3.02 10:57 pace 33:03 minutes 5:15 am
I sat in the endodontist's chair for another hour and a half yesterday afternoon. At the end, she cheerily said, "Your root canal is done. I want you to see your regular dentist within 2 weeks for the permanent filling, or a replacement crown, whichever he thinks is best." I hope he thinks it's just a permanent filling. I'm about at my limit of gutting this dental thing out.
You know that old saying, "I'd rather have a root canal"?
I'd rather have a head to toe MRI. With the room on fire. With ants nibbling at my elbows. With Pearl Jam on the overhead sound system. Loud.
Yeah, that's how I've come to feel about dental visits.
Me. The one who flosses daily and brushes after every meal and at bedtime.
It's about control. I know this. When I'm in the dental chair, I can't see what's going on, I can't talk, I can't even control my own drool. I'm myself imagined in 40 years.
So, anyway. I only have to have the work finished off and then I'm good for another 6 months. Fingers crossed.
I spent a little time in counseling last week and discussed control issues. I continue to give over that which is not mine. It's been a good several days for that.
Boston, Mass.
West, TX.
Life.
Have as good a day as life allows and you accept, my friends. Much love to you. M
©Michelle Scofield, April 23, 2013 All Rights Reserved
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Saturday, April 20, 2013
Threads
9.02 miles 1:45:53 11:44 pace
This is going to be one of those, "She's thinking out loud things." Bear with me.
It was super-nice of the bartender at Houston's to comp me my salad last night. I dropped in after an event, thinking I'd grab something to eat and possibly a glass of wine. I sipped my wine (Chardonnay? What was I thinking?), making it last for an hour and still - no grilled chicken salad. It was pleasant enough just hanging out and people-watching. (A couple next to me was pretty hilarious. She engaged me in conversation and we laughed about our love of Real Housewives television.) Anyway...soon enough, Josh The Bartender realized I was probably starving and checked on progress from the kitchen. What could have been an expensive, delicious salad turned out to be an expensive, free salad.
The event? Houston Modern Market at Winter Street. I was invited to ogle the beautiful furniture and artwork. I did. I also met up with oodles of friends which always lifts my spirits. I caught a fun fashion show featuring "Stop Staring" dresses, of which I've been a fan for a few years.
This is all distraction from the horrible news which has been playing out on every live-feed monitor within sight for the last few days. Yesterday morning, I was met with less than enthusiasm when my frontal inhibition gave way to, "I'd rather not be watching when a cop is shot" as I declined to sit with the gang and view the manhunt unfold. I can be such a Blurt sometimes. (A Blurt is someone who tells it like it is and won't take it back.)
Last night I had a great conversation with a friend of a friend. We'd just met. I have no problem letting my Blurt out among this group of people. Miles Davis has been credited with saying, "Fear no mistakes. There are none." I doubt he was the first to say that. The thing is, when I'm around some artists, I feel as if I'm around some of the most open, vulnerable, and welcoming people. That allows me to be the same and some of the dialogue is simply fantastic. Back to the conversation. We talked about how we were moving on in the face of the latest tragedies and it was a continuum of moving on since 9/11. We talked about the fears that we felt/feel and how we are attempting to stand up to them and also about standing up to outside pressures to isolate ourselves from perceived bogeymen. What amazed me the most about this man was that he was born and raised in Boston. His sense of grace was overwhelming. And calming. And reassuring.
So...moving on. I'm in training for a Half Marathon. I've entered a sanctioned 10K race that I'll run in 2 weeks. The Green 6.2. I'll drive over and pick up my packet today. I'm not going to stop running in big races. I wouldn't dream of it.
I'm more dedicated than ever to doing a great job at work. I'm working on a huge project for Cancer Survivors and am waiting to hear if I've been granted a fellowship that will allow me to travel to Canada for further training. Get it or not, the program will go on and I look forward to presenting much of my work to my colleagues soon.
This is a fine, fine thread upon which we walk. Some days I take a chance and I run along it's course which is stronger than I think and I'm surprised at how much latitude I'm given.
Being a witness to the breaks in the threads of others is something that shouldn't surprise me but it does. Every time. Our collective web was weakened this week. As I ramble through this entry, perhaps being out last night wasn't so much distraction, but an attempt to build. I'm not sure.
