So, it’s officially been two weeks now since I experienced what I named “The Most Chaotic Day of All Time,” and I think I’d finally like to write about it. I spent quite a few days being butt-hurt and angry, and although those feelings still exist, I can tame them enough and (hopefully) present this without bursting into flames.
I think I can, I think I can.
Two weeks ago, January 4, 2013, marked D’s and my 6 month anniversary. Only six months? Yes, I know. It seems like it’s been longer, but I think that’s because, after about two months, we moved in together. That makes it seem like we’ve been together for a long time… you see where I’m going with this. Anyway, we were going to celebrate our anniversary, right AFTER I got home from the tattoo parlor.
I had this awesome tattoo in mind, and had emailed extensively with an artist who was willing to do it for me. It’s greyscale, a branch with blooming flowers, starting at my hip and traveling up to my shoulder. I also asked him to incorporate a little ladybug. Because ALL of my ink means something, this one too has a story. This is my “you graduated college and got a real job! You’re in full bloom!” tattoo. I even proclaimed that NOW, I am a “real person.” I am finally grown, not dependent on my family anymore, and so on. So, I had an appointment at 11 to go get this tattoo, and vowed to spend the REST of the day with D.
Why didn’t he go along, you ask? Interesting point! He was home sick with EITHER the worst cold of all time, or a mild form of pneumonia. Probably just the worst cold of all time. He took off two days from work that week, because he felt like crap. Remember this, it plays into the story!
So I get to the tattoo parlor and I’m super excited, because this will be my BIGGEST tattoo yet, and I love ink, and all that. So my wonderful artist gets all set up and calls me back. We had an awkward talk about how I’d have to be topless, but could hold a towel in front of me. Here comes the GREAT part: I’d have to stand while he drew it (no stencils!) and then I could lay down while he actually did the tattooing.
Alright, no big deal.
So I’m standing for 20, maybe 30 minutes, and ALL OF A SUDDEN….
I’m on the floor.
I’m cold and on the floor.
There’s something in my mouth.
Is it my tongue ring?
No, it’s something else.
It’s still dark.
I’m trying to spit the thing out of my mouth. From a ways away, I hear a voice go, “Oh shit, she broke her tooth,” and I feel someone remove something from my mouth. I try to move, and I can’t. I try to open my eyes. I finally succeed. Someone puts cool water on my forehead and lifts my head a little. They ask if I’m ok…repeatedly. Until I can respond.
I think my first words were “oh, shit.”
They told me I had passed out. They asked me if I had felt it coming on. No, no, no. What the hell happened? Is my tattoo done? It’s not even STARTED? Oh, no.
They put me in the chair and allow me to recover. I feel better. I ask my artist if he’ll keep going. He agrees. I feel hot and like I’m going to pass out. My vision starts to leave me. I ask to sit down again.
My artist sends me home in a cab. With my tooth. My mouth hurts so, so, so, bad. And I look like I’ve been in a really bad bar fight.
I message my boyfriend to let him know. He’s in shock. He can’t believe it.
Thoughts of anger and guilt are coursing through me. I ruined our day.
I get home and immediately begin making calls. My dentist is closed. Call another. Call another. Finally, I get ahold of someone. They ask how fast I can be there. Six minutes. Okay, see you in six minutes, they reply.
This time, D goes with me. I’m pretty sure he’s worried. Hell, I’m worried. One question keeps going through my head: “Have you been sick? Has anyone around you been sick?”
I was so excited about this appointment, about actually having enough money to go get this thing done… I think my adrenaline kept the illness away, but not long enough.
I made it to the dentist, and found out that the reason my tooth hurt so bad is because the nerve was exposed. He showed me this on a picture, which was…disgusting. He then proceeded to perform an emergency root canal.
Everyone seems to think that hurts. Trust me, the pain I was in BEFORE he started was so much worse. I couldn’t even feel the root canal. He finished and told me to come back on Tuesday.
That weekend, I was the sickest I’ve ever been. I couldn’t breathe. My nose was chapped from all the nose-blowing I was doing. My lungs were filled with fluid. I appointed myself “Mucus Central.”
It was horrible.
I made it back to the dentist on Tuesday, loaded up on Sudafed, Tylenol cold, and the like. They finished up the root canal and then put something in my mouth. It felt like a tooth. Okay, good, I’m all set to go.
Wrong. That’s a temporary crown, they said. We’ll have the “real” crown in two weeks, they said. “Be careful eating!” they said. The temporary crown is ugly. It’s crooked at the top AND bottom. No one else can tell, or they’re just being really nice, but I can tell.
I look ugly.
And, this little endeavor cost me… ALL the money I had saved for the tattoo.
And then some.
I had been saving for this tattoo since I graduated college in May of 2012. Saving money is hard for me, because I have a TON of bills. It takes months for me to make it to $500.
Now, I have no tattoo money. I have no any money. It’s all been sucked up by paying for this little endeavor.
[And, to make matters worse, now I have to get my dog neutered, which will cost me between $300 and $550, depending on how much they have to do (he needs teeth pulled, too). That, however, doesn't have to do with the most chaotic day of all time.]
I feel like that day, 1/4/13, needs to be recorded in history as the most chaotic day of all time, and I can’t help but blame myself. I SORT OF felt sick before going in, but I took the attitude of “I’m gonna power through this!” Then, I landed myself in a situation where I had to spend all my money, against my will.
But I couldn’t just leave one of my two front teeth broken in half, right?
I still am not happy about this day, but I’m learning to get over it. My boyfriend didn’t leave me (I was worried he might not want a toothless girlfriend…even though that’s lame and vain and he’d never really do that), and somehow, I did manage to pay all my bills. Okay, so the tattoo gets put on hold. Probably not the end of the world (maybe just the world as I know it?)
Well, two weeks later, I’m glad to say I’m trying to put this all behind me. The negative feelings still aren’t all gone, but they’re starting to go away.
Little by little.
As time goes on.