides -- and yes, there are some: The pediatrician said she is doing is really well. Her weight and height gains are right on target, as are all her other developmental indicators. She was cheerful and verbal and appropriately curious. We talked about her feeding, and he said we are doing the right things so far, and can start switching her from formula and baby foods to whole milk and table foods.

He also said that we, G and I, seem to be doing a good job, because she was all lovey-dovey with me, blowing kisses and saying some words and just generally being a great little well adjusted toddler. Which was maybe the most wonderful thing I've ever heard. Because maybe it's OK to be a little crazy, if you are doing it for the right reasons.

* Not so little, any more. 26 pounds and 31 inches. Half my height already!
** Snoopy Band-Aids!! How freaking cute is that?

Crazy Is Contagious

Another one of my many mental ailments: I am a wicked hypochondriac. Like, if I smell coffee or bacon in the morning, I am instantly convinced that I have a brain tumor or nasal polyps or epilepsy or something, and not until I am actually holding a plate in front of me and bitching about how this pigmeat isn't crisp enough does it ever once occur to me that I might be smelling strange things because someone is cooking something.

Example: from time to time I wake up in the morning with a sore throat, cotton mouth, a splitting headache, and absolute killer death-breath. According to WebMD (the Internet is a wonderful thing, no?), I might have Sjgren's syndrome, or acute kidney failure, or constipation, or mono (which I'm pretty sure I already had when I had "the flu" in college for six damn weeks, but who knows?), or even leukemia -- OK, leukemia isn't technically on the list, but I know that different kinds of cancers manifest in different kinds of ways.

Of course, what I really have? Is a hangover. It's the great-goddamn-grandmother of all hangovers, but still. God. Weirdo. (But I can't really help it that I'm allergic to having a good time.)

But the point of all of this is that right now I have a cat with the sniffles, and so of course I am freaking the fuck out. You can ask my husband about last night, when I lay in bed weeping and shrieking hysterically because I was terrified, absolutely inconsolably convinced, that something is seriously wrong with the cat. Practically at death's door. Making funeral plans and picking out an outfit and everything. I mean, come on! He's been hanging out in the bathtub, ferchrissakes!

Plus I recently discovered WebDVM, which is like WebMD for animals, and ... Christ on a cracker, the horror! Owen has been sneezing and coughing, which could mean kennel cough, or feline herpes, or heartworm. He also has the sniffles and some congestion, which could be COPD, or distemper, or pneumonia. And he's been drinking a lot, which could be diabetes, or kidney failure, or a thyroid problem. Every single one of these things sounds horrible. A simple cold, which is probably what he actually has, is almost anticlimactic now.

I figured out what will fix him, though: Valium. Lots and lots of Valium. Or Zoloft, or Xanax, or Prozac, or some other mood stabilizers. Oh, not for him, though. They're for me.

=====

UPDATE 12/14/07: G took Owen to the (craptacular) emergency backup vet today, because he wasn't sounding very good overnight into today. Poor little bugger is on antibiotics ... and now I need to watch out for amoxicillin allergies, because cats can be allergic to amoxicillin, and since I'm allergic to amoxicillin you just know the O-Bert will be. If Something Bad happens we might have to give him steroids or epinephrine. Like what happens to me, only I don't know if you'll see his hives under his fur. Oh, and feline herpes is apparently a possibility. Sometimes the worst-case scenario is actually possible. Oy vey.