Puffy Eyes, Jaw Issues and St. Patrick : Preparing for a Return to Ireland
My sister and I will be returning to Ireland later this week. We don’t get to spend a lot of quality time together and we are looking forward to our trip. We will be arriving in Dublin very early in the morning of March 17th-St. Patrick’s Day! I immediately began researching our touring options upon arrival. I was thrilled to have found a tour entitled, “The Walk of St. Patrick,” which will take us to a variety of places linked with the Patron Saint of Ireland. My sister....not so much.
I excitedly sent her the link and waited for her response. RADIO SILENCE. I finally called her and while she didn’t say I was out of my mind, I know her well, and I know that’s just what she was thinking. She reminded me that we are going to a city on a day that the drinking will probably begin no later than 8 am, which is four hours before the huge parade begins. She said that in all probability, we will be traipsing in and out of churches, while everyone else in the city would be drunk as skunks. Her final nail in the walking tour coffin was when she said, “You don’t want to be THAT tourist.”
The problem was, I did. Between the jet lag and my severe dislike of Guinness, I thought I needed to pace myself! It will be a long day and I thought spending some time with St. Patrick will break-up the hours spent with the entire population of Dublin, who will no doubt, as my sister predicts, will be making rather merry.
As luck will have it, I began having two minor medical issues just a week before our date of departure. My eyes began to itch one evening and when I woke up the next morning, the itchiness was worse and I looked like I had been in a boxing match. I immediately sought out the best medical care money could buy on a Sunday morning—the clinic located inside our local Shop Rite supermarket.
After all the requisite questions on whether or not I had recently changed my makeup or laundry detergent, it was surmised that I probably rubbed my eyes and got something in them. (With that “complicated”medical diagnosis, I was happy not to have had a co-pay) As a result of the diagnosis, I have not been able to wear makeup—and at 58, that has its own set of issues. I can’t tell you how many people have asked me if I was tired or have been crying! I clearly need to send the folks at Clinique a “thank you” note for their assistance in masking my apparent exhaustion and tears!
My other issue involved my back teeth—or so I thought. I had a slight, dull pain on the left side of my mouth and not knowing much about dentistry on the Emerald Isle, I thought I’d go see our dentist before leaving. Except he had already left for his own vacation. Of course, there was a covering dentist who thankfully, had treated me before. But because I was an “emergency” I got the “B” team doctor. I described my slight pain, had x-rays taken and then spoke to the young dentist who told me I was having a jaw issue. He said that I needed to take a steroid for the swelling, I should only eat soft foods and that I would require “jaw physical therapy.”
To say that I was incredulous was an understatement. I didn’t want to break it to him, but I was only there to make sure I didn’t get on a plane with a cavity! Jaw physical therapy? I told him that I was not doing that until I got home (or not) and then asked him if jaw therapy was a set of skills that all physical therapists acquired? (FYI-it’s a specialty)
I have yet to start the steroids. I’m a bit nervous because—while I didn’t ask—I don’t think it’s wise to take them and then get on a plane to Ireland. Who knows? The taste of Guinness may grow on me.
I excitedly sent her the link and waited for her response. RADIO SILENCE. I finally called her and while she didn’t say I was out of my mind, I know her well, and I know that’s just what she was thinking. She reminded me that we are going to a city on a day that the drinking will probably begin no later than 8 am, which is four hours before the huge parade begins. She said that in all probability, we will be traipsing in and out of churches, while everyone else in the city would be drunk as skunks. Her final nail in the walking tour coffin was when she said, “You don’t want to be THAT tourist.”
The problem was, I did. Between the jet lag and my severe dislike of Guinness, I thought I needed to pace myself! It will be a long day and I thought spending some time with St. Patrick will break-up the hours spent with the entire population of Dublin, who will no doubt, as my sister predicts, will be making rather merry.
As luck will have it, I began having two minor medical issues just a week before our date of departure. My eyes began to itch one evening and when I woke up the next morning, the itchiness was worse and I looked like I had been in a boxing match. I immediately sought out the best medical care money could buy on a Sunday morning—the clinic located inside our local Shop Rite supermarket.
After all the requisite questions on whether or not I had recently changed my makeup or laundry detergent, it was surmised that I probably rubbed my eyes and got something in them. (With that “complicated”medical diagnosis, I was happy not to have had a co-pay) As a result of the diagnosis, I have not been able to wear makeup—and at 58, that has its own set of issues. I can’t tell you how many people have asked me if I was tired or have been crying! I clearly need to send the folks at Clinique a “thank you” note for their assistance in masking my apparent exhaustion and tears!
My other issue involved my back teeth—or so I thought. I had a slight, dull pain on the left side of my mouth and not knowing much about dentistry on the Emerald Isle, I thought I’d go see our dentist before leaving. Except he had already left for his own vacation. Of course, there was a covering dentist who thankfully, had treated me before. But because I was an “emergency” I got the “B” team doctor. I described my slight pain, had x-rays taken and then spoke to the young dentist who told me I was having a jaw issue. He said that I needed to take a steroid for the swelling, I should only eat soft foods and that I would require “jaw physical therapy.”
To say that I was incredulous was an understatement. I didn’t want to break it to him, but I was only there to make sure I didn’t get on a plane with a cavity! Jaw physical therapy? I told him that I was not doing that until I got home (or not) and then asked him if jaw therapy was a set of skills that all physical therapists acquired? (FYI-it’s a specialty)
I have yet to start the steroids. I’m a bit nervous because—while I didn’t ask—I don’t think it’s wise to take them and then get on a plane to Ireland. Who knows? The taste of Guinness may grow on me.
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