Happy Birthday, Jesse and Theodosia!

I know one of the reasons I stay with my current doctor is that when I say I'm in pain, she believes me, instantly. It's funny that most of the doctors I've had who were the most dismissive of my pain were women. So, I was really glad to find one who wasn't.

It's like personal trainers telling me "no! just one more!" Fuck off. I stopped because I'm done. I cannot be bargained with. Not by you.

On the other hand, the friend who I will let put me in paroxysms of pain stops when I tell him to, and doesn't lie (PT cousin said she wouldn't touch it again, but made a couple more grabs for it that evening). He knows he's manipulating my finger because I, who squashed it flat myself, can't voluntarily cause myself that much pain. But that the pain I caused myself, over dinner at a restaurant was the equivalent of spraining my finger myself.

I tried to explain that to the PT--reminding her exactly what was happening--that she was roughly manipulating a freshly sprained finger, but nothing.

I'd been mostly silent about it, just mentioning pain every now and again. Finally I decided to stop pretending for five minutes and cursed and made faces and the like. Boy, did I get weird looks. Then I put the front back on and went back to eating. And stealing mimosas.

While said cousin was manipulating the finger I told her I really wanted to punch her for the pain she was causing me. "Do it," she said. "Where?" "Anywhere."

At which point I promptly couldn't. The correct answer, by someone who has been hit is "in the stomach." Since I could perform a soft technique (ie taking back my hand), I would have dishonoured myself by breaking her nose like I really wanted to. Over expensive brunch. In front of her aged mother.

Which is interesting, because hasn't it also been proven that women have a higher tolerance for pain than men?

Actually, no. The research I've seen on that subject indicated the opposite, though of course women have to put up with far more pain as part of the normal course of life without there actually being anything medically wrong.

Men seem to be under a lot more societal pressure to ignore pain and be all manly when dealing with strangers (and I include doctors and nurses in this category). But I think we're also encouraged to whine and be nurtured at home, whereas Mom or the nearest Mom substitute is expected to take care of everyone else while ignoring any discomfort or manageable pain of her own.

Who amongst you would take her?

Kuma?

My day at work thus far:

Read e-mail
Got coffee
Read internets
Played Bejeweled
Got coffee
Smoked a cigarette
Got breakfast
Answered an email
Read internets Answered a phone call (Minion)
Smoked
Got coffee (decaf)
Filled out timesheet from three weeks ago
Read internets

Now what? More coffee? Another cigarette? I haven't done any window gazing yet - maybe I'll tackle that next.

Mm. Once I had an infected tooth. It hurt a lot. My face swelled. Evil bastard sadist of a local dentist smacked the infected tooth around with metal picks, and then told me to stop being such a baby when I screamed and screamed and cried and threatened to rip off his balls. I left fingernail marks on the vinyl chair.

Got a referral to an oral surgeon. This guy took one look at me, said sweet baby Jesus, how are you walking, and immediately put me on massive painkillers and antibiotics a week before my surgery was scheduled.

In conclusion: ten years gone, and I still want to rip off that dentist's balls so I can tell him to stop being such a baby when he screams.

In conclusion: ten years gone, and I still want to rip off that dentist's balls so I can tell him to stop being such a baby when he screams.

If he's continued to treat patients the way he treated you, odds are someone removed his balls years ago....

I had a dental hygienist pull out a perfectly healthy semi-loose baby tooth with a live root once, after specifically telling her to leave it alone. Bitch is lucky I was a shy 10-year-old, because if it happened today I wouldn't be the only one with a mouthful of blood and a gap in my teeth.

Oh, shrift. I had that experience. Three dentists, two trips to the ER, swelling the size of a grapefruit under my jaw and everyone kept saying, "Keep taking the penicillin. You'll be fine."

When I finally got to the oral surgeon, he didn't fool around. He just said, "Okay, we're going to do the surgery right now." I started to cry because I was so grateful to find someone who was taking it seriously.

Turns out, another few days and I would have needed to be admitted to the hospital and they would have had to go in through my throat. That's how out of control the infection was.

When the original dentist called me a few weeks later to wonder why I hadn't come back, he got an earful. Or twelve.

There must be a lot of dentists out there who are fans of Little Shop of Horrors....

My mom once had a dentist who did a root canal on the wrong tooth. But I can't really blame the dentist too much. She was probably distracted by the baked potato she was eating at the time.