I haven't been able to stop listening to Kandle since I featured her last month - not that I ever did, really, as she's been playing steadily in my rotation since 2014.
I dove back into her first EP, her debut album, switched up my phone's song list to remove the oft-skipped Baby and replaced it with Gimme A Pill, a song she hasn't played live in a while because it sends mixed signals, often being interpreted as "pro-drugs" when in fact it is about her struggles with chronic migraines.
She shot a video for it in 2016, directed by Maya Fuhr, which depicts a day in the life of an opioid-addicted adult:
"I won't stop until the pain goes away" - the phrase that best describes the millennium so far.
Showing posts with label medecine. Show all posts
Showing posts with label medecine. Show all posts
Saturday, August 11, 2018
Friday, November 9, 2012
Live-Blogging A Triple-Tooth Extraction
It's been a surreal week so far, with only one day of work, a death in the extended family, and an appointment to extract teeth - I didn't know until the last minute if it'd consist of one, two or three leaving my mouth. Turns out I went for three, all top-left, all in the back (starting with the molar, we're letting my wisdom tooth grow).
My appointment was originally for 7:30 PM on Thursday, but they called me on Tuesday to postpone it to 8PM. Here's how it went:
5:15 PM - They call me, asking me to come in earlier. They offer 6:30 PM, but that's too early and there's no way I'd be able to make it in time; we settle for 7 PM.
5:45 PM - I leave the house. I know for a fact that I won't be able to eat for 24 or 48 hours after the act, so I stop by McDonald's for a quick, unsatisfying bite. I take a third-pound angus burger, but forgo taking the trio (drink and fries) for the extra $3 because it's a rip-off. And I don't feel like spending over $10 on a McD's meal.
6 PM - I get on the subway.
6:20 PM - off the subway, wait for the bus, that's 20 minutes away.
6:25 PM - I get thirsty and start looking for a convenience store, but there are none in sight. I settle for a bowling alley, and buy a $3 (can't make that shit up) small bottle of 7Up. Should have taken the fucking meal, I would have had more to drink...
7 PM - I get to the dentist's.
7:05 PM - I'm sitting in the chair, getting my shots of anesthetic.
9 PM - I'm done. A quick stop at a pharmacy for painkillers (percocet!) and my dad drives me home.
9:10 PM - I take my meds and watch TV.
MIDNIGHT (Friday morning) - I start feeling pressure on my teeth - a bit in the hole where my old teeth used to be, kind of the same pain as the toothaches I used to have - but I also feel something in my front teeth, I guess she was pressing against them for leverage in taking the other ones out, but now those were annoying me. I guess the anesthetic has worn off.
3 AM - Time for bed.
6 AM - An incredible thirst comes over me, so I get up to chug a liter of mineral water. Then back to bed. Can't sleep. Fuck.
9 AM - Pill time. I get up, with just a minimal amount of pain in my face, less than a toothache, more like the pain you get when you have a small cavity. This could be less bad than I'd heard. Back to bed for what should be a couple of hours. Waking up at noon would make sense.
3 PM - Drowsy, but feel I should get up, if only to take my anti-inflammatory meds. Decide to order wonton soup to go along with it. Great fucking idea, I rule. Let's watch La Galère with the Former Lady Of The House.
4 PM - I've had enough of that show, would rather play Civilization.
6 PM - Feel drowsy again, I'll nap a while.
9 PM - Up in time for meds and supper. I'll have garlic-and-herbs pasta (I'm tired of tomato-based sauces for the time being). Will watch Family Guy (Season 10).
11 PM - tired, off to bed.
3 AM (Saturday Morning) - Jesus Christ. The place where my teeth used to be hurts, similar to a tooth ache, except without the physical presence. Is it all in my mind? Also, the left side of my face has swelled and feels the same as having an abscess, except I don't have one, I'd feel it with my tongue, and I don't. On the plus side, it's time for my meds.
