Canal, that is.

A recent round of dental treatment culminated in Monday’s first root canal for me. That is just how I pronounced it the rest of the day.

I am, without hesistation, coming out as a big baby when it comes to dental procedures beyond cleanings. We, the small mouthed, have a bit of a reaction when it comes to multiple power tools hanging from our mouths. Only so much room in there, and when too many things pop in without explanation, your system panics a bit. It was hard enough to not hear Bill Cosby talk about how “they place all this stuff in your mouth…and then they want to talk to you.”

Smboke!

After receiving a dental dam, bite guard and assorted other appliances, I nearly gagged and the dentist wanted to why I think that happened? I believe I said something profound like “DFASDph!” which might be latin for only so much room in there. In a room filled with a myriad of equipment, it was if they knew I was trouble and was best tended to out of sight of the regular clientele.

So, the longest 85 minutes of my l life went, with me trying to balance a piece of pool liner (the damn) in my mouth, while holding the right pose to ensure a successful completion of this fresh hell as well as guard against any sudden lobotomies. You can tell the dentist had a tough day, when all this was placed without so much an explanation, as more of a reprimand. The folks working on me were great, but I can tell I was the cherry on the cake of a long day for the lady doing all the real work. But showing me what was going in my mouth was a little easier on my delicate psyche than just ramming stuff in there.

I don’t know if it was the noise that the drills make, combined with the battle of making sure you stay in your breath through your nose, but it was exhausting. In my travels, I’ve been in front of a few fights, been thrown from a couple of bikes, and even forced into a wall, but walking out of the office and getting into the car, I spilled into the driver’s seat and thought fondly of the aspirin I had at home.

But the bourbon was good (i was out of tylenol)

I'm beginning to think that Human Resources people and Insurance customer service people are in cahoots, to make actual healthcare providers look bad and drive policy holders out of their gourds with unnecessary angst.

Witness this little incident: The former spouse ("Splif" if you will) took our youngins to the dentist only to be told that GHI won't pay their part because I still have Met Life for a provider as well. I haven't had Met Life for anything since October of 200andfreaking7"!!!! I, incorrectly think, that it would make sense to go to source, Met Life and advise them of their error. Their pointless customer service line (that name must be a joke) kicks me to the agent on duty. I tell Jimmy Olsen my story and that thanks to privacy laws I need one company to tell the other that the first company no longer has an affliation with me. He supposedly goes to work on this, but I think he resumes working on his xbox. A series of phone calls and voice mail messages and a week go by. I call his scrawny little self (you tell from the voice) and he admits that he cannot get further access, because of the policy group. The policy group can't find me. (You think it's because I left a year and half ago?!??!?!?). I hang up (impolite I know) and call GHI, verify all my information, the splif's information, etc.

You would think that would be enough to get the Met Life crap off the files so we can get the dental costs taken care of once more. Oh, gentle reader, you'd be sadly mistaken. I have to fill out one more form and get it into the mail to finally get this shit over with. Said form is already in transit attesting to my lack of insurance in the mail.

The hoops you have to fucking leap through. If the president wants to bring down health cares costs, I know where he can start. Leave the medical pros alone and attach where it is really running amuck like bloating H.R. departments in cable companies that will not be named and semi-informed customer care people who aren't attuned to what is happening off the web page they are staring at while they should be working.

Had I known the cable pig screwed up my insurance, my Bell's Palsy battle might have been a little cheaper. Watch them all, because the billing people need to know they are being watched

This hasn't been fun. You know you're getting older when your ailments get more complex. After 7 to 8 days of Prednizone and an Antiviral prescription with barely pronouncable name, I muddle along waiting for improvement. Bell's is a neurological thingy that has basically paralyzed the right hand side of my mouth and the area around my right eye. For awhile, it was making my eye ultra sensitive to light. So, it sort of looked like I was just finished crying. Not a good look on a man of my years.

This should all clear up within the next week or so, and it won't be a moment too soon. Funny thing is that after the prescriptions ran out, that is when you could start feeling things tingling and coming to life a little bit, like your internal continental shelf was starting ever so slowly to shift.

Only time I've ever need to go for a specialized followup for anything, with a trip to Dent Neurological Institute on Friday. I have to be the "media guy" next weekend at the Zoo so it would be nice to not be huffing and puffing when trying to speak.

In the interim, when I hear I joke, I've been hiding a little to cover up for the fact I can only muster 2/3s of a smile. You have to do some goofy stuff that takes considerable getting used to. I had to learn to sleep with beautian's tape keeping my right eye closed. I don't think I've been sleeping so much as passing out.

It's cut down on my new car enjoyment. I took the kids out to my folks house on Friday and it was probably the first time since the medical big fun began that all was normal. If I looked stuck up at Ted's last night eating with my sunglasses on, so be it.

The things you do. I had to do a presentation at a retailer and was paranoid enough that I nearly sent my boss in my stead. Instead, I sucked it up and gave it a go, coming back with promises of money and support for the next two years. So, maybe next time I take a cane.

Now, if I could just get the Zoo to pick up the tab.

