I guess I’m starting a new, personal fourth of July tradition. I’m buzzed out on vicodin again. This year, I’m mightily sick as well, from an infected tooth and sinus cavity. I was supposed to have a root canal yesterday, but was too messed up to have it done. Paul’s out filling a prescription for me for antibiotics, and I am going to willingly take them, so you know I’m sick. (These are, apparently, the only kind I can take; my dentist prescribed them years ago and there were no strange side effects, though I’m told many, many other folks have to avoid these). This dentist actually listens when I tell him of my odd reactions to meds. He also has an ASL interpreter on staff, and actually knows how to interact with a lip-reader. If I could find a medical doctor like that…sigh.
Much has been happening, simultaneously heartbreaking, gut-punched sad, and yet, life affirming at the highest levels. Can’t write about it now.
But every bit of it also makes my direction clearer.
Water of Leith, Edinburgh