That's the one thing I know with certainty today. I'm not sure.
©Michelle Scofield, April 20, 2013 All Rights Reserved
This is going to be one of those, "She's thinking out loud things." Bear with me.
It was super-nice of the bartender at Houston's to comp me my salad last night. I dropped in after an event, thinking I'd grab something to eat and possibly a glass of wine. I sipped my wine (Chardonnay? What was I thinking?), making it last for an hour and still - no grilled chicken salad. It was pleasant enough just hanging out and people-watching. (A couple next to me was pretty hilarious. She engaged me in conversation and we laughed about our love of Real Housewives television.) Anyway...soon enough, Josh The Bartender realized I was probably starving and checked on progress from the kitchen. What could have been an expensive, delicious salad turned out to be an expensive, free salad.
The event? Houston Modern Market at Winter Street. I was invited to ogle the beautiful furniture and artwork. I did. I also met up with oodles of friends which always lifts my spirits. I caught a fun fashion show featuring "Stop Staring" dresses, of which I've been a fan for a few years.
This is all distraction from the horrible news which has been playing out on every live-feed monitor within sight for the last few days. Yesterday morning, I was met with less than enthusiasm when my frontal inhibition gave way to, "I'd rather not be watching when a cop is shot" as I declined to sit with the gang and view the manhunt unfold. I can be such a Blurt sometimes. (A Blurt is someone who tells it like it is and won't take it back.)
Last night I had a great conversation with a friend of a friend. We'd just met. I have no problem letting my Blurt out among this group of people. Miles Davis has been credited with saying, "Fear no mistakes. There are none." I doubt he was the first to say that. The thing is, when I'm around some artists, I feel as if I'm around some of the most open, vulnerable, and welcoming people. That allows me to be the same and some of the dialogue is simply fantastic. Back to the conversation. We talked about how we were moving on in the face of the latest tragedies and it was a continuum of moving on since 9/11. We talked about the fears that we felt/feel and how we are attempting to stand up to them and also about standing up to outside pressures to isolate ourselves from perceived bogeymen. What amazed me the most about this man was that he was born and raised in Boston. His sense of grace was overwhelming. And calming. And reassuring.
So...moving on. I'm in training for a Half Marathon. I've entered a sanctioned 10K race that I'll run in 2 weeks. The Green 6.2. I'll drive over and pick up my packet today. I'm not going to stop running in big races. I wouldn't dream of it.
I'm more dedicated than ever to doing a great job at work. I'm working on a huge project for Cancer Survivors and am waiting to hear if I've been granted a fellowship that will allow me to travel to Canada for further training. Get it or not, the program will go on and I look forward to presenting much of my work to my colleagues soon.
This is a fine, fine thread upon which we walk. Some days I take a chance and I run along it's course which is stronger than I think and I'm surprised at how much latitude I'm given.
Being a witness to the breaks in the threads of others is something that shouldn't surprise me but it does. Every time. Our collective web was weakened this week. As I ramble through this entry, perhaps being out last night wasn't so much distraction, but an attempt to build. I'm not sure.
That's the one thing I know with certainty today. I'm not sure.
©Michelle Scofield, April 20, 2013 All Rights Reserved
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
(This Life is ) Not Such a Solo Sport
3.12 miles 35.07 11:15 pace 5:30am
The run felt sorrowful and heavy.
I felt alone. I didn't see another runner on my route.
My gut tells me that there were (or will be) tens of thousands of runners lacing up today...
...because.
Others have said it more eloquently than can I.
I had to run.
©Michelle Scofield, April 16, 2013 All Rights Reserved
The run felt sorrowful and heavy.
I felt alone. I didn't see another runner on my route.
My gut tells me that there were (or will be) tens of thousands of runners lacing up today...
...because.
Others have said it more eloquently than can I.
I had to run.
©Michelle Scofield, April 16, 2013 All Rights Reserved
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
Moving
3.1 miles 33:11 10:42pace 5:30am Humidity: Dripping
Upside? Very little traffic this morning and there was a coolish breeze. I'm still wiped out and didn't sleep great last night but I figured I'd get the run in while I had quasi-motivation to do so. It will be a desk day (barring any inpatient consults) and sitting around doing paperwork doesn't exactly give me energy. It makes me sore and grumpy. Running prior to work is much more likely to improve my all-around physical and mental disposition than sitting around and thinking about an afternoon or evening run.