One of my staff is satan. She has equated not being a meat eater to being healthier in a holier than thou sort of way. While I certainly respect that dietary choice and have cut down siginificantly in my own consumption, avoiding the red meat is a dietary choice, not divine provenence. She has been sick in some form or another since November. I, ultimately being a good guy, gave her a ride to work last week. My reward for a good turn was to begin wishing for my own demise. In her "Superior" way to us carnivores, she passed along some bug that felled the other staffer, me, our Business VP and our overall boss. My direct report might be down for the count by the time anybody reads this. If my kids get it, I may just have to kill her

I've been fighting that bug for a few days now. It kept me from some of my son's birthday festivities and wrecked a guest dj gig for me over the weekend. Damn thing felt like brochitis. Given the lack of return for the drugs I had on hand, it was time to quit fooling around. I went and got myself checked out this morning. Drove over and walking up to the entrance. two employees were smoking right at the door. Jerkasses!! Move away from the fucking door as my respiratory functions are already messed up.

After the obligatory hour wait and the surprisingly happy note that my weight and height are getting along, the good doctor who sounded alarmingly spot on like Apu prescribed me my first z-pack. It's already making some progress. I'm sure having an idea as to what is going on and a map to follow help in the healing process. I tried working yesterday and when standing up at my desk made me utter a very eloquent "Whoa," I knew it was time to surrounder completely. Been a long time since any type of illness has knocked me so on my ass like that. The dearth of decent daytime tv made me want to slap my sickly staff with a strip steak even more. Thank fuck for my dvr and miracles that is an xbox.

My Dad called me earlier to say that mom has successfully beat back her ailments that had her on prednizone, insulin and other whatnot. That really is terrific news, but what came out was "Dad, that is cough, sputter, wheeze, cough, awesome! She must be cough, hack, cough, pound, be really cough,cough, thrilled."

This to shall pass. Drink your juice, kids

Here you go, the last in my unintentional series of the immediacy of death. Thanks for the notes of encouragement. It means a lot as I have to make my debut as one of the eulogizers on Thursday. A white, almost pink, dude from the suburbs trying to wax eloquent on the steps of one of the city’s eldest black churches. I got a feeling that was one of Pop’s final shots at messing with me a little. I like to think the image has him chuckling wherever he may be.

Anyhoo, if it seems like I’ve harped a little too much on mortality laden for you casual journal readers well, bugger off, it’s my journal. I started to think about what to say whilst we were doing what you do in the waking hours of such events. While my ex and her brother tended to the funeral director, I tried to make myself useful by answering the door, mixing drinks and whatnot. It felt a little strange to be a block away at the height of events Saturday night, but I’m not sure what being right there would have accomplished. Sitting with the kids seemed like the next best thing so their mom could say goodbye and have some time to grieve without worrying about the rest of us. The day after, you sit, you eat, you cry, you laugh, repeat.

I had to laugh a little as my ex’s current girlfriend and her former were both there, setting up higher comedy or drama. My daughter sidled up me at one point and said “You think they’re going to go at it?” Such are the vicissitudes of lesbian turf battles. Thankfully, said current one has some sense.

Given that a large family and a large populace sometimes rarely see one another, you can never be too certain as to who everybody is. I have the perfectly sincere “Hey!!” down pretty good. Pretty sure I was hugged by three people yesterday who I have absolutely no idea who the hell they were. I did reach for my wallet to be on the safe side.

You never know what talents can get called upon. After getting the kids and their Mom back home, I went back to my place to do photoshop work for an obituary portrait. Never been in that position before. I had to walk through some watermarks to make a passable picture, and I think it worked out fairly well, given the original document.

So, this is what I’m thinking for behind the pulpit

“I can’t say if today is a day of remembrance, commemoration, sadness or celebration. Pop would want it to be whatever you need it to be. He got much of his strength through moments in this very building, but he never wallowed in it. I can’t tell you anything you don’t already know about him. What I do know is that he wanted the best that life had to offer for everybody in the room. If there was a chance to reach higher, it is a chance that he deemed worth taking. It may even feel a little ridiculous to start with, but the long term payoff would always merited us trying. He never stopped looking for the opportunities for all of us. We may have lost a booster, a cheerleader, a champion, but savor the knowledge that we had him on our side. He wants us all to shine, daring us to be great. I think he’d spot us today, but put tomorrow on notice because we’re coming.”

Alright, so I ain't Father Flannigan, but it's genuine and to the point.

He passed away about 20 minutes ago

Thanks for the good wishes all, but I wish I was off to a better start. Roswell is out of options for Dad-in-law. It's pretty much killed my celebratory urges as his only meaningful phone call is going to Hospice. When you can't get sturdy enough to even think about chemo, you know you got troubles. My ex says the drill is to keep him comfy

The Zoo folk whooped me up with lunch and cake, but the cake was tough to grin through as I got this little medical bon mot to deal with.

So, I effectively stopping giving a shit about birthday proceedings as a result. Doesn't seem to matter when you have that likely possibility floating on the horizon. I started the day thinking my biggest issue is that thanks to debt, car insurance, repairs and rent, my paycheck was done on arrival.

Funny how a prognosis can color your whole day. I'm working but I really don't feel like it. Supposed to celebrate with the kids and my folks, but my heart just isn't in it anymore.