The Butcher on 5th Continued

After coming to following my oral surgery I was vaguely aware that it felt like my body was levitating, that I hadn't eaten in 24 hours, and that I was still enraged at Dr Beefcake over on 5th Street for sentencing me to this still not yet over ordeal.  I grouchily allowed myself to be rolled out of the office by a staff that was thrilled to see my crying hysterical self go and only warned me to "make sure I kept taking the pain medication every 4 hours as opposed to every 6"-presumably to prevent me from reigning down with my hysteria and going after the Beefcake with a set of pliers.

I sulked the entire way home while I checked work email on my phone and rued my swollen jaw and enormous chipmunk like cheeks that had swallowed any remnants of cheekbones I'd had that morning.  

Amanda aided my walk into the apartment and was a little surprised about my barren cupboards-a depressing bi-product of 6 months of pedal to the medal with my job.  She ran to the grocery store and returned with jello, ice cream, tortillas, guacamole to join the lone jar of apple sauce in my fridge.  She patted me on the head before leaving me to my own devices and the company of the cat.

I sat on my sofa scowling for another 20 minutes or so while drinking some Gatorade and eating a pudding cup-stroking my cat like a Bond villain while I directed bad juju towards the Beefcake until I passed out on my rug.

I got up dutifully throughout the night chomping down on codeine and anti-nausea medication and ate guacamole by the spoonful, turning to ice cream after listening to the Beefcake's "check-in" voicemail.

The following day I tried to work from home and after addressing several ridiculous requests, my parents called me to warn me of the dangers of pain killer addictions.  

As I sat in my pajamas from the night before, I succumbed to a pity party.  Being Type-A, I needed a scale to properly communicate my misery.  After considering for awhile I dubbed it the 4th worst experience of my life (not including deaths or romantic breakups)

1.) Lay-off/coupled with minor medical crisis circa 2009

2.) Finding out the person I loved was a filthy rotten cheater 

3.) Getting pants'd in gym class in High School while being taunted by a pack of cliquey she-devils circa 2002

4.) Tooth Extraction nightmare, circa 2013

5.) Running the marathon, miles 19-22, circa 2011

With the scale in place, I didn't feel quite so bad about still being in my jammies nor the fact that I consumed an entire pint of ice cream in a day.  That was the prescription for recovery for all of the Top 5.  

With that settled, I settled in for 3 days of sleeping, DVR watching, and not washing my hair for 3 days.  I wasn't allowed to work out, and the medication had some awful side affects that rendered me in a fetal position for much of the weekend and left Ari guarding me from a distance as he was afraid to go near me.  

It was a banner time.