the screaming pages

Like a good little girl I headed off to the dentist this morning and was poked and prodded with shiny implements. Thanks to a sadistic dentist I had as a child I’m not the biggest fan of the field of dentistry. For years I was the adult blubbering like a child in the patient chair whenever I had to visit a dentist. I only went if something had gone horribly wrong and I had to go. Like when I broke a tooth eating a piece of pizza. Being a genetic freak with no adult teeth – baby teeth are not designed to last into your thirties – I need to visit the dentist frequently for preventative maintenance and other fun treatments.

Thanks to a recommendation from Nana when I was living in Winnipeg I lucked upon an excellent dentist. He was patient and careful. Often his attentions were almost painless. I think he’s the reason I don’t turn into a bundle of jelly when ever I have to visit a dentist now. I can honestly say I was sad to loose him as a dentist when we moved from the ‘Peg to Club Ed.

After breaking another tooth at work shortly after I landed in Edmonton I asked my friends and co-workers for a recommendation. They all spoke highly of a dentist that shared office space with the company I was working for. Everyone said he was wonderful and most brought their entire families to him for appointments. When I called he was booked solid and instead recommended a young dentist who was also located in the building. No one I worked with had ever heard of him.

Desperate, I called the young dentist and set an appointment for a few minutes later. I toddled down the hallway and landed in his chair. He was smart enough to pick up on both the severe pain and the fear. So he sat down beside me and explained everything he needed to do, what I could expect, and loaded me up with enough freezing medication to ensure I was feeling no pain when the drill started. Needless to say he did a great job. I’ve been returning to his offices multiple times a year. We’ve been through cleanings, reconstructions, and crowns together. In a few weeks, we’ll start the fun of crowning 2 new teeth (our insurance will only cover the cost of 2 a year).

I’m such a glutton for punishment that I scheduled the first appointment 1.5 hours after I finish my exams.

While I was away someone stole my neighbours’ white pomeranian.

According to Drew, the dog had been missing since the weekend. Our neighbours had thought that someone (they or the mail carrier) had inadvertently left the gate open. They figured she’d gotten out of the fenced yard and was off wandering. E and V have a large fence in the backyard and a small 2 foot one in the front. Fluffy was in the front yard at the time. Normally she’s not left outside on her own but V has been quite ill and didn’t stay outside with her that day. So, when V opened the door a few minutes later to let her back into the house, she discovered the pooch was missing. That started an immediate panic. E hadn’t returned from work. Friends and neighbours were rounded up to help V search for the dog. Calls were placed to the city pound and SPCA. Fluffy has both a collar and a tattoo so if she was found and turned in to the city, they’d be able to find her.

People searched for days with no results. The city’s Web site listing lost and found pets was checked multiple times a day. No mugshot of Fluffy appeared on the site.

V was in a panic. She’s had Fluffy for years. Since her diagnosis last year Fluff has been her constant companion while E is at work.

Today as E was driving home from work he saw a couple walking a dog that looked suspiciously like Fluffy. He pulled over and called the dog. Fluff rushed over to him immediately. Then he was told a story. Apparently the couple walking Fluff had been approached by a man attempting to sell the dog just off the main road running through our area. They don’t know how many people he approached before he happened upon them. They were suspicious and refused to pay for Fluffy. Eventually, he gave Fluffy to them. They suspected she might have been stolen directly from the yard (pulled over the fence)and handed the dog back to E. He brought her home to V.

Of course, I’m still wondering why they never called the number on Fluffy’s collar once they had her. Revise that. I’m a bit hazy on whether or not she still had her collar. Still, if they really were suspicious of the dogs origins, you’d think they’d have reported her to the city pound. Her tattoo could have been easily traced and her owners found.

There’s something wrong with the air and water in Saint John. I don’t think I noticed when I was living here. Perhaps it was better back then. Aside from a few short visits over the past 15 years I’ve been living elsewhere. Elsewhere has usually been blue collar or industrial cities. Larger than Saint John and without the surrounding Bay of Fundy to wash in ocean air. I’m surprised there’s such a significant difference.

The water pouring out of taps is a distinct yellow. It doesn’t smell like sulfur (as the water in Borden did) but it’s definitely not the clear colour I’m used to bathing in. It’s bad enough that I want to brush my teeth with bottled water. I’m not too impressed with it’s impact on my hair and skin.

I’ve also been experiencing bloody noses for the past few days. I can’t recall the last time I had a bloody nose simply from breathing! My entire nasal cavity seems to be one big ache. Of course, the sinuses are also acting up. Heaping joy upon joy on this quickly devolving mouth breather. Not meant in a derogatory way of course. I’m just experiencing a large amount of difficulty breathing through my nose today.

When K and I were at dinner on Saturday – we had a fabulous time thank ye very much – we spent a bit of time talking about environmental impacts on health. Nearly every family I know in this city has been touched with some form of illness or cancer. In the neighbourhood I grew up in, 3 families (that I am aware of) have lost someone to cancer. Anther 4 families are currently battling or are in remission from cancer. Those are only the ones I know about. No one has the same form. Despite it’s doubling (perhaps tripling) in size over the past decade, my childhood neighbourhood consisted of one street and one side street. I’m not counting any of the new houses or streets that didn’t exist while I was growing up. No idea what the incidence of illness is there.

I dread to think what the incidence rate might be a few miles to the west in Champlain Heights. Where we occasionally woke up to strange black powders on our homes and cars; they often found odd powdery residues near (or in if they left their windows open) their premises. I remember residents battling to have more controls put in place to clean up the refineries and mills. Hoping it would help clean up the air and environment. I’m unsure as to the degree in which they may have experienced success.

I’ve been a smoker on and off for over 15 years. I know, as well as anyone does, just what smoking can do to a person’s lungs and health. I watched my father die of lung cancer – taken far too young – after smoking for 50+ years. Understanding ramifications isn’t the same as breaking an addiction. As most former smokers can tell you, it’s not an easy habit to break. In the past I’ve tried Zyban (nasty allergic reaction), the patch, and cold turkey. I never seem to manage more than a few weeks before I break down and pick up a cigarette. Strangely enough, despite all the emotional upheaval this week, I haven’t had a smoke since leaving Edmonton. I had fully intended to attempt to quit again this week. I just never expected to find that the desire to light up isn’t nearly as strong now that I’m camped out in a hotel.

It’s only been a few days. They do say the first are the worse. Then again addiction specialists also indicate that most smokers attempt to quit, on average, 8 times before succeeding.

The downside of all of this is the hubby’s cigar habit. I think I took up smoking again the last time as a line of defence against the cigars. Despite assuring me he’d try to quit this week too – we’re our own worst enemies – he’s still puffing away. To all those friends from Edmonton who read my blog I have a request for assistance. Call Drew. Harass him on phone, cell and email if necessary. Ask him to PLEASE try to avoid cigars so I can continue to try avoiding cigarettes when I return home. I shall participate in the campaign from afar (hi honey!).

Dad always used to say “there are three sides to every story; yours, mine and the truth.” I’m certain that’s probably applicable in the current situation. However, I know I have no imagined everything – despite mom’s vehmenent arguments to the contrary. I think at this point we all believe what we want to – whether or not it’s 100% accurate is still up for debate.

By now I’d normally start wondering if maybe I’m completely crazy. Witnesses help keep me sane though.