The Perks of Modern Medicine (Like Not Being Dead)

I can’t feel half of my face right now, and I’m drooling and I might chew on my tongue if I’m not careful, but it’s all right because Modern Medicine did this to me and it’s supposed to happen this way. Not to worry.

I had another batch of tea-related cavities filled today, and as I lay on the reclining chair and played an invisible piano to stave off the boredom, I realized yet again how lucky I am to have Modern Medicine in my life. For a start, dentists can put a lot of horrifying looking instruments in my mouth and I won’t even feel it. Sure, there might be a lot of weird drilling sounds and the dentist might occasionally ask the assistant to pass the wood sander, but I can file away ‘screaming in agony’ as unneeded in this day and age.

Besides, without Modern Medicine I’d probably be dead already. Like from the time as a baby that I got an ungodly high fever (conveniently reduced by proper medication). Or the time when I cleverly fell out of a tree and smacked my head on a rock below, because everyone knows the best trees to climb are the ones with a considerable amount of boulders at the base.

And my mouth would most likely be an absolute mess, because without Modern Medicine not much could be done about the wisdom teeth that decided, for whatever reason, to grow in sideways. “This seems like the proper way to be growing,” they said, as they steadily impacted the other teeth. “I can’t think of any better direction to grow at all.”

When I caught Scarlet Fever this summer, too, I might’ve been snuffed from this earth before I’d even realized what all the spots meant. But thanks to Modern Medicine, one can just take a daily pill to get over an exotic Victorian illness.

And the thing is, I’m a pretty healthy person, which is a blessing. But before Modern Medicine, I’d be a healthy person right up until the point when I wasn’t any longer.

But even writing this all out hasn’t made me grateful for the very thorough numbness across my face (it’s been an hour and a half and it’s still not gone, what did they do, turn the setting on the injection up to “X-Treme”?!), so I’ll just go sulk for a while instead. But I’ll do it with all my teeth.

I hope you’re feeling healthy today.

The Trouble with Tea

I love tea.

I love tea so much that the very first item I purchased when I moved to the east coast, before I had even received my first paycheck, was an electric kettle. With my meager possessions I built around this kettle a grand altar. A tea shrine, if you will, from which all tea flows.

img_20161013_142742605Don’t mind the dead cat, the tea shrine is a little bit Halloween today.

Since then, almost a year ago, I estimate that the kettle has made approximately 1000 cups of tea. Because, and here I must admit to something, I have a little bit of a tea problem.

Oh, I try to justify it. “A cup of tea is just a third of the caffeine in a cup of coffee!” I say. “Having three or four cups of tea a day is around one cup of coffee, which many Americans easily surpass before lunch!”

This is technically true. This is also no excuse.

img_20161013_143028091The words on the wall read “bonus satis,” which is the Ludvig family motto. In Latin, it means “good enough.” At least, it probably does. Good enough.

What’s worse is how I’m trying to push my addiction on the impressionable small children under my care. Though the oldest of the boys is too cool and too much of a man to partake in such feminine activities, the younger boys adore my tea parties.

I find these tea parties to be crucial to my sanity, for though I love little boys, I sometimes find them to be, surprisingly, not girls. And there are between three and six of these not girls running around this house! Please, for the love of all that is holy, could we watch some Shimmer and Shine instead of more Blaze and the Monster Machines?!

My point, and I do have one, is that I recently came to the realization that tea has become far too prominent in my life. I reached this conclusion when I visited the dentist for the first time this year and was told that I have five cavities.

Why, I was offended. Absolutely appalled. How dare this dentist declare that my heretofore perfect if slightly yellow teeth had fallen from their glory? Just what was he suggesting?

(He was suggesting that I needed to get the cavities filled.)

When the dentist asked if I ate a lot of sugary foods, I vehemently denied it. I hate sugary things. Cake gives me a headache. Candy gives me a headache. Sappy dramas give me a headache. Sugar, why, I won’t touch the stuff!

And then it occurred to me that I was having two teaspoons of sugar and two teaspoons of cream at least three times a day in my Yorkshire Gold.

This was a couple months ago. Today I had a few of the cavities filled, and my gums still feel as though they’ve stopped existing and won’t return for many moons.


For those interested, a replica of the ceiling I stared at for two hours while the dentists above me filled my mouth with a lot of buzzing power tools.

My dentist is a very nice fellow. Everything went smoothly. I only lied about how often I floss a little bit. But I now have to face the fact that I should cut back on my tea consumption even further. Only two out of five cavities were filled today, and I don’t want an extra couple making an appearance before my next appointment.

But self-control is a ridiculous notion and I don’t see why I ought to change for any reason, ever.