I'm thinking, thinking, thinking. I need to find a new place to live.
If anyone knows of a wonderful inner loop townhome or house up for lease in Houston, shoot me a note. I need some city life. And a garage. With a kitchen. And built in friends who love art, dancing, and tequila - that wouldn't hurt one little bit.
©Michelle Scofield, April 9, 2013 All Rights Reserved
Upside? Very little traffic this morning and there was a coolish breeze. I'm still wiped out and didn't sleep great last night but I figured I'd get the run in while I had quasi-motivation to do so. It will be a desk day (barring any inpatient consults) and sitting around doing paperwork doesn't exactly give me energy. It makes me sore and grumpy. Running prior to work is much more likely to improve my all-around physical and mental disposition than sitting around and thinking about an afternoon or evening run.
I'm thinking, thinking, thinking. I need to find a new place to live.
If anyone knows of a wonderful inner loop townhome or house up for lease in Houston, shoot me a note. I need some city life. And a garage. With a kitchen. And built in friends who love art, dancing, and tequila - that wouldn't hurt one little bit.
©Michelle Scofield, April 9, 2013 All Rights Reserved
Saturday, April 6, 2013
Tilted
This week has been a series of Quixotic moments. Over and over again, I've donned my breastplate and helmet. I've raised my sword. So many windmills, so little time.
Where to begin?
I've been fighting a toothache for over a month. I had a crown placed and it Just.Wasn't.Right. Next I had trouble opening my mouth more than a centimeter between my front teeth. (I didn't need to come from a head and neck surgery background to know this was all-kinds-of-not-good.) Soon my cheek puffed up like one of these cartoon rodents that sings at Christmas. I called the dentist who took Xrays, reassured me, put me on antibiotics, etc, etc. The swelling went down and I went on with my life which included running a 10K race in New Orleans the Saturday before Easter. (The tooth continued to feel Not.Quite.Right.)
I ran it at a 10:46 pace which was right at my goal of 1:06. Super! I felt good. The race was a blast. My son ran the same race and it was a fantastic experience to run in the same event. We enjoyed red beans and rice, which is the perfect post race fuel. I had a great time in New Orleans with the family there and before I knew it, the weekend was over and it was time to catch a flight home.
There was a little bit of a delay coming home because of weather in Houston and I heroically stepped in and made sure a woman got on board her flight to Argentina. After it was all over, I realized that I raised enough of a commotion that there were only two possible outcomes: She would make her flight. I would get arrested. Obviously, I didn't get arrested but it was a possibility that night. I was entirely impractical in my demands that an international flight be stopped and locked doors be reopened. How it happened, I'm not sure. But it did.
Monday's workday was packed - super busy. I kept pace but I was dragging on the inside. I blamed it on flying, on running a race. Exercise would help. I took a long walk at lunch. Instead of putting my feet up and resting, I would push my body. Idealistic, much?
A family emergency occurred Wednesday and my response was to pack my bags, don my armor and charge down the highway. I had no clear enemy. There was no enemy and I had no idea who I was going to fight - or save. I lowered my sword and put my weapons away, along with my ego. (My ego is my mightiest enemy.)
Thursday I was experiencing sadness and my physical sensation of tiredness was verging on fatigue. Another busy clinic day loomed in front of me. My alarm was set for 4:45 (WTH?) so that I could get up and run. That would help, right? No. I slept through the alarm. But I ran after clinic. 3.07 miles at a 10:57 pace. I felt good. I felt sweaty, and cleansed. It was just what I needed. I went for dinner and a margarita with a friend that evening and crashed into bed.
And I woke with: A swollen cheek and obvious signs of a dental abscess.
Yesterday I went through stage 1 of a root canal and - wait for it...
...an incision and drainage of the inside of my left cheek.
I was offered nitrous but would Don Quixote take that? Hell, no!
I was fine until the endodontist asked for the scalpel and that's when all my memories of ME holding a scalpel and working on the inside of other peoples' mouths came back to me. OK. One tear. That's what I allowed myself. That wouldn't rust my shield.
