Chronicle of a toothache

I woke early this morning with my jaw hurting, but I managed to doze on and off until 9:30. Once I got up and moving, the jaw--and I--felt better. I kept checking the mirror, trying to see if the swelling had gone down, because the dentist was concerned about it. Tonight I can say it may not have gone down, but it hasn't gotten worse.
The trouble with feeling rotten is you look around  your house and see things that really must be done but don't have the oomph to do them--I made myself do a laundry, freeze the chicken I'm not going to serve to company tomorrow (after I made such a fuss at the butcher counter about "Has this chicken ever been frozen?), and several other small chores. Tonight I put out fresh bird seed, cleaned the back yard, took the garbage carts down to the curb, and watered the porch plants.
Eating is no fun because it hurts to open my mouth (that should make the root canal really pleasant!). Breakfast: a bit of cottage cheese; lunch: cream of chicken soup--okay, it had wheat flour in it but who cares about gluten at this point? dinner: a deviled egg (pretty good), a small bit of hummus, and a banana. Maybe I'll lose weight.
People are quick to tell me their stories--from horror to "piece of cake." My neighbor/yard guy came by for the few figs I'd picked and said he'd rather have open heart surgery again--but he was talking about the pain before the root canal not the procedure, and I, knock on wood, seem to be lucky in that respect. Jean Walbridge described the procedure as "tedious" and said to take my iPod (she should know I don't have one) but I'll take the Kindle for those periods when everyone disappears. Chloe Webb said she had a lot more luck with root canals than losing weight, even though hers was complicated and her dentist finally gave up and sent her to an endodontist--now there's a cheery thought.
Late last night and early this morning I cancelled the world for today and tomorrow--had lunch and dinner plans both days and just said, "Sorry, I can't do that." Met with complete understanding. Sometimes, faced with a day at home, I long to go do something, but today it came with a sense of peace. I spent a lot of time on emails this morning--being on three listserves for Sisters in Crime is time-consuming, and I wonder how some of those ladies write, but I compulsively read each post or at least glance at it. Janet Evanovich's request for a $50 million advance from St. Martin's for four books and subsequent jumping ship to Random has been a big topic. But this aftrnoon I got some good (I hope--have to reread) writing done on the section on Wolf Brand Chili in my nonfiction book. Then a nap, though I slept neither as soundly nor as long as I expected.
Thursday is a big puzzle to me. My appointment has been moved to 9:30, which I view as a good thing. Because when I know I'm facing something like this, I get nervous, Betty has agreed to take me and Jean will pick me up. I plan to come home, have a long nap, and then my writing class meets at my house. Elizabeth agreed to lead it, though she also offered to cancel it. I said that wasn't necessary. Then I realized I'd agreed to provide refreshments--I have hummus and crackers, and some bourbon hot dogs in the freezer. I thought the kids would want them this weekend but they don't, so I'd just as soon get rid of them. And if I don't feel up to having a houseful of women, I'll simply retreat to my bedroom and close the door. I think it will be fine.
Then comes Friday--when I have to begin to catch up with my lost week, do some shopping, get ready for Jacob that night and to go to Frisco first thing in the morning. Sometimes I think life doesn't leave you long recovery breaks, but I'm guess I'm having mine today and tomorrow.
In spite of the slight nagging in my jaw and the apprehension about Thursday, life is good. I guess I'm making lemonade.

A gluten-free day with a toothache and Jacob

Tonight, I am quite convinced that my toothache is not going to go away and is in fact an abscess--it hurts, the glands under my jawbone are swollen and tender on that side, and I feel crappy. Jacob wanted to go to the store, then he wanted to go to church--and I had to tell him Juju just didn't feel up to it. He was a good boy--played with his toys, watched TV, and came to me with various projects. He did NOT want a nap; I desperately wanted one. At one point last night he came into the office, which caused Scooby to bolt for his bed. Jacob announced he had heard a noise that scared him--this morning I figured out it was squirrels on the flat roof of the add-on that is a playroom and Jacob's bedroom. So he wanted to sleep in my bed. I shut down the computer and got everything ready for bed. We climbed in but it didn't last long and he decided he wanted to go back to his bed--this was maybe eleven, and he'd been so quiet I truly thought he was asleep. He may have been and Bigfoot on he roof wakened him. But then at midnight, he called for me--his pillows had fallen on the floor. I remembered when Jamie was two or three, still using a pacifier, and got me up one night because his "binkie" fell on the floor. The pediatrician, a good friend, said, "Judith, any kid that is old enough to say his binkie fell on the floor is old enough to get out of bed and get it." I felt the same way about Jacob last night, and I was very strict about going to sleep, which he did. When I put him down for a nap and gave him just a bit of a head start on me, he jabbered and jabbered, and I scolded and scolded--as I said, the string of my patience was short today. So I crawled in my bed, and pretty soon there he was crawling in with me. Have you ever slept with a washing machine in your bed? He squirmed, he turned, he tossed, he hugged me, then he kicked me, then he rubbed up against me--once again I was stern and told him he simply had to lie still, and he most definitely was not to sit up and look at Scooby--for some reason he gets Scooby quite excited and anxious. I kept telling myself I could sleep with a whirling dervish next to me, and I did sort of doze but then I noticed he was very still. I'd say we got a pretty good nap, though he woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Poor Jacob--he's so sweet and good, and I don't think he got the best of his Juju today.
While he was playing, I was reading the book Elizabeth gave me, Gluten-Free Girl. Except I kept popping up to check labels on food in my fridge and cupboard, even the bathroom. Apparently you have to have gluten-free Ibuprofen--I can't take that, so I take plain aspirin, which is okay. My toothpaste seems to be okay too. Mustard is a bit suspect because of caramel coloring but supposedly if it's made in this country it's gluten free. Soy sauce is out--though I found some gluten free online, and I'll order it just to have with sushi and sashimi. You apparently have to really read labels closely--and even then you can't always tell. Bless the people who label foods "gluten free."
One comment in the book struck me: author Shauna James Ahern goes to a meeting of the Inernational Association for Culinary Professionals and  meets some of the "more alive, interesting people in one place than I had ever seen before . .  . food people equals good people." I've always felt that way about book people. I think because both of us, food people and book people, are following our passion. And  here I am with both those subjects as a passion--I feel blessed, in spite of the slight ache in my jaw.
Ho, hum! I'm going to bed early because I intend to call the dentist office the minute they open at 7:30 and be ready to go if they say "Come right in." Am I an optimist? I hope what they'll do is put me on antibiotics (which should help the blahs I've felt all day) and schedule a root canal for next week, after the Alter clan get-together in Frisco this weekend.