I’m sure that highly trained athletes or performers have similar techniques to help them run/lift/dance through the pain. I remember reading about an opera singer who went on stage and sang with a fever of over 104 degrees. She sang well. When the show was over, she died—right after the curtain call.
Somehow my pain became much more acute when I was lying down. During the day, I was okay. As long I was moving and keeping busy, I was able to keep the pain at bay. But each day, the pain got worse and worse. I started mediating more often, which helped, but it wasn’t enough. I finally succumbed to taking ibuprofen to alleviate the throbbing. When I got up to eight ibuprofen a day, that’s when it hit me. Jodi, this isn’t right. Of course, I decided this at 4:30 p.m. on a Friday and I didn’t have a dentist in the area.
I’m not sure how I got through the weekend. I remember eating only on the other side of my mouth. But even the simple act of talking, eating, or drinking was utterly and ridiculously painful.
Armed with the phone book and the Internet, I started making calls at 8 a.m. on Monday morning. What dentist will see an out-of-state patient today? Did I mention that it was the first week of August? It seems as if all doctors and therapists escape their practice for the first two weeks in August. Let me just say up front that good receptionists are worth their weight in gold.
The first two places I called were not taking new patients. Whatever. The third place I called had no openings for two weeks. And so it went until I spoke with a receptionist who heard my pain. I’d hit the jack pot.
“Hi, I’m really hoping that the dentist is in today. I can barely open my mouth, let alone breathe, and I’ve called a million places and no one will—”
“Sure,” she said. “We had a cancellation for this morning, so come on in.”