This morning I Googled, "Can I run with an active infection?"
I could. I'm not going to. I'm sitting here and writing this instead. I'm going to take a nice hot bath and there is a Corvette show out on the plaza. I'm going to enjoy the warm weather and sip on an iced coffee. (Thanks, Liz and Joe, for that coffee card. I love the gift!)
Oh, one more thing. I don't think Joe Darion would mind my paraphrase because there are hearts hurting and they know who they are: I love you more than there are windmills in La Mancha. The impossible dream is worth dreaming. We just have to take care of ourselves while we dream it and as weary as our arms may be from reaching, we keep trying. There will always be room for us - for you. I love you.
©Michelle Scofield, Feb 6, 2013 All Rights Reserved
Where to begin?
I've been fighting a toothache for over a month. I had a crown placed and it Just.Wasn't.Right. Next I had trouble opening my mouth more than a centimeter between my front teeth. (I didn't need to come from a head and neck surgery background to know this was all-kinds-of-not-good.) Soon my cheek puffed up like one of these cartoon rodents that sings at Christmas. I called the dentist who took Xrays, reassured me, put me on antibiotics, etc, etc. The swelling went down and I went on with my life which included running a 10K race in New Orleans the Saturday before Easter. (The tooth continued to feel Not.Quite.Right.)
I ran it at a 10:46 pace which was right at my goal of 1:06. Super! I felt good. The race was a blast. My son ran the same race and it was a fantastic experience to run in the same event. We enjoyed red beans and rice, which is the perfect post race fuel. I had a great time in New Orleans with the family there and before I knew it, the weekend was over and it was time to catch a flight home.
There was a little bit of a delay coming home because of weather in Houston and I heroically stepped in and made sure a woman got on board her flight to Argentina. After it was all over, I realized that I raised enough of a commotion that there were only two possible outcomes: She would make her flight. I would get arrested. Obviously, I didn't get arrested but it was a possibility that night. I was entirely impractical in my demands that an international flight be stopped and locked doors be reopened. How it happened, I'm not sure. But it did.
Monday's workday was packed - super busy. I kept pace but I was dragging on the inside. I blamed it on flying, on running a race. Exercise would help. I took a long walk at lunch. Instead of putting my feet up and resting, I would push my body. Idealistic, much?
A family emergency occurred Wednesday and my response was to pack my bags, don my armor and charge down the highway. I had no clear enemy. There was no enemy and I had no idea who I was going to fight - or save. I lowered my sword and put my weapons away, along with my ego. (My ego is my mightiest enemy.)
Thursday I was experiencing sadness and my physical sensation of tiredness was verging on fatigue. Another busy clinic day loomed in front of me. My alarm was set for 4:45 (WTH?) so that I could get up and run. That would help, right? No. I slept through the alarm. But I ran after clinic. 3.07 miles at a 10:57 pace. I felt good. I felt sweaty, and cleansed. It was just what I needed. I went for dinner and a margarita with a friend that evening and crashed into bed.
And I woke with: A swollen cheek and obvious signs of a dental abscess.
Yesterday I went through stage 1 of a root canal and - wait for it...
...an incision and drainage of the inside of my left cheek.
I was offered nitrous but would Don Quixote take that? Hell, no!
I was fine until the endodontist asked for the scalpel and that's when all my memories of ME holding a scalpel and working on the inside of other peoples' mouths came back to me. OK. One tear. That's what I allowed myself. That wouldn't rust my shield.
This morning I Googled, "Can I run with an active infection?"
I could. I'm not going to. I'm sitting here and writing this instead. I'm going to take a nice hot bath and there is a Corvette show out on the plaza. I'm going to enjoy the warm weather and sip on an iced coffee. (Thanks, Liz and Joe, for that coffee card. I love the gift!)
Oh, one more thing. I don't think Joe Darion would mind my paraphrase because there are hearts hurting and they know who they are: I love you more than there are windmills in La Mancha. The impossible dream is worth dreaming. We just have to take care of ourselves while we dream it and as weary as our arms may be from reaching, we keep trying. There will always be room for us - for you. I love you.
©Michelle Scofield, Feb 6, 2013 All Rights Reserved
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