3:30 AM - Can't fall back asleep, although the pain has subsided a bit. It's definitely tolerable, in any case, so I guess I'll play Civilization until I can go back to sleep.
9 AM - Shit, time for more meds. I guess I should try to get back to bed.
2 PM - Woke up drowsy, but it'd be a shame to waste the whole day in bed, so I'll get up. I'll make myself some shitty McCain tiny pizzas for lunch, they'll be ready for meds-time (3PM). I guess I should clean up a bit, too. I'll start with vacuuming the hall and living room.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
The Doctor Next Door
There's a world-renowned (well, city-renowned, but if he keeps at it, I'm sure the world will follow) pill-pusher with a PHD (one of those that pass as a 'doctor', officially, but probably hasn't provided anyone with useful information in decades) that runs his operation a block away from my place, and I was in dire need of asthma medication for my upcoming weekend getaway up North, and I didn't feel like going to a hospital just for a prescription, so I went...
I'm used to hearing about ''people waiting for hours in line to get to see a doctor'', especially now that Barack Obama wants to provide his citizens with decent health care and opponents mention the ''Canadian plan as being such a failure'' in that field, so I decided to get there half an hour before it opens, just so I'm among the first thousand in line. Turns out I'm alone, and the door is locked. So far, it seems normal enough.
The clinic is situated on the second floor of an apartment building that stands above a pharmacy - a drug store. Its main door shares the floor with 4 others - at this point I'm guessing they're housing, not commerces. I guess right, because from one door comes the secretary to unlock the clinic and lead me in.
Looking at my MediCare card, she asks if I've ever been to the clinic before. ''Yes, a few times'', I answer.
- And the last time?
- I don't know, 3, maybe 4 years.
- More 3, or more, 4, because we don't store those files in the same place.
- I don't know, maybe 4.
She's looking nervous, as more people start entering the premises. ''Could it be 5 years?''
- Well, yeah, I guess it could be five years. All I know is the last time I came in was the last time I felt ill enough to warrant a visit to a doctor, but also healthy enough to be able to make the walk here. When my back broke down on me, for example, I couldn't even walk to the washroom, let alone come all the way here...
''Well'', she replies, ''when patients don't come for 5 years or more, we send their files out to storing and have to create new ones''. While I'm thinking this isn't the most efficient way to deal with things, I try to telepathically tell her that, really, writing my name, address and phone number on a piece of loose leaf paper isn't all that much more work than asking me if I still live at the same place - which she would have done anyway. The Twilight Zone had now officially been entered.
I'll spare you the extra small talk and skip right to the meeting with the doctor, 5 minutes later...
- So you're a new patient here? Your file is blank...
- No, actually, I was last here 5 years ago when you diagnosed me with asthma, which is sort of the reason why I'm here today, but your staff throw files away after that long because they don't like healthy people...
- Ah, yes, that policy to save paper room...
- Yes, instead of storing everything on hard drives and modern technology and saving both paper and storage room...
- So why are you here?
- Well, doctor, I'm going on a weekend retreat and didn't want to take any chances, I figured I should bring meds in case I have an attack.
- Wise, indeed. Why don't you sit here (leads me to a table). Breathe deeply.
There I am, sitting on the chair with the paper on it, thinking ''oh my God, I may have been wrong, this guy is about to do his job''... when he stops and says ''ok, so what meds do you want?''
Didn't even check my ears, didn't ask me to say ''ahhh'', didn't take my blood pressure, didn't hit my fucking knee with a tiny hammer, nothing.
I was so shocked that I sat back on his chair, wanting more. So I said the first thing that came to mind: ''uh, doc... there's something else... my, uh, erections... they're not as hard as they used to be...''
He looks at me like he knows I just want to have a blast all weekend long and asks ''do you drink a lot?, do you get nervous, or anxious''
- Well, I drink, yeah, as a musician, there's free beer whenever I play...
- How many per night?
- It's not every night per se, but maybe 12 to 15 beers a week?
- And do you get nervous?
