Well, I’m back from the dentist. I talked over the tooth situation with Dr. D yesterday before my treatment and he said my counts looked good enough to go in and see about some drillin’ and fillin’. My dentist was named Dr. Paul, which is quite deceiving as Dr. Paul is neither a hairdresser nor a man. Picture Charlotte from Sex and the City (the one with the brown hair and big eyes). Same kind of look, same kind of attitude. Really apologetic any time she was about to hurt me. And hurt me she did! Well, no more than a usual dentist. She’s couldn’t tell definitively if there was an infection brewing at the site of my old root canal (where the pain seems to be coming from), but there was a cavity between that tooth and the one behind it. She went ahead and drilled and filled there and on the front of my two front teeth, which were looking a little bad. She also suggested that when my counts are really good, I come back for a cleaning and to extract a wisdom tooth that’s looking pretty bad. Both of those can hold for a bit, but she thinks it would be good to get them taken care of before I get hit with the hard chemo. I’ll be discussing with the cancer docs to get the recommendation.
Here’s something I really hate about the chemo – it’s really starting to affect my brain. Part of it is just typos. Everywhere. I’m sure you can look back a few days and spot many, ’cause I haven’t gone back to look. Some of these are due to stumble fingers, others I have no idea where they come from. I was writing an email to Barb the other day where I typed the phrase “it’s one of his buddies.” I looked up at the screen to see “it’s then of his buddies.” Whiskey Tango Foxtrot? Other times, it’s hard to make the words come in out any proper order. I’ll start typing a sentence and I’ll get about halfway through and realize it makes no sense whatsoever. You people are probably used to this from my emails and my various posts, but it’s new to me.
For the most part, it was just typing that was bothering me. Now it’s leaching into the real world. I stopped by CVS to pick up my next batch of meds and decided to get some 8 hour Tylenol since I’ve been hitting it pretty hard as of late. I look at the shelf, going through the bewildering array of Tylenols until I get to the 8 hour section. I look back and forth through the different quantities until I found the one with the most (I mean seriously, 24 pills? What can I do with that?). I looked at it, saw it was 8 hour, picked it up off the shelf. I get home, open the box, open the bottle. “Hmmm. These look different.” I look at the bottle. Extra Strength Tylenol. Son of a… How could they screw up and put the wrong bottle in the right box? I check the box. Extra Strength Tylenol. Crapola.
So now I’m getting Barb to pick some up on her way home and I’m not going to shop by myself anymore. Here’s hoping the brain cloud takes care of itself before I have to go jump in a volcano.
And I didn’t keep exact track, but I would say I’ve retyped a minimum of 50 words in this post, some more than once. Chemo sucks.