- Only when I'm about to get it on and it isn't as long and hard as it used to be, doesn't reach my knee anymore or anything, although my balls do, now...
- Tell you what, you go have your relaxing weekend, try to have sex without drinking beforehand and come back next week and tell me all about it. If you still can't get as hard as before, we'll run tests and we'll see...''
At least he'll run tests. Probably cup my balls and ask me to breathe deeply or something, but it's a start, just not the start I'm looking forward to. I'll just forget about it.
I'm used to hearing about ''people waiting for hours in line to get to see a doctor'', especially now that Barack Obama wants to provide his citizens with decent health care and opponents mention the ''Canadian plan as being such a failure'' in that field, so I decided to get there half an hour before it opens, just so I'm among the first thousand in line. Turns out I'm alone, and the door is locked. So far, it seems normal enough.
The clinic is situated on the second floor of an apartment building that stands above a pharmacy - a drug store. Its main door shares the floor with 4 others - at this point I'm guessing they're housing, not commerces. I guess right, because from one door comes the secretary to unlock the clinic and lead me in.
Looking at my MediCare card, she asks if I've ever been to the clinic before. ''Yes, a few times'', I answer.
- And the last time?
- I don't know, 3, maybe 4 years.
- More 3, or more, 4, because we don't store those files in the same place.
- I don't know, maybe 4.
She's looking nervous, as more people start entering the premises. ''Could it be 5 years?''
- Well, yeah, I guess it could be five years. All I know is the last time I came in was the last time I felt ill enough to warrant a visit to a doctor, but also healthy enough to be able to make the walk here. When my back broke down on me, for example, I couldn't even walk to the washroom, let alone come all the way here...
''Well'', she replies, ''when patients don't come for 5 years or more, we send their files out to storing and have to create new ones''. While I'm thinking this isn't the most efficient way to deal with things, I try to telepathically tell her that, really, writing my name, address and phone number on a piece of loose leaf paper isn't all that much more work than asking me if I still live at the same place - which she would have done anyway. The Twilight Zone had now officially been entered.
I'll spare you the extra small talk and skip right to the meeting with the doctor, 5 minutes later...
- So you're a new patient here? Your file is blank...
- No, actually, I was last here 5 years ago when you diagnosed me with asthma, which is sort of the reason why I'm here today, but your staff throw files away after that long because they don't like healthy people...
- Ah, yes, that policy to save paper room...
- Yes, instead of storing everything on hard drives and modern technology and saving both paper and storage room...
- So why are you here?
- Well, doctor, I'm going on a weekend retreat and didn't want to take any chances, I figured I should bring meds in case I have an attack.
- Wise, indeed. Why don't you sit here (leads me to a table). Breathe deeply.
There I am, sitting on the chair with the paper on it, thinking ''oh my God, I may have been wrong, this guy is about to do his job''... when he stops and says ''ok, so what meds do you want?''
Didn't even check my ears, didn't ask me to say ''ahhh'', didn't take my blood pressure, didn't hit my fucking knee with a tiny hammer, nothing.
I was so shocked that I sat back on his chair, wanting more. So I said the first thing that came to mind: ''uh, doc... there's something else... my, uh, erections... they're not as hard as they used to be...''
He looks at me like he knows I just want to have a blast all weekend long and asks ''do you drink a lot?, do you get nervous, or anxious''
- Well, I drink, yeah, as a musician, there's free beer whenever I play...
- How many per night?
- It's not every night per se, but maybe 12 to 15 beers a week?
- And do you get nervous?
- Only when I'm about to get it on and it isn't as long and hard as it used to be, doesn't reach my knee anymore or anything, although my balls do, now...
- Tell you what, you go have your relaxing weekend, try to have sex without drinking beforehand and come back next week and tell me all about it. If you still can't get as hard as before, we'll run tests and we'll see...''
At least he'll run tests. Probably cup my balls and ask me to breathe deeply or something, but it's a start, just not the start I'm looking forward to. I'll just forget about it.
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